Evolution of Strength - Book 3, Chapter 23 New Order (1/19/25)

[HeyDaddy01]

Alright, brothers, it’s about that time. Thanks for being patient as I made some edits and changes based on your requests and comments. I really enjoy incorporating your desires and suggestions in the story, so keep those coming after every chapter.

Book 3 of The Evolution of Strength is ready, and this one’s built for those who live and breathe muscle—who crave growth, power, and the dominance that comes with it. Jacob and Austin are back, bigger and hungrier than ever, and their third year is shaping up to be a battle like no other. The Tribe is swelling with new recruits, and some of these beasts are absolute freaks—thick, ripped, and unapologetically massive. One of them even challenges Jacob for having the biggest monster-cock in the Tribe.

And it’s not just size and strength within the 'H' complex—it’s global now. Hadi, Ryan, and Alessio are pushing limits, making moves, and showing that the Tribe’s reach extends far beyond the gym. This is about more than just lifting; it’s about power, pride, and knowing who’s at the top of the food chain. Every set, every flex, every moment in this book is built to satisfy the muscle worshippers who understand what it means to go all-in and get huge.

If you’re new here or you want to relive the journey so far, now’s your chance. Hit the links below to dive into Books 1 and 2 and see where it all began. Then get ready to dive into Book 3, where the growth doesn’t stop, and the stakes are bigger than ever. 

Keep growing! HeyDaddy

Book 1: The Evolution of Strength (50 Chapters)
Book 2: The Evolution of Strength (50 Chapters)

[HeyDaddy01]

Chapter 1: Initiation Heat

Hank McGraw had always been the picture of strength, a boy raised in the rolling hills of East Tennessee, where the air smelled of fresh hay and hard work was the only way of life. From sunup to sundown, his days had been spent hauling hay bales, plowing fields, and tending to livestock. The farm had shaped him, its relentless demands carving out the powerful body he carried into adulthood. By the time he was in his mid-teens, Hank was already bigger than most grown men in his small town, his broad shoulders and thick thighs making him a natural on the local high school’s wrestling and football teams. But while the other boys dreamed of glory on the field, Hank harbored a quieter, more personal ambition: to find a life beyond the farm, a life where he could be himself.

The whispers about Hank started early. People noticed the way his eyes lingered just a moment too long on other guys in the locker room, the way he avoided girls who flirted with him at church picnics. But no one dared to say anything outright—Hank was the golden boy, and in a place like East Tennessee, people preferred to turn a blind eye. That changed when Hank went to Knoxville for college.

At the University of Tennessee, Hank finally tasted freedom, even if it was limited. He studied kinesiology, his love of physicality led him to become a licensed masseuse and amateur bodybuilder. It was a skill that married his natural strength with a tenderness he rarely got to show, and it brought him into contact with people he never would’ve met back home.

One of those people was Derrick, a star running back on the university’s football team. Their connection had been immediate, a spark that turned into secret nights spent in dorm rooms and apartments, their bodies tangling in ways neither of them dared admit publicly. Derrick was deep in the closet, terrified of what coming out would mean for his future in football. Hank understood, at least at first, but as months turned into years, the weight of their secrecy began to chafe against him.

Hank wanted more. He wanted to live his life openly, to walk hand-in-hand with someone he loved, to kiss in public without glancing over his shoulder. Derrick couldn’t give him that. Their final fight was explosive, Hank’s booming voice filling the small apartment as he stood with his packed duffel bag slung over one broad shoulder. Derrick begged him to stay, to be patient, but Hank had reached his limit.

“Life’s too short to hide forever,” Hank had said, his deep Southern drawl carrying both anger and sadness. “I love you, but I can’t do this anymore. Not like this.”

Now, back at his family’s farm after graduation, Hank felt like a man stuck between worlds. The life he’d known growing up felt stifling, but Knoxville felt too small now, too full of memories he wasn’t ready to face. He spent long hours in the barn or the fields, working his body to exhaustion to keep his mind from racing. But no matter how much he tried to bury it, the itch for change grew stronger by the day.

Late one night, sitting on the porch with a cold beer in hand, Hank scrolled through his phone, his thumb pausing over an ad for a traveling sports therapy firm based out of Atlanta. They specialized in providing massages and recovery services to athletes, particularly bodybuilders, at competitions and events across the country. It wasn’t just any job—it was a chance to combine his skill with his love of the sport and to finally step into a world where he could be himself.

“Hell, why not?” Hank muttered to himself, tipping back his beer as the warm Tennessee night hummed around him. Atlanta was close enough to visit home but far enough to feel like a fresh start. It was a chance to leave the shadows of Knoxville and Derrick behind and start building the life he’d always dreamed of.

The next morning, he sent in his application, attaching a carefully worded email about his experience in kinesiology, his certifications, and his unique understanding of the demands placed on athletes’ bodies. Within days, he got a callback. The recruiter’s voice was enthusiastic, his interest clear as he asked about Hank’s background and his ability to handle high-pressure environments.

“We’re always looking for therapists who understand athletes,” he said. “And you seem like a natural fit. We’d like to offer you a position.”

Hank packed his truck that weekend, the cab stuffed with clothes, weights, and the massage table that had become his most trusted tool. Driving out of East Tennessee, he watched the mountains shrink in his rearview mirror, a mix of nervous energy and hope churning in his chest.

Atlanta was everything Hank had hoped for: fast-paced, vibrant, and filled with opportunities he’d never imagined back on the farm. His new job quickly threw him into the thick of the bodybuilding world. At every competition they traveled to, Hank’s strong hands and intuitive skill left an impression on the athletes he worked with. They trusted him with their bodies, and his ability to unlock tight muscles and speed up recovery made him a favorite among the pros.

It didn’t take long for word of Hank’s reputation to spread. By his third month on the job, competitors were requesting him by name, and he found himself booked solid at every event. At one show in Orlando, as Hank completed a session on a competitor’s knotted shoulders, a tall, broad figure walked into the makeshift therapy room.

“Damn, you’re the guy everyone’s talking’ about,” the man said, his voice smooth but filled with quiet authority.

Hank glanced up to see a handsome, muscular figure with sharp eyes and a confident smirk. He recognized him instantly—Javier Cruz, one of the most prominent members of the Tribe. The Tribe was legendary in gay bodybuilding circles, known not just for their size but for their loyalty and camaraderie.

“Name’s Javier Cruz,” he said, extending a strong hand.

“Hank McGraw,” he replied, shaking Javier’s hand firmly.

Javier nodded, his sharp eyes assessing Hank with a look that felt both respectful and appraising. “You’re good at what you do. Damn good, from what I hear.”

“Thanks,” Hank said, his drawl thick. “Just doin’ my best to keep these guys in top shape.”

Javier’s smile widened. “The Tribe’s always looking’ for talent. And we could use someone like you—full-time. We’ve got guys pushing limits no one else can handle, and from the looks of it, you’ve got the hands to keep them in the game.”

Hank blinked, surprised but intrigued. The Tribe? A permanent position? It was the kind of opportunity that could change everything. “I’ll think about it,” Hank said, his voice steady, though his heart raced.

“Don’t think too long,” Javier said, his tone teasing but firm. “Opportunities like this don’t come around often. Here’s some additional information for you to review, give me a call when you are ready to talk.”

As Javier left, Hank stared after him, the wheels in his mind turning. He’d moved to Atlanta looking for a fresh start, but maybe the next chapter of his life was waiting with the Tribe.

—

The morning sunlight poured through the wide, arched windows, reflecting off the gleaming industrial floors of the Tribe’s warehouse-mansion. It felt as if the entire building itself breathed with the rhythm of those living within it—a mixture of muscle, sweat, and brotherhood. Laughter echoed from the gym, mingled with the unmistakable clanking of iron plates. To the untrained ear, it might have seemed like any hardcore gym, but those inside knew it was much more. This wasn’t just a place to grow muscle—it was a sanctuary for a chosen few, those willing to push their bodies and minds to their absolute limits.

Hank McGraw stood in the hallway, adjusting his tight-fitting shirt. At 6’1”, his broad shoulders and thick, farm-raised muscle filled out his clothes in ways that turned heads, even in a place like this. He had the look of someone who’d spent his whole life working hard, but there was something different about him—an aura of humble power, not flashy but undeniably present.

He entered the room and breathed deeply, the familiar scents of lavender and eucalyptus from the massage room settling his nerves. Hank wasn’t the nervous type, but today was big. His hands, thick with calluses from years of labor, ran over the neatly arranged oils on the table. This was the audition that could determine whether he became a permanent fixture in the Tribe’s world. Javier had scouted him through the bodybuilding circuit and told him about the opening for an in-house masseuse—something Hank was uniquely suited for, given his deep understanding of anatomy and recovery from both lifting and massage training.

The door creaked open behind him, and Hank turned to see Javier standing there, a broad smile spreading across his chiseled face.

"Hank! Look at you, all set up. Ready to put those strong hands to work?" Javier’s voice was smooth, confident.

"Yes, sir. Just makin’ sure everythin’s perfect," Hank replied, his deep East Tennessee drawl unhurried and calm. "Don’t wanna mess up my first shot, y’know?"

Javier chuckled, stepping closer and placing a reassuring hand on Hank’s thick shoulder. The two men shared a brief but meaningful glance—Javier, tall and sharp in his posture, sizing up Hank like a proud older brother assessing a younger sibling’s potential.

"You’re gonna do fine, Hank. Trust me. You’ve got the muscle, you’ve got the touch, and from what I’ve seen so far, you’ve definitely got the Tribe’s vibe. Just relax, be yourself."

Hank nodded, feeling the tension in his broad chest ease slightly. "Thanks, Javier. Appreciate it. This place, man...it’s somethin’ else."

"It is," Javier agreed, his eyes glinting. "It’s not just about the lifting, you know that. It’s about building a body and a life. A real brotherhood. And if you’re in, you’re in deep. But hey, I’ll let you get to it."

Just as Javier turned to leave, a shadow filled the doorway. Austin, one of the Tribe’s younger members, stepped in. Even though Austin was shorter, at 5’7”, he looked twice his size with the bulk of muscle he carried. Hank had done his research and knew about Austin—a young beast in the gym, training hard with his partner Jacob under the guidance of Coach Zane.

"Wow. You must be Hank," Austin said, his eyes wide, taking in the full frame of the newcomer. "Javier’s been talking you up. It’s great to finally meet you."

Hank extended his hand, his grip solid and warm. "Nice to meet ya, Austin. Heard a lot about you too—word travels fast, especially ‘bout how big you’ve gotten. You’re lookin’ freakin’ huge, dude."

Austin beamed, his youthful cheeks reddening. "Thanks! Been putting in the work, especially with Jacob and Zane helping. They’re crazy intense, but it’s worth it. You’ll see."

"I’m sure I will," Hank replied, eyes glinting. "This place, it’s somethin’ special, ain’t it?"

Austin nodded just as Hadi, the Tribe’s leader, entered the room. At nearly 6’4” with an intimidating yet warm presence, Hadi commanded the room with a calm authority. His hazel eyes, sharp and wise, swept over Hank.

"Hank, welcome. I see you’re settling in," Hadi said, his deep voice reverberating in the small room.

"Thank ya, Sir," Hank responded, dipping his head slightly out of respect. "This place is a dream, much more than I could’ve expected. I’m honored to even be considered."

Hadi’s smile was small but genuine. "We’re honored to have you. The Tribe has high standards, but from what Javier tells me, you’ve got the skills and the heart. Today’s your shot, and I think you’re going to do great. Your first client’s ready whenever you are."

Hank’s heart picked up the pace. "Who’s that, Sir?"

"Big Ryan," Hadi replied, his smile widening slightly. "He’s been pushing himself hard lately, and I think he’ll appreciate your strong touch."

Hank nodded, feeling a surge of confidence. Big Ryan was a name that carried weight, both literally and metaphorically, in the bodybuilding world. At 6’6” and 460 pounds of solid muscle, he was a force of nature, a mountain of a man who led by example.

“Alright Monkey, let’s give Hank some time to get ready, Big Ryan is in the shower after his workout and will be here in a few moments,” Hadi said as he guided Austin out of the space.

A few minutes later, Ryan strode into the massage room, twisting slightly to avoid hitting the sides of the doorframe. His body was a slab of pure power, his freshly showered skin glistening with droplets of water, a stark contrast to the gritty image Hank had of the giant lifter. Ryan’s towel hung loosely on his hips, but they did little to hide the sheer mass beneath.

"Hank," Ryan said in a deep, resonant tone. His voice was calm, measured, but there was a glint of curiosity in his blue eyes. "Heard a lot about you. Let’s see what you can do."

"Likewise, Ryan. Ready when you are." Hank replied, taking a breath, steadying himself.

Ryan’s lips curled into a half-smirk. "You sure about that? Let’s see if you can handle all this." With that, he peeled off his towel in one smooth motion, standing completely naked in front of Hank without hesitation. His cock hung heavy, swinging with the movement. Ryan stepped to the table with surprising grace for someone his size, lying face down. The reinforced stationary table groaned under the massive weight of Big Ryan as he settled in.

Hank's gaze lingered just a moment too long before he quickly moved to action, applying a layer of warm oil to his hands. He marveled at the sheer expanse of Ryan’s back, his muscles coiling like thick ropes under the skin. Every contour, every dip of muscle, was a testament to the hours of grueling training and discipline.

As Hank’s strong hands pressed into Ryan’s lower back, working out the deep knots and tension, he could hear the low groans of relief escape the giant beneath him. "Damn, that feels good," Ryan muttered into the table.

"Got a lot of tension in here," Hank said, his voice calm but focused as he pressed harder, feeling the thick bands of muscle beneath his fingers start to loosen. "You've been pushing hard, I can tell."

"Always. No rest for the wicked," Ryan chuckled, though his voice was hoarse, his body betraying just how much relief he needed.

Hank moved up to Ryan’s traps, applying deep pressure with both thumbs. He could feel the stress melting away under his expert touch. Every knot he worked out brought a deeper groan from Ryan, the man’s body responding involuntarily, twitching slightly as the pain gave way to pleasure.

Ryan let out a deeper groan, his body shifting under Hank’s touch. "Yeah, fuck…just like that. Feels great, Hank."

Hank worked diligently, his hands moving lower down Ryan’s massive body. He kneaded the thick muscle of Ryan’s glutes, pressing firmly into the strong muscle. Ryan’s breath hitched slightly, his body responding to Hank’s touch in more ways than one.

When Hank finally worked his way down Ryan’s massive quads, he noticed the tension wasn’t just from the training. Ryan’s muscles were twitching beneath his hands, and his cock, even facedown, was already hard, pressing against the table as it aimed down towards his feet.

Hank’s strong, practiced hands worked over Ryan’s massive hamstrings, his fingers kneading into the dense, striated muscle like a sculptor shaping stone. The reinforced massage table groaned softly under Ryan’s massive frame, but Hank worked with calm precision, unfazed by the sheer scale of the Tribe’s leader. Still, as he finished with Ryan’s hamstrings and shifted his attention lower, he couldn’t help the slight hitch in his breath when his hands moved to the man’s calves.

Ryan’s calves were a marvel, thick and diamond-shaped, the muscles flaring dramatically even as they relaxed under Hank’s touch. Each head of the muscle seemed to ripple with its own life, veins snaking over the taut skin like rivers on a map. They were enormous, ridiculously developed, and Hank couldn’t help but let out a low whistle as his thumbs pressed into the hardened muscle.

“Shit, Ryan,” Hank said, his deep Southern drawl thick with admiration. “These calves are somethin’ else. Don’t see many guys your height with development like this. It’s… freaky, in the best damn way.”

Ryan’s deep, rumbling laugh vibrated through the room. “Yeah, I get that a lot,” he replied, his voice muffled slightly as he lay face-down. “Takes a lotta work to build calves like these on a tall frame, but freaky’s what we’re goin’ for, right?”

“Damn straight,” Hank muttered, his fingers sliding lower, toward Ryan’s feet. When he uncovered them, he had to pause, his lips twitching into a grin. Ryan’s size 20 feet were as imposing as the rest of him—broad, powerful, with arches that seemed impossibly well-formed for a man so massive.

“Even your damn feet are somethin’ else,” Hank said with a laugh, his hands beginning to work over the broad soles. The skin was thick but smooth, well-conditioned, the kind of care Hank rarely saw in athletes. “You’ve got better-lookin’ feet than most of the guys I work on. What’s your secret?”

Ryan smirked, turning his head slightly to glance back at Hank. “That’d be Marco,” he said, his voice carrying that signature mix of arrogance and amusement. “My slaveboy keeps ‘em in perfect condition. Every morning, he’s on his knees, cleaning ‘em, massaging ‘em, takin’ care of whatever I need.”

Hank raised an eyebrow, his hands pausing momentarily before resuming their work. “Every day, huh? Gotta admit, I’m impressed. Not many guys can say their feet get this kinda attention.”

Ryan chuckled, a deep rumble that matched the power of his frame. “You wanna grow like me, Hank, you gotta take care of everything. Marco gets that. Keeps me on point so I can keep leading the Tribe. And believe me, he gets more out of it than I do.”

Hank nodded slowly, his hands working over Ryan’s toes, stretching them gently. “Noted,” he said, his voice steady, though his mind reeled slightly at the thought of someone dedicating their time to worshiping the giant feet of this massive man. Still, Hank couldn’t deny the logic in Ryan’s words—or the raw magnetism of a man who commanded that kind of devotion.

"Alright, big man, flip over. Let’s get the front, especially that quad you’ve been overworking," Hank said, his voice steady, though his pulse raced with anticipation.

Ryan flipped over with a grunt, his massive frame dominating the massage table, his huge cock fully erect, throbbing against his abs.

Hank’s mouth went dry as he took in the full scale of Ryan’s massive body, his mind trying to focus on the muscle but inevitably drawn to the sight of the beautiful, thick 9-inch throbbing cock that pulsed with every beat of Ryan’s heart.

The massage table creaked faintly under Big Ryan’s weight, the reinforced steel frame designed to hold up to 700 pounds proving necessary for his near 500-pound frame. Ryan lay on his back, his massive body dominating the room, every inch of him a testament to power and strength. His chest rose and fell steadily, his pecs—a pair of slabs as thick as shields—stretching out wide, each one so pronounced they created deep shadows under the recessed lighting.

Hank stood beside him, dwarfed despite his own impressive size. His hands, strong and skilled, pressed into Ryan’s thick pectorals, working through the dense muscle with deliberate pressure. "Damn," Hank muttered under his breath, his fingers barely denting the immovable wall of flesh. "I could knead concrete easier than this."

Ryan chuckled, a low rumble that matched his size. His broad face relaxed, but his deep voice still carried its usual commanding tone. “Just means you’re gonna have to dig in harder.”

Hank shifted his stance, planting his feet wider for leverage as he pushed into Ryan’s pecs with his forearms now, grinding into the muscle with slow, sweeping movements. The sheer mass of Ryan’s chest made the task monumental, but Hank was methodical, his hands sliding across the firm ridges and valleys of muscle to loosen knots buried deep within. Even Ryan’s nipples were oversized, each one like a thick, meaty silver dollar, rising to a prominent point—clearly designed to command attention, if not outright worship.

Moving to Ryan’s biceps, Hank paused to appreciate the sheer thickness of his arms. Each bicep was like a cannonball resting against the table, veins snaking along the surface like thick cables. As Hank worked his way down the length of Ryan’s arms, he couldn’t help but marvel at the size of Ryan’s hands, which lay at his sides. Each one was larger than Hank’s face, thick-fingered and powerful, the hands of a man who could crush anything in his grip yet now lay still, relaxed under Hank’s care.

“Hell of a job keeping all this moving,” Hank quipped, pressing his thumbs into the deltoids that capped Ryan’s broad shoulders. “Feels like I’m working on an ox.”

Ryan smirked, his eyes half-lidded as he rested. “You’re not wrong.”

The massage work shifted lower, and Hank worked his way to Ryan’s massive quads. They stretched out like the trunks of ancient trees, thick and powerful. Hank dug his palms into the thick muscle, feeling the raw strength beneath his fingers. He worked his way down to Ryan’s knees and then back up, kneading the muscle with steady pressure.

“This is no quick fix, these monsters are going to need a few sessions,” Hank admitted, his voice tinged with respect. “But damn if this isn’t impressive.”

Ryan let out a contented sigh, his chest rising and falling like the swell of mountains. “Take your time,” he said, his voice still carrying the weight of a man in charge, even as he let himself relax. “You’re doing good work, Hank. Keep at it.”

Hank nodded, silently grateful for the compliment as he continued, his hands lost in the overwhelming scale of the man beneath him. His hands moved swiftly but his eyes were locked on that throbbing beautiful cock.

Ryan looked down at Hank and caught where he was focused, his voice low and heavy. "You know what to do next, Hank. Finish what you started."

Hank swallowed hard, nodding as he worked his hands up the length of Ryan’s thighs. His hands shook slightly as they moved closer to Ryan’s cock, but he steeled himself. This was part of the Tribe, part of fitting in. He couldn’t back down.

Hank’s grip tightened around Ryan’s thick shaft, his movements hesitant at first, but quickly gaining confidence. The heat radiating off the massive bodybuilder beneath him was overwhelming, making the small massage room feel like it had shrunk down to just the two of them—an intimate space of muscle and power. Hank’s hand slid up and down the length of Ryan’s cock, the slick oil making his strokes smooth and easy, while Ryan’s deep, guttural groans filled the room.

"Yeah, just like that, Hank. Fuck, you’ve got a good grip," Ryan growled, his eyes half-closed, chest rising and falling with every breath. His body, so dominant in the gym and outside it, was now laid out, completely at Hank’s mercy. And Hank knew it—he could feel the raw energy pulsing between them, could sense the tension building in Ryan’s muscles, the strain in his voice.

Hank’s heart pounded in his chest as he pumped faster, his hand gliding over the throbbing cock in his grip, watching as Ryan’s abs flexed with every stroke. Ryan’s body, built like a statue of some ancient warrior god, seemed to ripple under his touch, muscles tightening and releasing in a symphony of raw masculinity.

"You gonna finish me off, Hank? C’mon, I know you’ve got more in you than that, work my fucking big cock." Ryan’s voice was a low, teasing growl, his eyes locking onto Hank’s with a challenge.

Hank’s face flushed with heat, but he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. He licked his lips, gripping Ryan’s cock tighter, stroking faster, the slick sound of skin on skin filling the small room. Ryan’s cock throbbed in his hand, veins bulging along its length as the tension mounted higher and higher.

Ryan’s hips bucked slightly, pushing into Hank’s grip, his deep moans growing louder, more urgent. "Fuck yeah, Hank, that’s it…keep going, don’t stop…" His voice was strained now, raw with need.

Hank’s body trembled with the intensity of the moment, his own arousal making it hard to focus. He kept his hand moving, faster and harder, feeling Ryan’s body tensing beneath him, every muscle coiled tight, ready to release.

"Fuuuuck…"

Ryan’s voice was a deep rumble, a primal sound that echoed in the pit of Hank’s stomach. And then, with a sharp intake of breath, Ryan’s body arched off the table, his cock jerking in Hank’s hand as he exploded, thick ropes of cum shooting up, splattering across his ripped chest and abs, dripping down over Hank’s fingers. Ryan groaned deeply, his entire body trembling with the force of his orgasm, the raw power of it leaving him breathless and spent.

Hank slowed his strokes, his hand slick with cum as Ryan’s cock twitched in his grip, the last of the release draining out. Ryan’s chest heaved as he came down from the high, his body relaxing back into the massage table, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

"Fuck, Hank," Ryan said, his voice rough, barely above a whisper. "That was…damn, you’ve got skills. I knew you’d be a good fit for the Tribe."

Hank wiped his hand on a nearby towel, his heart still racing as he took a step back, trying to catch his breath. His mind buzzed with what had just happened, but the pride in Ryan’s voice settled his nerves.

Ryan sat up slowly, still catching his breath, wiping the cum off his abs with a smirk. "You’re hired. No question about it."

"Thank you, Sir," Hank replied, his voice steady, though his heart still pounded in his chest. "Glad I could help."

Ryan stood, towering over Hank once again, his massive frame a wall of muscle and power. He clapped Hank on the shoulder, a grin spreading across his face. "You’ll fit in just fine here, Hank. Welcome to the Tribe."

[Ro20316]

and here we are again. I cant wait to read their growth this new season and what guys will join teh tribe. It looks like their little community is geeting knows in the fitness and bodybilding world. Its nice to read a pov of someoen that was out of the tribe while they were growing little by little.

[Mickeypuk]

OMG

What a start

can only imagine where Hank’s character progress

you have an amazing talent for writing and thank you for continuing this

can't wait for many more chapters

[HeyDaddy01]

Chapter 2: Settling In

Blake’s massive body filled the hallway as he led Hank deeper into the 'H' complex, the sheer width of him making it feel like the walls themselves had to give way. At 335 pounds of solid, carved-out muscle, Blake moved with an ease that didn’t seem to fit someone so imposing, his shoulders brushing close to the walls with each step. His boots clomped on the polished floors, the sound bouncing off the high ceilings like an unspoken challenge to anyone in earshot.

"Right this way," Blake rumbled, his deep voice echoing in the space, casually turning his head back toward Hank, the corners of his mouth curving up into a warm, almost mischievous grin. He caught Hank watching him, his eyes drifting between admiration and awe, but Hank snapped back to attention as Blake’s gaze met his, the connection quick but electric. "Got to get your paperwork done so you can get settled. Ryan and Hadi were impressed with you earlier."

Hank nodded, still trying to process the whirlwind of the last few hours. It was hard to get a grip on just how massive the Tribe’s home really was—everything about it seemed designed for scale, for the kind of living that could only exist in a world dominated by muscle and power. The weight room had been buzzing with energy, the clang of heavy plates, grunts of focus, and the air thick with testosterone, while the dining room had looked more like a gathering of warriors than just a group of friends sharing a lunch meal.

Blake guided him down another corridor, the light from outside pouring in through the huge windows, illuminating every ripple of muscle under Blake’s snug-fitting polo shirt. Hank followed, his own steps a little lighter, his head still spinning from the fact that he was actually here, walking with one of the Tribe’s members. He was part of this now, the camaraderie, the shared intensity of living, breathing, and building something bigger than just muscle.

Blake stopped at a set of heavy oak doors, pushing one open with ease, the muscles in his forearms bulging slightly as he did. "Here’s the office," he said, motioning Hank inside. "You’ll handle the new hire paperwork here. We just gotta get everything squared away so you can start officially on Monday."

Hank stepped into the room, glancing around. The large wooden desk in the center was as polished as the floors, flanked by a few chairs, and framed pictures covering the walls—photos of the Tribe members, trophies from bodybuilding competitions, and candid moments that spoke to the bond they shared. It felt like walking into a shrine dedicated to strength, a place where every accomplishment was earned through sweat, pain, and an unwavering will.

Blake moved behind the desk, sitting down with a casual authority, his massive arms stretching as he leaned back, his shirt barely containing the sheer size of him. Hank felt a flicker of something in his stomach—admiration, attraction, maybe a mix of both.

"Take a seat, Hank," Blake said, gesturing to the chair across from him. "This won’t take long. Just some basic paperwork, but if you’ve got questions, ask away."

Hank sat down, feeling the sturdy chair creak slightly under his weight. He pulled the stack of forms toward him, glancing over the personal information sections, though his eyes kept drifting back up to Blake. He couldn’t help but notice the way Blake’s shirt seemed to cling to every contour, the armbands stretched tight around his massive biceps, threatening to tear at the seams. There was something almost magnetic about Blake, the way he effortlessly combined power with that easy, laid-back smile.

As Hank filled out the forms, his gaze kept wandering around the room, absorbing the history of the Tribe that hung on the walls. It was humbling, inspiring even, to see just how far this group had come—and now he was being welcomed into it, like an unspoken promise that he was worthy to be one of them.

Blake stretched his arms back behind his head, locking his fingers and arching his chest forward, making the fabric of his polo strain over the slabs of muscle. His huge lats flared out and two small darker circles highlighted the deep pits as a whiff of his musk filled the room. His eyes flicked over to Hank, catching him glancing up. Blake’s smile widened. "You’re fitting in real well so far," he said, his voice a deep rumble. "Ryan and Hadi both see it. You’ve got the right vibe. It’s more than just about lifting here, man. It’s about loyalty, brotherhood."

"Yeah, I can feel that," Hank replied, his voice steady, though his heart picked up its pace slightly. He liked this place. He liked these people. "I’m just grateful for the opportunity, honestly. This place is…somethin’ else."

Blake nodded, eyes twinkling as he sat forward, his hands resting on the desk as he pulled out a couple of floor plans from a folder. "We’ve got some housing options for you. There’s an apartment in the loft area right above us, close to the gym and living spaces. But if you want more privacy, we’ve got a spot in the upper left wing. That’s closer to the new massage rooms where you’ll be working."

Hank considered it, tapping his pen on the desk. The loft sounded nice, but the idea of having a bit more privacy appealed to him. Somewhere he could decompress after a long day. "I think I’ll take the apartment in the upper left. Closer to the massage rooms, less of a trek with all my gear."

Blake’s grin widened, approving. "Good choice. Plus, you’ll be close to Malcolm. He’s our head logistics guy, runs the Tribe Moving company. You’ll get along with him, no doubt."

Hank finished the paperwork and handed it back to Blake with a sense of finality, as if something had just clicked into place. "Thanks, Blake. Appreciate all the help gettin’ me settled in."

Blake stood, towering over Hank, and clapped him on the shoulder with a firm grip. "You’re one of us now, Hank. Welcome to the Tribe."

Later that evening, Hank stood in the middle of his new apartment, the quiet settling around him like a blanket. The space was bigger than he’d expected, with two bedrooms and two baths with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the sprawling landscape beyond. The furnishings were solid, built for function and comfort—oversized furniture designed to accommodate men of their size, all of it geared toward relaxation after brutal days of pushing themselves to the edge.

Hank stripped down to his boxer briefs, feeling the cool air brush against his skin as he moved about the space. There was a deep satisfaction in his bones, the kind that only came from knowing you were exactly where you needed to be. The Tribe had already started to feel like home, and now, this apartment was his own little slice of it.

As he began unpacking his boxes and items from his truck, there was a knock at the door. He raised an eyebrow, glancing over at the clock on the wall. It was late—too late for a typical social call. Curious, Hank made his way over to the door, pulling it open to reveal a massive figure standing in the doorway.

Malcolm.

At 6’3” and built like a freight train, Malcolm towered over even Hank, his wide frame filling the doorway. His dark skin gleamed in the hallway light, and the tightness of his thin t-shirt left nothing to the imagination—his pecs, traps, and shoulders bulging against the fabric like they were ready to burst out. A thick beard framed his jaw, giving him a rugged, powerful look, and his smile was warm, though there was something in his eyes—something dangerous, something that pulled at Hank.

"Hey there, I’m Malcolm Turner," Malcolm said, his deep voice reverberating through Hank’s chest. "You must be my new neighbor Hank."

Hank extended a hand, his own palm suddenly feeling small in comparison to Malcolm’s. "That’s me, Hank McGraw," he said, his voice steady but with a hint of awe. "Blake mentioned ya. Said you run the Tribe’s moving company."

Malcolm grinned, his white teeth flashing under the light. "Yeah, that’s right. Sorry for the late visit, just got finished up with a big moving job. But I’ve got other interests too," he said, his eyes raking over Hank’s body with blatant appreciation. The unspoken heat between them ignited in an instant. "You’re quite the sight, Hank. Welcome to the Tribe."

Hank chuckled, feeling his face flush. He wasn’t used to this level of attention, but something about the way Malcolm’s eyes lingered on him made him feel…seen. "Well, I’m glad to be here," Hank replied, his voice dropping, matching the tone of Malcolm’s. "Seems like a good fit, for sure."

Malcolm stepped closer, his body heat palpable as he closed the distance between them. His voice dropped an octave, the sound like a slow rumble of thunder. "I’ve got a spot up in the national park I like to get away to. Real quiet, peaceful. I go there to clear my head, maybe do a little fishin’. What do you say? You and me, early tomorrow do a little fishing and then spend the night. Camp under the stars, just us."

Hank’s heart raced, his chest tightening with the weight of the invitation, the quiet authority and dominance. Malcolm’s presence and manly musk were overwhelming, intoxicating even, and the thought of spending a night alone with him, out in the wilderness, made his pulse quicken.

"That sounds great," Hank replied, his voice steady but laced with anticipation. "Ain’t nothin’ better than campin’ out with some good company."

Malcolm’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming with approval. He stepped even closer, his chest nearly brushing against Hank’s, the tension between them thick enough to cut. "Be ready by nine. And Hank?" Malcolm’s eyes flicked to the stack of clothes on the bed, then back to Hank, a mischievous grin curling his lips. "Wear that white jockstrap. It’ll get real cozy under the stars."

Hank’s breath caught in his throat, a mix of excitement and heat coursing through his veins. "I’ll be ready."

As Malcolm turned to leave, Hank couldn’t help but feel the promise hanging in the air, the weight of what tomorrow might bring. The Tribe, this place, this man—it was already starting to feel like more than just a new beginning.

It felt like home.

—

The crisp October air stung Hank’s lungs as he took a deep breath, his eyes scanning the horizon where fog slowly lifted off the distant mountains. Everything about this morning felt right—electric. The kind of energy that hummed through your veins when you knew something special was about to happen. And today wasn’t just any day. Today, he was going camping with Malcolm. A whole day and night in the wilderness with the one man who’d been living rent-free in his mind since the moment they met. Just the thought of Malcolm, and Hank’s heart sped up, a thrill buzzing through him.

He shifted on his feet as Malcolm’s big truck rolled up to the western entrance of the ‘H’ complex, the deep rumble of the engine breaking through the silence like a declaration. The truck looked like it had just powered through a mountain itself—dust-covered and rugged, with a presence that matched Malcolm’s effortlessly dominant aura. The F-250 was a monster, a late 2000s model painted in earthy brown, aged by years of abuse and adventure, yet still commanding respect. Hank’s eyes traced over the cracked leather seats, patched in places, and the faded map hanging from the rearview, dotted with little red pins that mapped out Malcolm’s conquests across the country. It was like the truck held the essence of Malcolm himself—rough, sturdy, built for anything.

"Morning, Hank!" Malcolm’s grin was as bright as the sunlight streaming through the early fog. He leaned out of the driver’s window, his thick muscular arm resting against the frame like he belonged to the truck, a living extension of its raw power. "You ready to hit the road? Got everything gassed up and good to go."

Hank tossed his duffel bag into the bed of the truck, where it landed on top of a mud-splattered tarp covering tools, camping gear, and a cooler that had seen better days. "Hell yeah, I’m ready." Hank swung into the passenger seat, the worn leather squeaking under his weight. "Couldn’t sleep last night thinkin’ about today… and you."

Malcolm chuckled, his deep voice making Hank’s chest vibrate. "I know what you mean." He shifted the truck into gear, and they were off, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as the mansion disappeared behind them. "Wait till you see this spot. It’s a little out of the way, but it’s worth it. You won’t want to leave."

Hank settled back into his seat as they drove deeper into the mountains. The winding roads curled through thick trees, and the air got cooler, the scent of pine and earth filling the truck cab. Conversation flowed easily between them, like the rhythm of a good song. Malcolm’s voice, low and steady, was a constant undercurrent as they shared stories—about growing up, about working with their hands, about pushing their bodies to the limit.

"So, what made you wanna join the Tribe?" Malcolm asked, glancing at Hank with genuine curiosity in his eyes.

Hank rubbed his chin, thinking back to the moment Javier had reached out. "Javier spotted me at a bodybuilding competition. Said they needed a masseuse who understood the lifestyle, knew what it was like to push yourself in the gym. It felt like a good fit, y’know? I was looking for somethin’ more. A real community."

Malcolm nodded, his fingers tapping the steering wheel in a slow rhythm. "I get that. The Tribe is… it’s not just a place. It’s a bond. Something real. It’s been good to me too." He didn’t elaborate, but there was a weight behind his words. Something deeper, something personal.

They drove in comfortable silence after that, the hum of the truck and the rustling trees the only sounds, as the road narrowed into a dirt trail. Malcolm shifted gears, and the truck bounced over the uneven terrain, the tires kicking up dust.

"Almost there," Malcolm said, excitement creeping into his voice as he veered off onto an even smaller track. Hank wouldn’t have even noticed the turn if Malcolm hadn’t known exactly where to look. They were leaving the world behind now.

A few minutes later, the truck pulled into a secluded clearing by a river, its banks lined with trees just starting to turn the deep reds, oranges, and yellows of autumn. The water flowed clear and fast, sparkling in the morning sun, the sound of it rushing over rocks like nature’s own symphony.

Hank climbed out of the truck, taking a long look around. The crispness of the air, the way the colors of the trees contrasted against the blue sky, the pure peace of the place—it was perfect. "Damn, Malcolm," Hank breathed, "this is incredible."

Malcolm was already pulling gear out of the truck bed, a grin plastered across his face. "Told ya. This is my spot. No one else knows about it. It’s just us out here." There was something possessive in his tone, like this place was a part of him, and now, by extension, it was becoming a part of Hank too.

They set up camp, their movements easy and practiced, working together like they’d been doing this for years. Hank’s hands, used to farm work and heavy lifting, felt at home gathering wood, setting up the tent, and arranging their cooking gear around the fire pit. There was a rhythm to it, a kind of unspoken language between them. Malcolm’s presence made everything feel… effortless.

By mid-morning, they were down by the river, casting lines into the crystal-clear water. The sun beat down in slants through the trees, warming the cool air. They sat on the bank, Malcolm’s powerful frame relaxed as he watched the water, his gaze occasionally drifting over to Hank. Hank felt the weight of those eyes, the way they seemed to cover him, appreciating every inch of him in the sun.

"So," Malcolm broke the quiet with that deep, gravelly tone, "what do you like to do when you’re not massaging the hell out of big bodybuilders?"

Hank laughed, reeling in his line and casting it back out again. "I’m a simple guy. Grew up on a farm, so I’ve always been about workin’ with my hands. I like fishin’, campin’, hikin’. I guess I just need space and quiet sometimes. Don’t need much to be happy."

Malcolm nodded, his dark eyes locked on Hank, his body still except for the slow flex of his forearms as he held his fishing rod. "I get that. I’m the same. Just give me the outdoors, a heavy lift, and someone good to spend it with, and I’m good."

Hank’s heart thudded a little harder in his chest at those words. He shot Malcolm a sideways glance, and Malcolm caught it, that slow, knowing grin spreading across his face again. "Seems like we got a lot in common," Hank said quietly, his voice dipping into a more intimate tone.

The rest of the day was easy—fishing, laughing, swapping stories about their childhoods and the paths that had led them both to the Tribe. By the time the sun began to set, they’d caught enough trout for dinner, and the smell of fish cooking over the open fire mixed with the scent of pine and earth. Hank had brought along corn and potatoes that Chef Luis had given him, and they ate like kings under the deepening sky, the warmth of the fire pushing back the creeping chill of night.

As the stars began to flicker overhead, the air between them seemed to change—thicker, charged. The conversation turned slower, more personal. Malcolm leaned back in his camping chair, his beer dangling from his fingers as his eyes fixed on the firelight.

"I’ve been thinkin’ about you, Hank," Malcolm said suddenly, his voice low, almost like a confession. "Since the moment I saw you."

Hank’s breath caught in his throat. The weight of those words was heavy, intense. "I’ve been thinkin’ about you too," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Didn’t expect to feel this way so fast, but… here we are."

Malcolm stood up, setting his beer down in the dirt. The firelight flickered across his face as he moved toward Hank, the shadows accentuating every muscle, every powerful step. "I’m the kind of man who doesn’t wait around when he knows what he wants," he said, his voice a deep growl as he stopped in front of Hank, towering over him. "And right now, I want you."

Hank’s heart was pounding in his chest, the heat of the fire nothing compared to the heat rushing through his body. He looked up at Malcolm, his breath shallow as his head nodded slightly, giving Malcolm the silent permission he craved. "I want you too," Hank whispered, his voice trembling with need.

Malcolm’s grin turned darker, more feral. He leaned down and kissed Hank, slow and deliberate, his lips soft but commanding. Hank moaned into the kiss, his body responding immediately, his hands gripping the edge of Malcolm’s shirt, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepened, Malcolm’s hands sliding down Hank’s back, gripping his hips and pulling him up to his feet. Their bodies pressed together, muscle against muscle, the heat of their desire making the cool night air feel irrelevant. Malcolm’s mouth trailed down Hank’s neck, his teeth grazing the skin as Hank let out a low groan.

"You good with this?" Malcolm asked, his breath hot against Hank’s ear, his hands already working to peel Hank’s shirt off his body.

"More than good," Hank breathed, his voice shaky with anticipation. "I’ve been waitin’ for this."

Malcolm’s grin widened as he peeled Hank’s shirt off, revealing the taut, sculpted muscle beneath. His hands trailed over Hank’s chest, his fingers grazing the hard ridges of his abs, exploring every inch of the skin like he’d been waiting to touch him for years. Hank let out a sharp breath, feeling the intensity of Malcolm’s rough hands on his body—a sensation that felt like it was setting his nerves on fire, sending sparks up his spine.

"Fuck, Hank," Malcolm growled, his hands rough and possessive as they slid down Hank’s sides, gripping his hips with firm pressure. "You’re even better than I imagined. I want every inch of you."

Hank’s head swam with the heat of the moment, the crackling fire, and the overwhelming need pulsing between them. He couldn’t hold back, his body responding in a primal way that made it impossible to think of anything else. He reached up, his fingers tangling in Malcolm’s shirt, tugging it off with one swift motion. Malcolm’s massive frame came into view, the firelight casting shadows across the thick, powerful muscles of his huge chest and arms.

Hank’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of Malcolm, his eyes trailing over every curve of muscle, every line of strength. Malcolm was a fucking beast—built like a wall of pure power, and Hank felt a thrill race through him knowing that all of it was about to be his.

Malcolm didn’t waste any time. He pushed Hank backward, their mouths crashing together again as they stumbled toward the tent. The cool night air was sharp against Hank’s skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from Malcolm. They fell onto the pile of open sleeping bags and blankets, their bodies entangled, Malcolm’s heavy weight pressing Hank down into the soft fabric. Hank’s hands roamed over Malcolm’s back, feeling the hard flex of muscle beneath his fingers, the raw strength that seemed to radiate from him.

Malcolm’s hands were everywhere—rough, urgent, strong, hungry. He slid them down Hank’s sides, hooking his fingers under the waistband of Hank’s jeans and tugging them down with one swift motion. Hank gasped, his body arching up into Malcolm’s touch, desperate for more.

"Goddamn," Malcolm murmured, his eyes dark with lust as he stared down at Hank, taking in the sight of him stripped down to his white jockstrap. "You’re perfect, Hank. Absolutely fuckin’ perfect."

Hank’s heart pounded in his chest, the desire in Malcolm’s voice making his body tremble with anticipation. "I’ve been waiting for this," Hank whispered, his voice breathless, his hands gripping Malcolm’s biceps. "I need you, Malcolm. Need all of you."

Malcolm let out a low growl, his lips crashing against Hank’s again in a deep, bruising kiss. His hands moved with a new urgency, sliding down Hank’s thighs, pulling the jockstrap down, and tossing it aside like it was nothing. Hank was completely exposed now, his body laid bare under Malcolm’s heated gaze.

Malcolm’s rough hand moved down, gripping Hank’s cock with firm, confident pressure. Hank let out a moan, his hips bucking up into Malcolm’s hand, his body aching for more. Malcolm’s strokes were slow and deliberate, his thumb grazing the tip of Hank’s cock, sending a jolt of pleasure through him that made him gasp.

"Fuck, you’re so hard for me, aren’t you?" Malcolm muttered, his voice a low rumble as he watched Hank writhe under his touch.

"Yeah," Hank panted, his head falling back against the blankets, his body shaking with need. "So fuckin’ hard, Malcolm. I need you to—"

"Don’t worry," Malcolm cut him off, his voice dark and commanding. "I’m gonna give you everything you need, Hank. Just hold on."

Malcolm released Hank’s cock, his hands moving to his own jeans, unbuttoning them with swift, practiced movements. Hank’s eyes flicked down, his breath catching in his throat as Malcolm pulled his pants down, revealing the massive, throbbing length of his 11-inch long cock, hard and thick, the veins bulging along its length.

Hank’s mouth watered at the sight, his body trembling with anticipation. He wanted Malcolm inside him more than anything—wanted to feel the stretch, the pressure, the raw heat of Malcolm’s huge cock filling him up. "Please, Malcolm," Hank begged, his voice low and desperate. "Please fuck me."

Malcolm’s eyes darkened with lust at Hank’s words. "You want it bad, don’t you?" he growled, his hand gripping his own cock, stroking it slowly as he stared down at Hank.

"Yes," Hank moaned, his body arching up toward Malcolm, his legs spreading wide, offering himself completely. "I need it. Please, Malcolm. I need you to fuck me hard."

Malcolm spit into his hand, slicking his thick cock with a few rough strokes before positioning himself between Hank’s legs. He grabbed Hank’s ankles, throwing them over his broad shoulders, his cock pressing against the tight, quivering hole of Hank’s ass.

"Get ready, Hank," Malcolm growled, his voice thick with desire. "I’m gonna make you feel every inch of me."

With one powerful thrust, Malcolm pushed inside, the thick head of his cock stretching Hank open, filling him with a raw, burning heat. Hank cried out, his fingers gripping the blankets beneath him, his body trembling as Malcolm pushed deeper, inch by inch, until he was seated deep within the warm hole.

"Fuck, you feel so good, you’re so tight," Malcolm groaned, his hands gripping Hank’s hips, holding him steady as he started to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate, drawing out every inch of pleasure.

Hank’s head fell back, his breath coming in ragged gasps as Malcolm’s 11-inch massive cock filled him completely, the thick cock stretching him wide, the pressure intense but perfect. "God, Malcolm," Hank moaned, his hands gripping Malcolm’s broad shoulders, his nails digging into the hard muscle. "Fuck me harder. Please."

Malcolm grinned, his eyes dark with desire as he tightened his grip on Hank’s hips, pulling him closer as he picked up the pace, his thrusts deep and hard, each one slamming into Hank’s tight hole with an intensity that made Hank see stars. The sounds of their bodies colliding, the wet slapping of skin on skin, mixed with the crackling of the fire and the rush of the river outside, creating a symphony of raw, primal lust.

"Fuck, you feel so good, Hank," Malcolm growled, his voice rough with emotion as he pounded into Hank, his cock driving deeper with every thrust. "You’re mine now, you know that? I’m gonna fuck you so hard, you’ll never want anyone else."

"Yes, oh fuck," Hank gasped, his body shaking with the force of Malcolm’s thrusts, the pleasure building with each powerful movement. "I’m yours, Malcolm. Fuck, I’m yours."

Malcolm’s cock slammed into Hank with relentless force, his thrusts hard and deep, driving Hank to the edge of ecstasy. The pressure built inside Hank, a wave of pleasure crashing through him, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. "Malcolm," Hank gasped, his voice shaking. "I’m gonna—"

"Me too, Hank," Malcolm growled, his voice thick with lust as he pounded into Hank, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate. "Cum for me, Hank. Do it."

With a final, powerful thrust Malcolm's cock pushed through his second barrier into virgin territory sending waves of pleasure overtaking Hank's mind and body. Hank came hard, his cock jerking as thick ropes of cum splattered across his chest and stomach, his body trembling with the intensity of his orgasm. At the same time, Malcolm let out a low, guttural moan, his cock pulsing deep inside Hank as he came, filling Hank with the hot, thick rush of his release.

They collapsed together, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths coming in ragged gasps as they lay entwined on the blankets. Malcolm held Hank close, his arms wrapped around him, their bodies still connected as Malcolm’s massive dick throbbed deep inside, still trembling from the intensity of their release.

Hank was gasping for air, the intensity of the orgasm still rolling through him combined with the pressure of Malcolm's 330 pounds on top of him making it difficult to breathe. As if sensing his needs, Malcolm deftly scooped Hank in his arms and rolled over onto his back, cradling Hank to his chest with his still throbbing huge cock deep in his hole. 

Hank lay there, his head resting on Malcolm’s broad chest, the steady beat of his heart soothing him as he drifted in and out of consciousness. The stars shone brightly overhead, the cool night air wrapping around them like a blanket, but all Hank could feel was the warmth of Malcolm’s body, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the quiet, intimate moment shared between them.

For the first time in a long time, Hank felt at peace.

[HeyDaddy01]

Chapter 3: Big in Berlin

Berlin lay sprawled beneath a sky so black it swallowed light, trapping the city’s wickedness under a veil. The sprawling mansion on the outskirts hosted an invite-only event few were privileged—or brazen—enough to attend. Word on the street called it…well, there was no word on the street as only a select group were aware of the underground secret among those in search of unbridled, dark delights.

When Hadi and Ryan arrived, they were met by guards with the build of freight trains, scanning invites with looks meant to intimidate. Hadi, unfazed, handed over his phone flashing their invitations with a sly smirk. As they were let through, the grandeur of the interior unfolded—lavish black marble floors, chandeliers that cast soft, luxurious shadows, and guests dressed in everything from high fashion to barely anything at all.

Inside, they spotted Alessio, their host, and two steps behind him a huge beast of a man, the two unmistakable figures dominating the entry to the main hall with an aura that seemed to keep people at arm’s length.

Alessio wore a slick, dark leather suit, tailored to the contours of his toned, muscular frame with such precision it was like a second skin. His enormous soft cock clearly visible, proudly displayed down his right leg. He’d taken on a slightly colder edge, the polish of money and power sharpening his features, making his gaze darker, less willing to be read. But it was the Beast behind him who drew the eyes. The eastern European-looking brute was a fortress of a man, towering at 6'5" with a solid, hulking build that even the cut of his matching leather suit couldn’t diminish. His bald head and the stony line of his thick square jaw made him look like he’d just stepped out of a cage fight.

Alessio’s lips curled up as he caught sight of them, gesturing with a lift of his glass. His gaze slipped to Hadi first, a slow, possessive once-over that held, lingering just long enough to communicate he hadn’t forgotten their private conversation last month. Ryan felt the heat of it, even from across the room, like Alessio was planting a flag in territory that hadn’t quite been claimed yet.

“Well, isn’t this a sight?” Alessio’s voice carried, velvet-lined and resonant. “The infamous leaders of the Tribe, live and in the flesh. Welcome.”

Ryan folded his arms, a subtle flex of brawn under his skin-tight shirt, as he eyed the big beast standing two steps behind Alessio. “Looks like you’ve bulked up on more than just money since our night in Miami,” he noted, glancing back toward Alessio with a cocky grin. “Friend of yours?”

The beast’s eyes shifted to Ryan, narrowing with an intensity that bordered on a warning. Alessio took a slow sip from his glass, unconcerned by the tension sparking between the two behemoths.

“This is Luka Draganov,” Alessio drawled. “Bodyguard, confidant, and as it happens, more than a little handy… with discipline and his fists.” He gave a small, almost imperceptible smirk, a flash of teeth as his eyes met theirs.

Ryan looked Luka up and down, his grin unrelenting. “Discipline, huh? Big man looks like he could crush someone if he blinked too hard.”

He turned his gaze back to Alessio, his voice a low rumble. “Maybe you found the right man to keep you in line.”

Alessio tilted his head, expression unreadable. “Maybe I’m the one who lets him off the leash,” he replied, his gaze cool and unyielding.

A flicker of intrigue passed over Hadi’s face. “Well,” he murmured, “looks like this night’s going to be more fun than I’d thought.”

Alessio’s grin widened, dark and suggestive, the hint of a dare glittering in his eyes. “It all depends on how far you’re willing to go.”

The party had transformed a portion of the mansion into a labyrinth of fantasies as the four men crossed thresholds into dimly lit rooms, low murmurs, and the sounds of skin meeting skin thrummed through the air. Beautiful, muscular men lounged on velvet couches, notable porn stars sprawled across slick leather benches, or the rich and famous stood pressed or secured against mirrored walls, lost in whatever pleasures had enticed them all here tonight.

At some point, Alessio beckoned Hadi with a tilt of his chin, leading him to a quieter room. The two exchanged a knowing look—business was expected before pleasure.

Once the door closed, Alessio leaned back against a black marble-topped table, his stance open but guarded, as if he were always half in control, half ready to strike, and always that magnificent monster of a cock on full display. “You’ve heard the rumors, haven’t you?” Alessio’s voice was low, a conspiratorial murmur meant only for Hadi’s ears.

“More than rumors.” Hadi’s eyes narrowed. “A project with international pull, government contracts, private interests. You’re not playing us and backing out now, are you?”

Alessio chuckled, a short, amused sound that sounded almost cold. “I stopped playing the day I signed on. This is… bigger than that night in Miami, bigger than I had ever dreamed. I am more involved than anything I’ve ever touched and this is exactly what I’ve been searching for.” He leaned forward, eyes glinting. “I’m all in, are you?”

Hadi held his gaze, weighing the words, feeling the subtle challenge in Alessio’s expression. “Absolutely, I’ll have more details on the latest acquisition to you shortly,” Hadi confided. 

“Great, last month’s shipment is en route following all protocols.” Alessio gave a little smirk as his eyes lit up. The stakes, the danger—everything about it lured him in like a moth to a flame.

Before Hadi could respond, the door opened. Ryan stood in the doorway, face half-shadowed. Behind him, Luka loomed, looking even larger under the dim lighting.

“Everything OK in here?” Ryan’s voice was sharp, possessive, though his eyes danced with an edge of amusement.

“Absolutely,” Hadi replied smoothly, standing up. “We were just wrapping up.”

They all exchanged a look, unspoken agreements, boundaries blurred but understood. The foursome moved back into the main hall, joining the hedonistic chaos.

It wasn’t long before they found themselves in a private section of the party, the four of them in a velvet-draped room with only flickering candles casting shadows over their forms. Alessio’s smirk turned predatory as he looked from Hadi to Ryan, finally resting his gaze on Luka, whose stance shifted, thick arms crossed, huge muscles flexing as his eyes settled on Alessio with a glint that promised things beyond words.

Luka pulled back the heavy velvet curtain with a deliberate motion, revealing the hidden chamber beyond. The room was darkly luxurious, its steel fixtures gleaming under soft, ambient lighting. At the center, a black leather sling hung suspended from thick metal chains, its design both functional and intimidating. Alessio smirked over his shoulder, his chiseled jawline catching the light as he began peeling off his tailored leather suit jacket. His sharp Greek features were framed by his perfectly styled dark hair, his thick, muscular chest already straining against the buttons of his dress shirt.

Turning to Ryan and Hadi, who stood near the entrance of the room, Alessio’s grin widened. “I think you two are going to appreciate this,” he said, his rich, velvety voice dripping with mischief. He unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his sculpted abs and broad shoulders, his movements slow and deliberate. “Luka’s been keeping me… disciplined. Training me to take things to the next level. He has had his hands full of me lately.”

Ryan chuckled, his massive arms crossed over his chest, his cocky smirk spreading as he exchanged a look with Hadi. “This should be good,” Ryan said, his deep voice carrying across the room. He gestured to a pair of plush leather chairs near the edge of the space. “Come on, Hadi. Let’s get comfortable. I think we’re in for a show.”

Hadi followed, his hulking frame moving with ease despite his size. He poured bourbon into two crystal tumblers from a nearby cart, handing one to Ryan before settling into his chair. Both men sat back, their eyes fixed on Alessio, who was now kicking off his boots and undoing the buckle of his belt.

Alessio slid his leather pants down, revealing thick, muscular thighs and a massive cock that hung heavily between them, already semi-hard. He shot Ryan and Hadi a sly look as he stepped out of his clothing. “I hope you enjoy watching,” he said, his accent wrapping around every word like silk. “Luka is quite skilled, and you know I’m not one to hold back.”

Luka, the 6'5" tank of a bodyguard, moved into position behind Alessio with a commanding presence. His muscular build was almost overwhelming, and his blocky head and sharp jawline gave him an air of authority that made it clear he wasn’t just an accessory to Alessio’s lavish lifestyle.

“Get in position,” Luka ordered, his deep voice steady and firm.

Alessio obeyed without hesitation, reclining into the leather sling as Luka adjusted the straps to support his weight. His arms and legs were lifted, the thick leather cuffs securing his wrists and ankles and exposing him completely. Alessio’s breathing quickened as he settled into place, his enormous cock fully erect now, throbbing with anticipation as it reached up to his pecs.

Luka took his time as Alessio watched him undress to a full thick harness and leather jock, with his huge, heavy leather boots. He was a Tom of Finland drawing come to life.

Luka moved to a nearby cart, retrieving a bottle of thick, clear lube. He coated his massive hands liberally, the slick sound echoing in the quiet room as he coated his thick right forearm. “You ready for this, boss?” Luka asked, his dark eyes locking onto Alessio’s.

Alessio grinned, his voice steady despite the anticipation crackling in the air. “Always, Luka. You know I can take it.”

Ryan leaned back in his chair, sipping his bourbon as he watched intently. “Confidence,” he remarked, his smirk widening. “I like that.”

Hadi chuckled, his hazel eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before them. “Let’s see if he can live up to it,” he said, taking a slow sip of his drink.

Luka stepped forward, his slick hand trailing down Alessio’s muscular thigh before teasing along the sensitive skin of his exposed hole. Alessio let out a low moan, his head falling back against the sling as Luka worked a single thick finger inside, testing him.

“You’ve been keeping up with your training on the plugs,” Luka said, his tone approving as he added another finger. “Good. This is going to be easier than last time.”

Alessio gasped, his hips bucking slightly against Luka’s hand. “You’re not here to go easy on me,” he said, his voice strained but steady. “Push me, Luka.”

Ryan chuckled, swirling the bourbon in his glass. “He’s got a mouth on him,” he said, exchanging an amused glance with Hadi.

Luka didn’t reply, his focus entirely on Alessio as he worked his fingers deeper, stretching him with deliberate precision. His other hand gripped Alessio’s thick thigh, holding him steady as he added a third finger. Alessio’s monster cock twitched, precum dripping onto his pecs as he moaned louder, his body arching slightly.

“You can take more,” Luka growled, his voice commanding as he added a fourth finger, the stretch making Alessio gasp.

“Fuck,” Alessio hissed, his head turning to the side as his muscles tensed. “Yes. Don’t stop.”

Luka smirked, his hand slick and glistening as he pushed deeper, his knuckles pressing against Alessio’s hole. “I never stop, boss,” he said, his tone almost teasing. “Not until you’re completely filled.”

Hadi leaned forward slightly, his gaze locked onto Alessio’s face. “He’s taking it, fuck,” he said, his voice low and impressed.

Ryan grinned, swirling his drink again. “Of course he is,” he said. “A guy like him? He thrives on this.”

Luka finally worked his entire gigantic hand inside, his thick wrist disappearing as Alessio cried out, his body trembling with the overwhelming sensation. “There it is,” Luka said, his voice filled with satisfaction as he began to move, his hand twisting and pumping slowly.

Alessio’s moans grew louder, his cock leaking steadily as his body adjusted to the stretch. “Yes,” he gasped, his voice high and desperate. “Fuck, Luka. Don’t stop. Give me everything.”

Ryan and Hadi watched in silence now, their eyes glued to the scene. The room was filled with the wet, obscene sounds of Luka’s huge hand working Alessio’s hole, the sling creaking under the force of their movements.

“You’re incredible, Alessio,” Ryan said finally, his voice a low rumble. “This is fuckin’ next-level.”

Alessio let out a breathless laugh, his eyes half-lidded as he met Ryan’s gaze. “You should try it sometime, I’d love to feel you stretch me Ryan” he managed, his voice breaking slightly as Luka twisted his wrist again.

Hadi grinned, raising his glass in a mock toast. “We’ll see,” he said, his hazel eyes gleaming with amusement. “But for now, let’s just enjoy the show.”

Luka grinned wickedly as he pulled his hand back slightly, twisting his wrist with a slow, deliberate motion that sent Alessio’s body shuddering. The billionaire playboy groaned loudly, his muscular chest heaving as his cock pulsed, a steady stream of piss shooting out of his throbbing meat.

“You’re handling this better than last time,” Luka growled, his deep voice tinged with approval as he began pushing his massive fist back into Alessio’s stretched hole. The wet, obscene sound of lube and flesh filled the room, mingling with Alessio’s breathless cries.

“Fuck,” Alessio gasped, his fingers gripping the edges of the leather sling as Luka’s knuckles disappeared inside him again. “You’re a goddamn beast, Luka. More. Give it to me.”

Luka’s smirk widened, his other hand gripping Alessio’s muscular thigh as he began a rhythm, pulling his fist back and driving it in with force. Each punch of his huge hand sent a shockwave through Alessio’s powerful body, his thick legs quivering as the intensity built.

“You want more?” Luka growled, his voice low and commanding. “Say it.”

“I want it!” Alessio cried out, his head falling back against the sling, his dark hair slick with sweat. “Don’t stop, Luka. Punch me harder. Make me feel it.”

Ryan and Hadi sat in their chairs, the scene unfolding in front of them like a live-action fantasy. Ryan’s deep blue eyes gleamed with lust as he adjusted himself, his massive cock already straining against the fabric of his pants. Hadi, equally affected, leaned forward slightly, his hazel eyes fixed on Luka’s glistening arm as it worked relentlessly.

“Jesus,” Ryan muttered, his voice thick with arousal. “Look at him go.”

Hadi nodded, his hand slipping into his waistband as he watched Luka’s fist slam into Alessio’s hole again, the sheer force of it making the sling creak. “Fucking beast punching that hole hard,” he murmured, his breath hitching as he pulled his cock free, stroking it slowly.

Luka’s focus never wavered, his massive arm flexing as he picked up the pace, driving his fist into Alessio with brutal precision. “You’re mine right now,” he growled, his voice rough and dominant. “You take what I give you, Alessio. No limits.”

Alessio moaned louder, his cock jerking as his body trembled under the onslaught. “Yes,” he gasped, his voice breaking. “I’m yours, Luka. Fuck, I can feel you in my goddamn stomach!”

Ryan chuckled, his voice low and amused as he unzipped his pants, freeing his own massive cock. “You’ve got to respect a man who can take that,” he said, gripping himself and stroking slowly as he watched. “He’s a fucking legend.”

Hadi’s gaze flicked to Ryan briefly, his lips curving into a smirk as he matched Ryan’s pace, their massive hands working their thick shafts in unison. “Think Luka’s gonna break him?” he asked, his voice teasing.

“Not a chance,” Ryan replied, his eyes locked on Alessio’s flushed face. “He’s too stubborn for that. But it’s gonna be one hell of a ride.”

As if on cue, two beautiful men entered and kneeled in front of Ryan and Hadi taking each of their hard cocks in their full wet lips allowing the two giants to sit back and fully enjoy the show.

The room was filled with the wet, rhythmic sound of Luka’s fist working Alessio’s hole, each thrust harder and deeper than the last. Alessio’s moans turned into cries, his muscular body arching as the intensity pushed him to the edge. His pace was frantic literally punching the gaping hole with a staccato rhythm like a punching bag.

“Come on, Alessio,” Luka growled, his voice rough with exertion. “You wanted this. Reward me with your cum now.”

“Yes, Fuck YES!” Alessio cried out, his voice trembling as his monster cock erupted, thick streams of cum splattering across his face and chest. His entire body convulsed, his cries echoing through the room as he rode out the overwhelming climax.

Ryan groaned, his hand tightening around the head of the man who was sucking his cock as he watched Alessio’s release. “Fuck,” he muttered, his hips bucking as he came, his load spilling down the warm throat.

Hadi followed seconds later, his own release gagging his cocksucker as he let out a low growl, his massive chest rising and falling as he rode through the aftershocks.

Luka finally slowed, his fist sliding free of Alessio’s hole with a wet pop. He stood back, his massive chest heaving as he looked down at the billionaire playboy, who lay limp in the sling, his body covered in piss, sweat and cum, his face flushed with satisfaction.

“Good job, boss,” Luka said, his tone almost teasing as he grabbed a towel to wipe his hands. “You held up better than last time.”

Alessio let out a breathless laugh, his dark eyes fluttering open as he looked up at his bodyguard. “You never disappoint, Luka,” he said, his voice hoarse but full of amusement.

Ryan and Hadi exchanged a glance, both men grinning as they reached for their bourbon glasses. “That,” Ryan said, his voice still thick with arousal, “was one hell of a show.”

Hadi nodded, raising his glass in a mock toast. “To the legend,” he said, his hazel eyes gleaming with amusement. “Alessio.”

Luka escorted them out of the room and closed the heavy drapes to give Alessio time to recover. “Go, enjoy,” he ordered, clearly hosting not his forte, Ryan led Hadi out to discover other adventures.

____________________________________________________________________

The first rays of dawn began to stretch across the horizon as Ryan and Hadi sat in the back seat of the chauffeured Mercedes, the quiet hum of the engine matching their reflective silence. The wild chaos of the night still lingered in the air between them, unspoken but palpable. Ryan's eyes fell to his hand, massive and steady, resting possessively on Hadi’s thick, muscular thigh. It was a casual touch but carried weight—undeniable, deliberate.

His mind drifted back a couple of years, to his time with the university basketball team. The memory surfaced like an old highlight reel: the players marveling as he palmed a basketball with ridiculous ease, his hand swallowing the orange leather sphere like a piece of fruit. Someone had brought up Shaq’s legendary hands—10 ¾ inches from middle finger to wrist, 12 inches around the palm. That sparked a flurry of bets, with the guys arguing whether Big Ryan’s hands measured up. The debate had to be settled, and when it was, the results had stunned even him. Despite being seven inches shorter than Shaq, Ryan’s hands were nearly identical in length at 10.5 inches but even thicker, measuring 12.25 inches around.

His gaze shifted back to Hadi as the car rolled smoothly along. The gentle rise and fall of Hadi's breath beneath his touch felt grounding, though Ryan’s thoughts remained scattered. His thumb traced small circles over the thick curve of Hadi’s quad, his movements unconscious yet undeniably intimate.

“Alessio’s submissive journey sure has come a long way in the last few months,” Ryan murmured, his voice low, reflective. He didn’t bother glancing at Hadi, still caught somewhere between the weight of memory and the heat of the present. His focus stayed on his hand—those enormous fingers, the ones that had once commanded basketballs, now effortlessly commanding the space they occupied. Hadi shifted slightly under the touch, his body reacting always as an acknowledgment of the dominance Ryan exuded without trying.

“Yeah, he definitely takes things to their extreme,” Hadi paused, “And being punch fisted by a brute like Luka with paws the size of a fucking bear was definitely a surprise twist I didn’t expect for Alessio.” Hadi dryly remarked as he replayed the sight of the huge Dominant Russian beast driving his fist over and over into the gaping hole as Alessio cried out, begging for more. 

Hadi glanced down and saw Ryan’s huge hand ball up into a fist that was even bigger and thicker than Luka’s. Hadi let out a laugh as he realized the thoughts running through his husband’s head, “Don’t even think about it big man, I can barely handle your thick cock and there’s no fucking way I could take that huge fist of yours!” 

Ryan laughed embarrassingly and leaned over and gave his husband a kiss realizing that he had been caught in his own fantasies as he imagined the sensation of having his hand inside Hadi’s sweet hole. 

“I know babe, and believe me I appreciate you giving me that gift and I wouldn’t want to do anything that might stretch out your perfect hole. But, I’ll admit, I am curious about it. I’ve tried fisting before in the past with some very experienced guys who were into it but my giant hands were always too big for them.” Ryan said as he relaxed his fist and went back to lightly squeezing Hadi’s thigh.

Hadi gave him a light chuckle, “Hmmm, you know, I might know a guy…”

[Ro20316]

Alessio and Hadi are talking big game. Their projects as a team are coming together nicely.

That fisting scene was intense. Aleesio and Luke put up quite a show

[HeyDaddy01]

3 minutes ago, Ro20316 said:

Alessio and Hadi are talking big game. Their projects as a team are coming together nicely.

That fisting scene was intense. Aleesio and Luke put up quite a show

You're right that fisting scene was intense and isn't going to be everyone's thing, and that's OK. But Alessio isn’t just anyone, is he? He’s a billionaire playboy who thrives on excess, on testing limits, on owning every room he steps into. That scene wasn’t just about shock value; it was about showing exactly who Alessio is—a man who doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hold back, and takes everything to its absolute extreme.

It’s the same energy that fuels the storyline in Hadi’s world, where indulgence and power collide in ways most people can’t even imagine. For guys like Alessio and Hadi, it’s not just about strength or dominance—it’s about pushing boundaries, physically and mentally, and seeing who can handle it. If that doesn’t fit Alessio’s personality perfectly, I don’t know what does. 

Thanks for keeping the comments coming.  Love the engagement, but I try to be careful not to provide any spoilers for future developments. 

[HeyDaddy01]

Chapter 4: London Layover

The private jet touched down at London City Airport just as the last blush of dusk lingered on the horizon. Ryan peered out the window, seeing a city cloaked in shadow, shimmering under the soft orange glow of streetlights, like veins pulsing in the dark skin of the earth. They had left the debauchery of Berlin behind and were headed home, with a short layover in London. 

Next to him, Hadi sat in easy silence, the unreadable mask he wore so well fixed firmly in place. Ryan had known Hadi long enough to know not to interrupt whatever gears were turning behind those dark hazel eyes. Hadi’s intentions were an enigma wrapped in charm, a mystery Ryan had never quite managed to fully unravel. Ryan knew the game he just didn’t know all of the players or the prizes, his role was clearly understood at times like this, he was The Protector, The Intimidator, The Muscle. 

A blacked-out Bentley waited on the tarmac. They moved in a practiced rhythm, their every motion smooth and discreet. Ryan followed Hadi into the back of the car without a word; the driver gave a brief nod and merged into the stream of lights already knowing their destination.

“Are you ready for tonight?” Hadi asked finally, his voice low, almost intimate in the small space. His tone held no suggestion, but Ryan caught the edge of intensity underneath. It always lay close to the surface with Hadi, masked just enough to keep others guessing.

“Always ready.” Ryan’s tone was heavy, almost rigid, and there was something electric under his skin, a taut awareness that Hadi could sense without being told. He felt the ripple of Ryan’s smirk before he saw it.

They drove through the city, the quiet hum of the engine nearly soothing. Ryan watched Hadi’s fingers resting on the leather seat, each one long and precise, their strength barely hidden beneath the surface. In the low light of the car, Hadi’s face was all sharp angles and shadows, an abstraction of the man Ryan knew. There was something about him tonight—a focus so absolute it was unnerving.

After what felt like an eternity, they arrived at the auction house, a hulking, ancient building with iron-wrought gates and an aura of hallowed exclusivity. It was as if the building itself knew the secrets it held and kept them close, guarding them in dim, wood-paneled rooms filled with artifacts and heirlooms from lives long past. Ryan had been here twice before with Hadi, but each visit seemed to strip another layer from the place, exposing depths he hadn’t noticed before.

Inside, the air was thick with hushed voices and an undercurrent of anticipation. Every face was a mask, every smile a distraction. Hadi led the way, moving with an unspoken authority that parted the subtle waves of curiosity that followed him. He’d perfected the art of being noticed without being seen, an elegance that Ryan could only aspire to. Ryan’s massive muscles demanded attention, demanded focus as he scanned the room his body primed on full alert.

They settled into their seats, cushioned and discreetly spaced apart from the others in the room. The auction began, the soft voice of the female auctioneer flowing over them like honey. Hadi’s gaze stayed fixed on the items as they came up one by one, flicking to Ryan only when he felt like it, a private glance that held no emotion, only calculation.

Ryan felt his pulse quicken when the first item Hadi had mentioned appeared. It was a rare piece —from an obscure artist known only to collectors with serious reach. Hadi lifted a single finger, a barely-there motion that nonetheless commanded attention. The bids came in, rising fast, but Hadi’s focus never wavered, and with each subtle raise of his finger, he inched closer to ownership, until finally, the auctioneer’s gavel struck the final, decisive note. Hadi’s fingers relaxed, and Ryan caught the faintest glint of satisfaction in his beautiful hazel eyes.

The next item was an antique, a relic that bore the weight of history and blood, polished to a dull gleam under the lights. Hadi’s fingers twitched as he signaled the bid, and the thrill shot through Ryan, mingling unease with intrigue. The bids flew higher, a flurry of intense, muted gestures from the few who knew its worth. But Hadi was relentless, his hand moving with a fluidity that turned every motion into a final, resolute claim. When the gavel struck again, the room quieted, a ripple of unspoken acknowledgment passing through the crowd.

“Another trophy?” Ryan couldn’t help the amusement in his voice. Hadi’s small smile was sharp.

“Not a trophy. A reminder. There’s power in history, in the things people once touched and feared. One day, I hope people will understand that.” He leaned back, his fingers tapping against the leather armrest, the rhythm hypnotic, an unspoken declaration of the power he held—not just over objects but over people, over Ryan. Ryan loved seeing Hadi in his element, he kept having to shift his weight to rearrange his achingly hard cock trapped in his designer slacks. 

As the evening wore on, Hadi claimed three more pieces with the same quiet determination. Each bid he placed was a reminder of his reach, his power, and his ability to slip into any world and claim what he wanted. Ryan could feel it—the allure, the magnetic pull of a man who could turn the silent mechanics of acquisition into an art form.

They left just as quietly as they’d arrived, slipping back into the Bentley with a nod from the driver. Ryan felt the weight of the evening settle over him, a reminder of the fine line he walked by staying by Hadi’s side. Hadi came from a different world and when he played in that world with such stunning ease and sophistication, Ryan was in awe that this man belonged to him, his husband. In the back of the car, Hadi was silent again, but there was a fire in his eyes, a smoldering satisfaction that lit up his face in the dark.

They were halfway back to the jet when Hadi finally broke the silence.

“You’re still with me, right.” His voice was soft, but there was a challenge in it, a taunt as he wrapped his hand into Ryan’s.

Ryan met his gaze, the intensity of it a force of its own. “I think you’d be disappointed if I weren’t.”

Hadi’s smile was slow, dangerous, a silent admission that he enjoyed the chase as much as the claim. “Good,” he murmured, “I need you Ryan, more than you’ll ever know. I couldn’t do any of this without you. When we get back to the plane I need you to take me, claim me and make me yours. You are the only man who can do that to me and I need it, I need you.”

Ryan responded with a deep grunt. The power and possession embedded within it sent a shiver to Hadi’s core. No other words needed.

Looking out into the London night, Hadi’s expression was a mask of satisfaction tempered with the thrill of the game, a game he was certain he’d already won.

—

The private jet hummed softly as it lifted from the tarmac, cutting through the London night sky, and heading westward into the dark sky. The sleek luxury of the cabin was only slightly disrupted by the faint scent of polished leather and the light murmur of the engines. As they ascended, Ryan settled into his seat with an air of calm, but there was a glint in his eyes that held the storm at bay, a hint of something darker.

Hadi was quiet, his face unreadable as he watched the city below grow smaller, disappearing under a thin veil of clouds. The thrill of the auction still pulsed between them, like an unspoken pact. They’d left behind that crowd of curious onlookers, but the tension was far from gone. It thickened in the confined space of the jet, filling every shadowed corner, every breath.

Once the seatbelt sign flickered off, Ryan rose, unfolding to his full, imposing height, the dim cabin lights casting his broad frame in shadows. At 6’6” and 465 pounds, he filled the cabin in a way that Hadi could never fully match, though he was far from small at 6’4” and 330 pounds. There was something primal about the difference between them, an animalistic power that neither of them had ever put to words.

Ryan took a step toward him, and Hadi’s gaze lifted, narrowing. In any other room, in any other context, Hadi was a force to be reckoned with, a man who never bent, never folded. But here, on this plane, in this space, there was only Ryan, filling the air with a presence that demanded something raw, something unspoken.

Ryan’s voice was low, a command wrapped in velvet. “Crawl.”

A silence fell between them, heavy, expectant. For a heartbeat, Hadi’s jaw tightened, his gaze unyielding. But then, with the slightest shift of his posture, he moved, sliding from his seat to his knees, his gaze never leaving Ryan’s.

Ryan watched Hadi drop to all fours and crawl towards him, a rare submission to no one but Ryan, an act that both of them knew held more weight than any words could ever convey. The dim light cast shadows over Hadi’s face, his jaw set, eyes dark with something between reluctance and thrill. Ryan could feel the thrum of his own pulse, that familiar edge of power pulsing through him. Ryan knew how to quickly control him and slide him into the proper submissive headspace that Hadi craved, that was real power.

With deliberate slowness, Ryan shrugged off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor, and then peeled off his shirt, exposing the thick, powerful muscles that carved his chest and shoulders, the thick, hard muscles that he’d built over years of discipline and sheer, unyielding will. His biceps flexed as he pulled his shirt off entirely, each muscle bunching and relaxing under his skin, thick as iron. He looked down at Hadi, letting his arms hang loose, a silent command.

“Touch,” Ryan growled, voice low and rough. Hadi rose to his knees and reached up.

Hadi’s eyes traced the lines of Ryan’s broad shoulders, the heavy curve of his chest, the rippling power contained in each limb. His fingers hovered just above Ryan’s skin, hesitant, caught in that liminal space between resistance and surrender. But the allure of Ryan’s strength, the sheer physical presence he radiated, drew him in, and Hadi’s hands finally pressed against the solid plane of Ryan’s massive chest.

Ryan smirked as Hadi’s fingers explored, sliding over the dense, corded muscle of his pecs, the pointy meaty nipples, and down over the iron-hard ridges of his abdomen. Ryan lifted his arm, flexing one massive bicep, the peak rising under Hadi’s hand, solid and unyielding. Hadi’s hand traced the curve, his fingers pressing against the mass as if to test its limits, to see just how solid the man in front of him truly was.

“Feel” Ryan’s voice was taunting, a dark gleam in his eyes as he held the flex, watching Hadi’s reaction. “That’s real power. Something you’re only beginning to understand.”

Hadi’s breath was steady, but his eyes betrayed him, glinting with something sharp, something reverent as he continued to run his hands over Ryan’s arms, shoulders, chest, taking in the sheer scale and weight of the man towering over him. The quiet between them was thick, broken only by their breaths, by the brush of Hadi’s hands on Ryan’s skin, by the subtle crackle of electricity in the air.

Ryan leaned forward, bringing himself close to Hadi’s level but still somehow managing to loom, to command. He lifted one arm again, the bulging bicep swelling as he held the flex, making every fiber of muscle strain to its peak. 

“Kiss,” he ordered, his voice a soft growl.

Hadi’s hesitation was brief, a mere flicker, before he leaned in, pressing his lips against the solid wall of Ryan’s muscle, his breath warm against the skin. Ryan felt the tickle of Hadi's thick beard, the soft brush of his mouth, the pressure of his lips against his arm, and something raw surged in him, something fierce and possessive.

“That’s it,” Ryan murmured, his tone a blend of command and approval. “You’re starting to understand my power.” He shifted, extending his other arm, flexing both biceps now, making every inch of his body a wall of solid concrete that Hadi was forced to acknowledge, to worship.

Ryan’s presence filled the cabin like a storm, his broad shoulders casting shadows across the dimly lit space, every inch of him alive with raw, unrestrained power. His arms, each thicker than most men’s thighs, rose in a slow, deliberate flex, his biceps swelling to their full, solid size. He watched as Hadi’s fingers pressed tentatively against them, testing, feeling the sheer density beneath his grip.

“Harder,” Ryan growled, his voice low, sending a thrill down Hadi’s spine. “Get it wet with your tongue.” There was no space for reluctance, no room for hesitation. Here, in this space, Ryan held absolute control, and Hadi’s quiet obedience was his tribute.

Hadi pressed his mouth firmly against the curve of Ryan’s bicep, feeling the solid muscle beneath his lips, unyielding and hot to the touch. Ryan’s scent filled his senses—a mix of leather, faint cologne, and something unmistakably him that was his powerful musk. The taste of his skin was grounding, rough against his lips, a reminder of the dominance he couldn’t hope to match. Hadi kissed his way slowly down the bulging bicep, down to Ryan’s massive forearm, tracing the veins that stood out like rivers carved into stone.

“Look at you,” Ryan murmured, smirking as he watched Hadi’s reverence unfold. “All that power, spending millions of dollars with just the flick of your finger, and yet you’re here—right where you belong.” He let out a low chuckle, the deep rumble of it filling the space, making the cabin seem smaller, more intimate, like a cocoon that trapped them both in this game of power and submission.

Ryan shifted, letting his massive chest expand as he breathed in, each breath making his pecs rise, thick and carved, with the light hair scattered across his chest catching the dim light. He looked down at Hadi, who knelt below him, tracing his fingers along the hard muscle that lay beneath his skin, the silent worship palpable in every motion.

“Show me how much you want it,” Ryan commanded, his voice rough, his gaze unyielding. He brought one hand down to Hadi’s head, pressing it against his chest, his fingers threading through his hair, holding him in place. Hadi’s mouth was pressed against the thick wall of Ryan’s chest, and he let himself go, tracing his lips across the taut muscle, feeling the solid strength beneath, every inch of Ryan’s body a testament to sheer power.

“Good,” Ryan murmured approvingly. “That’s exactly where you belong.”

Ryan grabbed Hadi by the collar of his shirt, his grip firm and unyielding as he guided him into position. 

"Kneel," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. Hadi obeyed without hesitation, sinking to his knees before the massive muscle beast, looking up at him with a mix of awe and desire.

Ryan looked down at him, a pleased expression crossing his face as he reached down to unzip his pants. Hadi's eyes widened as he watched the huge hands free the thick, hard cock from the confines of his pants. The sight of it made Hadi's mouth water, and he licked his lips in anticipation.

"Suck," Ryan said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. Hadi nodded, leaning forward to take the huge hard cock into his mouth, his lips wrapping around the thick shaft as he began to suck. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mix of musk and sweat that made Hadi moan around the thick missile of a cock in his mouth.

Ryan’s huge hand tangled in Hadi’s thick black hair, holding him in place as he began to thrust, setting a slow, deliberate pace that had Hadi’s heart racing. Each thrust pushed him deeper, testing his limits, but Hadi welcomed the challenge, wanting nothing more than to please the man towering over him.

"That’s it," Ryan groaned, his grip tightening in Hadi’s hair as he picked up the pace, his hips snapping forward with more force. Hadi gagged slightly, his eyes watering, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he pushed forward, wanting to take more of Ryan, whose cock continued to drive and push; to show him just how good he could be.

The jet’s cabin was filled with the sounds of their shared pleasure—the wet, sucking noises of Hadi’s mouth, the low, primal groans that escaped Ryan’s lips. Hadi’s head bobbed in time with each powerful thrust, his hands gripping his dominant man’s massive thighs for support as he worked to bring him to the edge.

Just when Hadi thought he couldn’t take anymore, Ryan pulled back, his gigantic cock slipping from Hadi’s mouth with a wet pop. Hadi looked up at him, his lips swollen and glistening, a question in his eyes. Ryan’s hand cupped his chin, tilting his head back to meet his gaze.

"You’re a powerful man, Hadi," Ryan murmured, his thumb brushing over Hadi’s lower lip. "But now, I think it’s time for me to show you just how powerful I can be." 

With that, he pulled Hadi to his feet, spinning him around and bending him over the arm of the large seat in one swift motion. Hadi’s breath hitched deep, his hands gripping the cushions as he felt Ryan’s large hands on his hips, pulling his pants down to his ankles.

Hadi’s mind was a whirlwind of anticipation and desire, his body trembling with need. He felt vulnerable yet safe, completely at Ryan’s mercy, and he couldn’t wait to feel what the massive muscle beast had in store for him.

"Wider," Ryan commanded, his voice a sharp, commanding growl that cut through the air like steel. There was no room for hesitation, no softness—only absolute authority that made Hadi’s pulse race.

Hadi obeyed instantly, his legs spreading further apart, exposing himself completely. The cool air hit his skin, sending a shiver through him, but it wasn’t the chill—it was the anticipation, the undeniable magnetism of Ryan’s dominance.

Ryan stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, his shadow falling over Hadi like a predator closing in on its prey. Without warning, his hand came down hard on Hadi’s hairy ass with a resounding crack. The sharp sting made Hadi gasp, his breath hitching in his throat.

"Good," Ryan drawled, his voice dripping with arrogance as his palm rubbed possessively over the reddened skin. "That’s what I like—obedience. You’re going to take everything I give you, aren’t you?"

"Yes, sir," Hadi breathed, his voice trembling with a mix of need and submission.

Ryan smirked, cocky and unapologetic, as he positioned himself. His massive, rock-hard cock pressed against Hadi’s entrance, and he didn’t wait for permission—he didn’t need it. With a powerful thrust, Ryan buried himself to the hilt, making Hadi cry out in a raw mix of pain and pleasure.

"Take it," Ryan snarled, his hands gripping Hadi’s hips like a vice. "Every inch of my big hard cock, Hadi. You’re mine now."

Hadi’s fingers clawed at the cushions, his body arching as he adjusted to the overwhelming size stretching him to the limit. The brutal pace Ryan set was merciless—hard, deep, and unapologetically dominating. Ryan went rocketing straight to his sledgehammer pace of pure speed, force, and power. Each thrust slammed into Hadi, skin meeting skin with a force that echoed through the cabin, overpowering even the hum of the jet engines.

"Is this what you wanted?" Ryan demanded, his voice a low growl as he drove deeper, harder. "To be owned? To feel what real power is?"

"Yes Sir!" Hadi gasped, his voice breaking as Ryan pounded into him, each stroke pushing him closer to the brink. His entire body trembled under the relentless onslaught, his mind consumed by the sheer intensity of being taken so completely.

Ryan leaned in, his breath hot against Hadi’s ear. "You’re not just taking me—you’re begging for it. Look at you, shaking for me. Pathetic. Perfect."

The words sent a shockwave through Hadi, his entire body tightening as Ryan’s grip on him grew fiercer, his fingers digging into his flesh. Hadi could feel himself climbing higher, every nerve igniting under Ryan’s dominance.

With one final, guttural growl, Ryan slammed into him, thrusting deep as he came with an almost violent force. The sensation sent Hadi spiraling, his own release ripping through him, his body convulsing as he spilled onto the couch beneath him.

Ryan stayed there for a moment, still, unyielding, his body pressed against Hadi’s. Slowly, he pulled out, his hands trailing over Hadi’s trembling back with a touch that was almost mocking in its tenderness.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to Hadi’s shoulder, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "That’s power. That's what it feels like to be conquered. Remember it."

Hadi collapsed onto the couch, spent and utterly claimed, his body trembling as a satisfied smile spread across his lips.

[Ro20316]

22 hours ago, HeyDaddy01 said:

yan had known Hadi long enough to know not to interrupt whatever gears were turning behind those dark hazel eyes. Hadi’s intentions were an enigma wrapped in charm, a mystery Ryan had never quite managed to fully unravel. Ryan knew the game he just didn’t know all of the players or the prizes, his role was clearly understood at times like this, he was The Protector, The Intimidator, The Muscle. 

i freaking love that Ryan and Hadi know each otehr so long but they still surprised the other. Its great to have someone like that.

Ever since Hadi and Ryan are together they each show their love and appreciation for the other. You see the love between them and how Hadi is Ryan's and Ryan is Hadi's