Dean has had it with being treated like a lesser person by his big roommate Samson who seems to think that the world revolves around strong men. He decides to entreat his godfather to help him teach the big guy a lesson.
Dean had just about had it up to here with his roommate Samson. The big, burly meathead wasn’t physically a pain in the ass to live with—he kept his part of the apartment neat and tidy, kept his dishes clean, and did his half of the chores. Emotionally and psychologically, though, he was a fucking wrecking ball.
The root of the problem was, at least as far as Dean could tell, was that Samson viewed the world as a hierarchy. It wasn’t all that uncommon a viewpoint, even in the 21st century, but Samson, particularly, viewed the world as a place where strong men ruled and weak men served.
If he was being honest, Dean was only so lucky that Samson thought part of being a strong man was being able to carry your own weight in your living arrangements or things would have been much different. If, one day, Samson decided that he had had enough of cleaning dishes, throwing out the trash, and keeping his side of the apartment clean, Dean would have been left to pick up the slack. As much as he would have loved to think he could do something if Samson ever decided to just stop contributing to upkeep, he didn’t think he could considering how easily the big man could probably snap him straight in half.
Samson wasn’t half bad as far as roommates went, most of the time. It was just that Dean didn’t think he could handle being treated like fragile China for one minute longer.
Dean had had homophobic roommates before and they’d really cut him deep. Samson was nothing like them. If anything, he was more of an unintentional homophobe. Samson thought it below him to belittle someone who, in his eyes, was already so very little and that was the worst part of it.
All his life, Dean had been bullied for being different, for being gay. Some of that bullying had even come from other guys because he had been born with cock on the mind and absolutely no drive to put his cock in anything. He never once imagined that he would one day find it so infuriating that someone thought he was so pathetic that he didn’t deserve to be bullied.
It was messing Dean up. Samson was messing Dean up. And Dean was at the end of his wits about it.
Truth be told, there were things that Dean could do. He was a Warlock, and at the age of 26, he’d finished his mortal studies with sufficiently high marks for the satisfaction of the Rectors of the Arch-Coven, and had survived the Nine Mystical Tribulations of the Inner Realm which granted him the title of Adeptus. He had awesome magical power at his fingertips. He commanded cosmic forces and energies beyond the ken of most mortals. And yet, the ancient laws of the Keepers meant that he couldn’t use those powers freely against mortal men. Not without retribution.
Dean growled. He slammed his Codex shut. Nothing in his near-decade of mystical studies gave him any insight into how to contravene the laws of the Keepers. They weren’t a physical barrier so he could always just choose to disobey them, but that meant having to eventually suffer consequences at the hands of the Rectors, a prospect that he knew to be vastly more unpleasant than the thought suggested.
What Dean needed was advice, and he was one so lucky as to have received the blessing of a particularly powerful patron soon after his birth. He just needed the proper ingredients to request an audience with his godfather. He didn’t want to seem disrespectful despite their bond.
A few days later, Dean brought home a man that Samson, for once, approved of. The big brute must have somehow known on an instinctive level that the guy about to fuck the ever-living daylights out of Dean was stronger by far than him. It was only natural, given how Aman was a werewolf.
Despite his size, Aman was actually rather docile and gentle as he peeled the clothes off Dean’s body. Though this was largely a business transaction, Dean couldn’t help but get aroused as Aman made a show of stripping off, and it seemed that his growing arousal was exciting the werewolf, too.
As the two of them tumbled into bed together, Dean couldn’t help but think about how werewolves tended to be such people-pleasers. Not that he was complaining as Aman sniffed and licked and playfully bit at the crook of his neck.
Aman was a gentle and attentive lover as he prepared Dean for the act. He started with his tongue, sliding into Dean and prodding around in areas that Dean had never felt a tongue touch before. It was making him feel hot and heavy and if Aman kept it up any longer he was sure he would start leaking slick of his own like a werewolf omega.
Aman’s fingers were thick as they entered Dean. Almost too thick for comfort as a second one was introduced to his tight little hole that hadn’t seen action in too long. But he’d felt just how big Aman’s tube was and he welcomed the preparation.
After Aman managed to work the second finger in to the knuckle, he alternated between using his tongue and introducing another finger. By the time that he pulled away and hotdogged his cock between Dean’s buns, he’d managed to fit four whole fingers in and yet his cock still seemed impossibly large the head brushed against Dean’s hole.
Thanks to copious and frankly excessive amounts of lube both synthetic and natural, in the form of pre-cum dripping from Aman’s cock, Aman’s head easily slid into Dean’s hole. The feeling of being so suddenly filled and stretched to the limit forced Dean to arch his back and moan, his own cock dripping between his legs. The tension built and built and built in his groin as Aman’s prodigious endowment slid into him inch by fucking inch.
The sensations were so intense, so overwhelming, that the momentary lapse of concentration Dean had as he felt Aman bottom out was enough to trigger an orgasm that sent thick ropes of hot white cum flying right at his face from underneath him.
Aman slowly rocked his hips back and forth, stimulating Dean’s insides while giving him time to get used to being stuffed full like a thanksgiving turkey. Once it stopped being unpleasant and started wandering back into the realm of too stupidly good, Aman’s whole demeanor changed.
Dean supposed he’d never really understood the meaning of "fucks like a beast" until he felt Aman’s cock viciously pounding away at his hole. He got fucked so hard that he thought his head was going to fly off or that his brain would get pulped to mush by bouncing around so hard in his skull.
Aman fucked Dean so hard into the bed that not only did his headboard leave a visible dent in the concrete wall behind it, the bedframe itself snapped right down the middle underneath Dean. And still Aman fucked him like a jackhammer.
It felt so good and so intense that Dean could scarcely think much less coordinate his flailing limbs to push himself out of the sunken part of the bed. He was powerless to do anything as he felt Aman’s cock inflate inside of him, as the thick, viscous, hot werewolf cum filled his guts.
After Aman’s knot deflated, releasing Dean, Dean’s arms and legs were still so unsteady that he couldn’t even manage to move on his own. He had to ask Aman to pull out slowly and then shove the big buttplug on the nightstand into him so as not to waste the cum that was making his stomach feel round and soft like a ball.
Since he didn’t want to be anywhere near the room when Dean called upon his godfather, Aman excused himself and showed himself out but not before gently asking if he could leave his number in Dean’s phone. Dean, more than satisfied by the rough rogering he’d just received, gently told Aman that if he didn’t, he would be inclined to bite the werewolf’s balls off.
Sitting up on the ruins of his bed, Dean gently rubbed his abdomen. While he loved the sight of his abs stretched over his swollen body, he unfortunately needed the fresh werewolf cum for the ritual. Any cum would have done, if Dean was being honest, even his own, but a few teaspoons hardly felt like an appropriate offering to the Cáel Sídhe.
Dean waddled over to a small wooden bowl he’d filled with blocks of wax. He placed it on the floor, squatted over it, and removed the buttplug. Cum immediately spluttered out of his hole with a wet farting noise, which was both supremely embarrassing and weirdly arousing. Using a quick spell, Dean squeezed every last drop out of him and into the bowl. Then, using another quick spell, he melted the wax in the bowl and incorporated the cum into it.
What Dean was left with was a vaguely flesh-colored bowl of melted paraffin that he used a funnel to pour into a mold. A few hours later, he released the wax from the mold to reveal a penis-shaped candle, complete with a pair of big, juicy balls at the base. The wick, of course, poked out through the piss-hole at the tip and, in a way, looked like a small shot of cum frozen in place.
After etching a few runes into the shaft of the wax penis and muttering a simple enchantment to make sure it was completely cooled and retained its shape, Dean lowered his still-tender ass onto the candle and rode it until he hit another orgasm. It wasn’t anywhere near as earth-shatteringly good as the orgasms that Aman had given him, but it was still pretty intense.
When he was done, Dean hopped off the now-glistening penis-candle and knelt, naked, in front of it. He whispered the Words of Calling for the Cáel Sidhe and waited. A few moments later, the tip of the wick caught fire, producing a bright pink flame that cast bubble gum-colored shafts of light and bubble gum-edged shadows through the room.
"Mmm…" moaned the pretty twink in clothes that somehow managed to show off his body better than if he had just gone naked. "Is that Siberian Hunky I smell?" said the Cáel Sidhe with an exaggerated moan. "My favorite!"
As Dean watched, smoke from the candle flame didn’t rise into the air. Rather it dripped from the tip of the cock-shaped candle, almost like pre-cum. The Pink Fairy, as he Cáel Sidhe was better known, grabbed the candle by the shaft and started stroking it. "So, what can I do for my favorite little godson?"
"I need some advice, godfather," said Dean. The way that the Pink Fairy was jerking off the candle was novel to him. He couldn’t find any words to describe it but it made his mouth water with desire. A small part of him longed to have the Pink Fairy’s slender fingers doing that to his cock but he knew better than to give in to the temptation. "It’s about my roommate."
"Oh isn’t he a man, Dean?" said the Pink Fairy, dreamily. "They don’t make them like that as much, anymore. Big, hung, full of cum, and really not very bright. Ugh. I miss those knights they had in Europe. They really should bring them back."
"Well, yes godfather, but see, the problem is, he acts like I’m not even worth his time because he thinks I’m so weak," said Dean. "The reason he doesn’t bully me is because he doesn’t think I’d survive it. I don’t know why, but that hurts! I just want to teach him a lesson. Have him learn what it’s like to be weak. But the laws…"
"Pfft," the Pink Fairy scoffed. Dean could have sworn he saw the wax cock throb. "Laws-shmaws. They only apply to the Art. So you just have to use magic that comes from outside the Art."
"Magic that comes from outside the Art?" said Dean. "Is that even a thing?" He was aware that the were-clans possessed some form of unique magic but he had always been under the impression that it was just the Art but accessed in a different way and used with different means. It still, fundamentally, drew from the energy of the ley lines and magnified by willpower and emotion.
"Oh, yeah, Old Lore stuff. I’m not surprised you don’t know since Purple hunted down and slaughtered all the people who used it and refused to sign an unbreakable pact of secrecy," said the Pink Fairy. "Tell you what, you get me more of this delicious Siberian Hunky cum and I’ll teach you enough to get your revenge on your roommate."
Dean knew better than to accept deals from the Fae, but it was a simple enough deal, he’d been planning to get more, anyway, and the Pink Fairy was his godfather, if that counted for anything. "Deal," he said.
"Of course, you’ll have to enter an unbreakable pact of secrecy," said the Pink Fairy, "but it’s no big deal as long as you don’t go back on your word. Let me tell you, you don’t want your soul to get obliterated by Purple. It might seem fun to get fucked into non-existence by that big cock, but then you have all of oblivion to feel stupid about it. Trust me, I’ve tried it."
"But—" Dean clamped his jaw shut. He knew better than to ask stupid questions of the Fae. He didn’t even really want to know what the Pink Fairy had meant by that.
Samson had always taken pride in his long hair. He either let it hang down, or braided it and slung it over his shoulder like the Dothraki. He was impressively sensitive about his hair, and got into fouler moods than most women on bad hair days.
On a few occasions, whenever Samson deigned to hear him speak, Dean suggested that Samson just cut his hair if it was so inconvenient. For whatever reason, though, the big guy seemed under the impression that his physical strength was tied to his hairiness.
Dean could only imagine a young Samson reading his Bible, getting to the part about his namesake, and taking it to mean that the same would happen to anyone named Samson. The thought was surprisingly adorable and dorky, which meant that Dean immediately crushed it under foot.
Since Samson insisted on his hairiness being a part of his identity as a man, Dean saw no reason not to bend the rules of the universe to make Samson’s belief a reality. Using the Old Lore that the Pink Fairy had taught him about, Dean did just that.
Out of pure coincidence, or some sort of divine joke, Dean was aware that Samson had a major crush on his beautiful friend Jane, who so hated her first name that she never used it. Legally, Jane was Delilah Jane Andersen, of the Minnesota Andersens, a small but prominent clan of witches.
Despite Samson’s feelings about her, Jane did not like him one bit, largely because of the way that he treated Dean. She took particular exception to the notion of a mortal calling a Warlock Adeptus weak. It took little convincing to get her to play along to Dean’s plan, less so once he told her that the Pink Fairy had helped him cook it up.
Dean stood behind Samson in the bathroom. The electric razor was buzzing in Samson’s hand, a quarter of an inch away from the magnificently thick beard that Samson had been cultivating since before he and Dean became roommates. "I don’t know, Dean," said Samson. "Does she really hate beards?"
Feigning at sympathy, Dean patted Samson on the shoulder, though he had to reach up a bit to do it. He pursed his lips, closed his eyes, and solemnly nodded. "I wish I could tell you I was kidding, man, but it’s true. She hates how it feels, you know… down there. I know how important your hair is to you, but you’ve been waiting for this chance for two years! Do you really want to blow it now just to save your beard?"
Samson shook his head. Dean had to fight down the urge to smirk. Of course Samson wouldn’t. Dean had gambled that Samson thought more with the head of his dick than the head on his shoulders but it seemed that the gamble had paid off.
Samson closed his eyes. He brought the electric razor in contact with his skin and let out an uncharacteristically unmanly whimper as soon as it bit into the hair of his beard. "You can do this," said Dean, hovering just behind Samson, barely able to contain his excitement. "Think about how hot it would be to have Jane all over you."
That one little push seemed to be all that Samson needed. He gripped the handle of the razor tightly and drew it down the side of his face in one single strip. Samson cracked open an eye to look at the carnage and winced. He steeled himself, however, and continued, shearing the thick, coarse hair of his beard in long strokes until he was smoothly shaven.
"I look stupid," said Samson, running his fingers over parts of his face that he most likely hadn’t touched directly in years. "Does Jane really like this? It feels weird. I have a headache. Maybe I should cancel…"
Samson turned to leave the bathroom, but Dean reached out and placed a hand on his chest. Doing such a thing in the past would have led to Dean getting knocked aside with ease, but this time, Dean managed to stop Samson. "You might not get this opportunity again," he reminded Samson.
Dean felt Samson’s chest rumble under his fingers as the big guy sighed. "You’re right," he said. "For a little guy, you’re right a lot. Fuck it. I’ll take an aspirin. Jane and I are meant to be together… Our kids will be beautiful." Dean gritted his teeth at once again being so casually disregarded.
Watching surreptitiously from a nearby table as Jane made out with Samson on the bar stool, Dean managed to catch sight of the enormous snake in Samson’s pants. It was so large that Dean was afraid it would explode out of the denim that clad it.
At Dean’s suggestion, Samson had worn a button-up shirt that was a little too small on his broad chest. It was stretched near to its limits and he could see Jane struggling to loose the buttons. Eventually, she managed to pop the top two buttons off and just on cue, her enthusiasm seemed to desert her.
Jane traced slender fingers over the coarse matted hairs of the thick pelt that covered Samson’s firm pecs, and then pulled them away with a grimace. She said something to Samson, and though Dean couldn’t hear it he knew it was some sort of flimsy excuse about having fun but needing to go because of a headache.
Even Samson wouldn’t have believed that excuse, and if Jane was as good an actress as she purported to be, he would realize she left because of his chest hair.
The loss of Samson’s beard should have introduced some self-consciousness where there had never been before, which meant that he wouldn’t be able to get the thought of Jane’s disgust at his chest hair out of his head. With any luck, it would prompt Samson into doing something extreme.
Samson had a lot less bluster when he got back from the bar, though the measurement was relative as he still had plenty. He ranted about Jane making excuses to leave him, but Dean could tell that her reaction had left the desired mark on Samson’s mind.
Three days later, a surprisingly-bashful Samson asked Dean where he got waxed. Truth be told, Dean had always just used the Art to groom himself but he’d anticipated the question and so had asked around for the gayest waxing parlor he could find. He booked the appointment for an aghast Samson and waited for the day with growing anticipation.
That Saturday, Dean drove Samson to the waxing place and accompanied him into the room. The esthetician in the room, a hot Galician man, immediately jumped to the conclusion that Dean and Samson were together, together. Samson was too nervous to do anything, and Dean didn’t divest the poor guy of the notion because he stood the most to gain from letting it stand.
By the time that the procedure was done, Samson’s front, back, and legs were smooth as a baby’s backside. The only hair under his head that remained was his bush.
As Samson dismounted from the table he’d been lying on facedown for the better part of an hour, seemed unsteady. He said that his legs felt like jelly, mentioning that it was probably from the pain.
Dean helped Samson back to the front of the parlor, paid the bill, and got Samson back into the car. The big guy was somewhat subdued on the way back home, and shuffled into his room quietly once they got to the apartment. Before closing his door, he looked over his shoulder and said, "Thank you, Dean… For coming with me today."
The corner of Dean’s lip twitched. "No problem, big man," he said.
About a week later, Samson returned to the apartment after a night out visibly trembling. Over the last few days, he’d had to downgrade his lifting, unable to handle as much weight as he used to be able to, but it didn’t seem like that was the big problem.
Of course, Dean knew what was wrong. After he told Samson that the best way to get Jane’s attention was to post a shirtless selfie with his new smooth body online. A day after that, he had Jane text Samson about when they were going to have a second date and made sure she flirted with him a little bit.
Today was the day that Samson and Jane had agreed to meet for their second date, at a fancy restaurant that must have taken a bit of a bite out of Samson’s weekly budget. If things had gone according to plan, Jane had brought Samson back to her place, got him all hot and bothered, and started sucking his cock through the fly of his jeans.
The reason Samson was in such a state was probably because Jane had sucked him right to the edge of orgasm before stopping to unbutton his pants and pull them down. She would have swallowed him all the way to the root, reacted with disgust, and pulled off him. She would have removed a thick curly pubic hair from between her teeth and stomped off.
"What’s wrong, buddy?" said Dean.
Samson glared at him, more likely angry at the fact that he’d said ‘buddy’ as if to insinuate that Samson was a little man than at the smug tone he’d said it in. There were tears in the big guy’s eyes. "I don’t want to talk about it," said Samson.
Dean shifted his position on the couch so that he was sitting facing Samson. "I thought you said that you and Jane had been hitting it off on text? Actually, she told me that she really liked you, too. What happened?"
Samson wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands as he sat down beside Dean. "I didn’t do anything," he lamented. Dean didn’t think he’d ever heard Samson’s voice so unsteady and uncertain before. It was clear the magic was working. "S-She was down there, and it was going great, and then she walked away like she was disgusted."
"Ah," said Dean, patting Samson on the shoulder. The impact was just as solid as ever, but Samson’s body at least moved a little bit with each clap of Dean’s hand on his back. "I told you, you should have gotten the whole package done while we were at the place."
"S-Shut up," Samson stammered. "I-I don’t even want to hear I told you so right now. Fuck. This sucks."
Dean sighed. "You know what, why don’t we take care of the issue right now?" he said. "I have a trimmer, if you don’t mind using something I’ve put near my junk. Maybe you can get back there before it’s too late. Show her what you’re willing to do to make things comfortable for her?"
Samson perked up. "Y-You’d do that for me?" he said.
Dean smiled. "Of course, buddy," he said. "We’re roommates, and, I like to think, friends. This is just what friends do for one another."
Dean waited just outside the bathroom. Any moment now, he was sure he was going to hear from Samson. As if acting on cue, Samson poked his head out the door. "I-I’m scared," he said.
It was amusing how far Samson had fallen in so little time. From big, confident Alpha man to a shy uncertain dork in the form of a bodybuilder. "We’re friends, right, Dean? I-I don’t know how to use this and I’m afraid I might cut myself… Do you think you can help?"
Dean smirked. "Sure," he said. "You don’t mind me touching your junk a little, then?"
Unsurprisingly, it seemed that Samson hadn’t thought about that. He paused, his face scrunching up a little as he mulled over the concept, weighing it against all the options. "O-Okay," said Samson. "O-Only because it’s this or lose Jane forever."
Samson stepped away from the door, giving Dean space to enter. Samson hadn’t just pulled his pants down, he was completely naked, revealing his smooth, silky legs and torso. He handed Dean the trimmer and stood with his arms behind his head and his legs spread a shoulder’s width apart. It was perfect.
Using the plush mat by the sink to pad his knees while he knelt, Dean shuffled forward until Samson’s junk was dangling tantalizingly in front of his face. He switched the trimmer on and brought it up to Samson’s thick bush.
The bite of the trimmer into the first few hairs elicited a high-pitched whimper from Samson, but Dean continued. Cradling Samson’s balls in his fingers, Dean carefully denuded the big guy’s crotch until it was just as smooth as the rest of his body.
Without all that hair in the way, Samson’s huge cock looked even bigger than it normally did. His balls were like eggs dangling under his thick, salami-esque cock and as Dean’s hot breath gently wafted over the sensitive, newly-shaved skin, it slowly started to fill out with blood.
Dean watched as Samson’s cock rose in front of his face. Samson looked mortified, his cheeks scarlet with embarrassment. "I-It’s not what it looks like," he said.
"Of course it’s not," said Dean. "You’re probably just thinking of that blowjob that you got from Jane… But I have some bad news for you, big guy. It’s pretty late. It’s probably not going to be a good idea to go back there."
Samson’s cock throbbed in front of Dean’s face, gently bobbing up and down before him. "But it looks like you could use a little bit of help with that… Would you mind if I…? You don’t have to look. Just close your eyes and imagine I’m Jane."
Dean was banking on the fact that Samson was too horny and desperate to get his rocks off to decline, and he was right to. Samson nodded and tilted his head up to the ceiling so he wouldn’t have to look as Dean opened his mouth and swallowed the head of his cock.
Samson grunted as Dean worked his mouth over his cock. Inch by inch, Samson’s thick, prodigious endowment slid into Dean’s throat without resistance. When Dean bottomed out, Samson couldn’t help but look down, having never encountered anyone other than Jane who could deepthroat his cock.
The sight of Dean’s face spitted on his cock made Samson’s cock jump, or at least that was what Dean hoped the sudden pulse of the meat in his throat was. He suspected it was, as Samson’s hand soon found its way onto his head, and the big guy’s hips rolled just so, gently fucking that cock in and out of his mouth.
Applying all the cock-sucking expertise he’d earned in his years as a gay man, Dean brought Samson to the edge and kept him there for a while.
An hour later, just as his jaw was getting tired, Dean decided that it was time. Samson was still gently fucking his face, clearly afraid to break him. Dean wasn’t going to let the big guy dictate the pace, though. He grabbed tightly onto Samson’s thick thighs and moved of his own accord.
Up and down and up and down, Dean bobbed his face on Samson’s cock. He fucked himself on Samson’s cock, swallowing it, choking it down, and moaning to make his throat vibrate around it as he sucked with all his might.
Samson grabbed onto Dean’s hair for dear life, his hips thrusting involuntarily as he moaned. "I-I’m cumming, Dean!" he said, unable to stop the frantic bucking of his hips as he approached ever closer to the edge.
Dean took a deep breath just as he felt Samson’s cock swell in his throat. A heartbeat later, hot cum was sliding down the back of his throat, blasting down his gullet with such force that he thought he was drowning for a moment. It felt so good, but it must have felt so much better for Samson, who’d been on the edge for the better part of an hour and then some thanks to Jane.
"T-Thanks, Dean…" Samson panted, as his softening cock slipped out of Dean’s mouth.
"Hey, weren’t you supposed to be going out today?" said Dean, as Samson left his room. Ever since he gave the big guy a blowjob in the bathroom, Samson had been avoiding him, which was exactly what he anticipated would happen.
"No," said Samson, a bit too quickly. "I-I told Jane that I thought things should end between us," he added. "I don’t want to talk about it."
Dean ignored the last part. "But things didn’t even really have a chance to get started between the two of you!" he said. "I’m sorry."
"Yeah…" said Samson, trailing off as his gaze landed on Dean and stayed on him while he thought Dean wasn’t looking. He quickly averted his gaze when Dean looked at him.
Samson went to the kitchen and walked back into the living room three times before, it seemed, he got the courage to say what he wanted to say. "U-Um hey," said Samson. "T-That thing you did to me… In the bathroom… T-Thanks for that. U-Um… I’m having trouble… U-Um… W-Would you mind doing it again?"
Dean smirked. "I get it, you were saving up for Jane and it didn’t go anywhere so now you have blue balls," he said.
"Y-Yeah… T-That’s it," said Samson, his eyes refusing to meat Dean’s.
"Don’t worry about it too much," said Dean. "I’d be more than happy to."
Two weeks later, and the blowjob had become a bit of a daily routine for Dean and Samson, but the time had come to finally turn the tables. Dean pulled off Samson’s still-hard cock, looked up at the big guy who’d grown increasingly weaker over the past few weeks, and said, "Why don’t you ever ask if you could help me out?" he said.
Samson’s face paled. "B-Because I’m not gay," he said. "I-I don’t want to do any of that shit," he said, though from the hungry looks he’d cast at Dean’s package over the last few days, Dean knew the big guy was likely just in denial.
"Tell you what," said Dean, "Arm-wrestle me. If you win, I’ll be your bitch until you move out. You can make me suck you off whenever you want, fuck me whenever you want, and I won’t complain. But If I win, you are mine. You have to do everything I say."
"A-Are you sure?" said Samson. He knelt down next to the couch facing Dean and propped his elbow up on the cushion. "You know I’m much stronger than you."
"More sure than I’ve ever been in my life," said Dean, placing his own arm on the cushion and motioning for Samson to lock their grips together. He knew that the one thing Samson would never back down from was a challenge of strength, and knowing what Samson was like, he was going to uphold the terms of the bargain.
"Go," said Samson. Immediately, the big guy started pushing with all of his might against Dean’s arm, but he barely managed to make it budge. "W-What?" said Samson, clearly alarmed as he redoubled his efforts.
Just to humor his roommate, Dean let up a little on his resistance, letting Samson take him almost halfway down to the cushion. "Are all those muscles just for show?" said Dean, as he pushed Samson’s arm back into an upright position. "You can use both arms, but that means I can make you do anything I want you to do, even cut your hair."
All this time, Samson had at least maintained his braid. It was the last thing that remained of the old Samson, and Dean was sure the offer was not something that he would take lightly as a result. Still, Dean imagined the prospect of being a "weaker" man’s bitch was so much worse to Samson that he would take Dean up on his offer.
Dean was right. Samson used both arms at full strength to try and beat Dean, but the damage had already been done. Although it was difficult, Dean was able to resist all the force being directed at his arm and managed to stop Samson from moving him any more than a quarter of an inch.
Huffing, eyes wide, and heart no doubt racing in his chest, Samson looked at Dean, and let out a quiet whimper. "I-I submit," he said, having been sufficiently shown that no amount of effort on his part would be enough to defeat Dean at this point.
Dean smirked. "Good," he said. "Tomorrow I’m taking you in for a haircut. For today, well, why don’t you get on all fours?"
Samson sniffled but did as he was told. "Lower your chest to the floor," said Dean. Samson did just that, his back arching beautifully into a perfect submissive pose. Dean leaned forward, grabbed the thick, muscular cheeks of Samson’s ass, and peeled them apart with the palms of his hands. The big guy’s smooth pink pucker twitched between the mountainous globes of meat on either side.
Dean leaned forward and licked one long stripe up the big guy’s crack and felt Samson tremble under him. He grinned and dove right in, shoving his face as far up Samson’s ass as he could. He swirled his tongue around the quivering rosebud and teased the rim with the tip.
Samson moaned, his fingers clenching and unclenching on either side of his head as his legs tensed and his toes curled. Dean reached down between Samson’s thighs and gave a light tap to the big guy’s cock. It was hard as a steel rod, which only inspired him to be a lot messier with his rimming.
Dean slurped and slobbered all over Samson’s hole, relishing the way that the big guy was helplessly squirming on his tongue. He’d brought Samson as close to an orgasm before issuing his challenge earlier, so there was no big difficulty taking him back there before long.
Samson’s moaning got louder the closer Dean brought the tip of his tongue to the center of the twitching, flexing pucker. Dean quickly flicked his tongue up and down along the middle of Samson’s entrance, eliciting a loud groan.
As Samson’s hole clenched, Dean stabbed his tongue into it and listened to the sweet, guttural roar that was ripped from Samson’s throat as his cock exploded, untouched, between his legs. After tracing his tongue a few times around the inside of Samson’s rim, Dean pulled off the big guy’s ass and patted one of those meaty cheeks.
"Oh, fuck, yes, please!" screamed Samson. In the days since he surrendered to Dean, Samson had developed a bit of a passion for bottoming, his huge cock dangling largely forgotten between his legs, spluttering cum every time he hit an orgasm from his ass.
Dean was roughly pounding Samson’s muscular ass with as much strength as he could muster in his own relatively tiny body. It was such a power trip to fuck such a specimen of masculinity into the bed that he just couldn’t resist despite being more of a bottom, himself.
Reaching down, Dean ran his fingers through the short, bristly hair that now adorned Samson’s head. He gripped the dark tufts tightly and used them for leverage as he pulled Samson’s head back. The big guy’s upper body followed, back arching beautifully as Dean pumped his hips even faster.
Despite being as big as the best bodybuilders in the world, Samson wasn’t any stronger than your average shrimpy nerd fresh out of high school anymore. He had trouble accepting his new lot in life at first, but after he had his first taste of dick, he managed to cope by slutting it up to the extreme.
In the days since he had the stylist shear most of Samson’s luscious tresses off, Dean had taken to growing a little bit of body hair of his own. His hairstyle remained as impeccably short and manicured as it always had, but he didn’t mind the bit of scruff on his body, now. It drove Samson crazy the first time he saw the faint treasure trail leading down Dean’s navel.
Pulling as hard as he could on Samson’s head, Dean thrust his cock one final time into his muscular bitch and came. At that moment, Samson’s supple, plaint ass clamped around his spewing cock and milked him for every drop. When he pulled out, Samson had made a mess between his legs, a small pool of cum with a few pearly drops still dripping from the tip of his soft cock.