FREE CHAPTER – This chapter is being released for FREE
His breath hitched as teeth grazed his shoulder—not hard, just enough to make him arch.
He didn’t pull away. He pushed back.
Fingers dug into his hips, steadying him from the side. Rich stood just off the edge of the bed, body angled in, close enough to control each motion without fully joining it. The sheets were half-kicked, the air warm with sweat and friction, the sound of skin on skin filling the quiet. He wasn’t making noise just to be heard; it was instinct, involuntary, pulled from the base of his spine.
The mouth at his neck moved lower.
He let his head fall forward.
And then—
A voice, low and steady: “Hold it.”
Brookes froze, lips parted, pulse visible in his throat.He blinked once. Then smiled.
He kept his knees on the bed, palms flat against the sheets, head lowered—not in submission, exactly, but in posture. Learned behavior. A practiced stillness. The kind that told the watcher: I’m here. I’m waiting. Do what you want.
There was a pause.
Then the flat click of a buckle behind him, the soft jingle of metal. A hand reached forward and clipped the collar into place.
“Good pup,” Rich said, low and deliberate, close enough for Brookes to feel the shape of the words against his skin.
Brookes exhaled slowly—steady, obedient, wired from the inside out.
Not acting. Not exactly. Just letting the part of himself that craved direction float to the surface and stay there.
The mask covered his eyes and muzzle, soft black silicone that clung tight to his face, ears perked upright in silhouette. He’d worn it before, but something about tonight felt more complete. Rich wore only his briefs, a black handkerchief knotted across the lower half of his face and his baseball cap pulled low. The rest of him was skin and intent—quiet strength in bare shoulders and forearms braced against the mattress. Anonymous, authoritative. The look suited him.
Brookes’s body stilled even as his mind hummed. He felt the leash attach—a quick metal click—and the subtle tug that followed, just enough to say: mine.
“Down,” Rich said.
Brookes lowered slowly, forearms to the bed, spine arched, breathing steady through his nose. The mask softened the world. It tunneled his vision, drew every sense inward. He felt more than he saw.
A hand drifted down his back. Not urgent. Not cruel. Just present. Reminding.
“Eyes on the pillow,” Rich said. “Good. Stay just like that.”
The praise hit warm. He didn’t need more. Didn’t want more.
He wanted to be seen like this—still, waiting, shaped by someone else’s rhythm.
The tug on the leash came again, slower this time, paired with the sound of something shifting behind him.
Brookes didn’t move. Just breathed.
Good pups waited.
He was good at waiting.
“You wanna be a really good pup?”
Brookes shook his head vigorously, the motion quick and eager beneath the mask.
Rich stepped back just enough to hook his thumbs under the waistband of his briefs and pull them down in one smooth motion. His cock sprang free, thick and already hard. He climbed onto the bed with calm purpose, knees framing Brookes’s line of sight.
Without a word, Rich unclasped the muzzle section of Brookes’s mask and gently guided his head forward.
Brookes moved without hesitation—climbing between Rich’s legs, hands braced on his thighs, mouth open and waiting. He licked the head first, slow and reverent, tasting the salt already rising. Then he sank down, inch by inch, until his lips met skin and his breath hitched through his nose.
“That’s it,” Rich murmured, voice thick. “Nice and deep. Just like that.”
Brookes moaned in response, the sound muffled by the stretch of cock filling his throat.
Rich let out a low sound, almost a sigh, and settled a hand on the back of Brookes’s head—steadying, not forcing.
Brookes closed his eyes behind the mask and settled into a rhythm—deep, deliberate, and wet. He sucked with intent, hollowing his cheeks on every pull, his throat stretching to take Rich in until the tip nudged the back and stayed there. Spit pooled at the corners of his mouth, slicking Rich’s cock with more than enough glide. He moaned around it, low and eager, the sound vibrating through Rich’s length.
“You like this, don’t you,” Rich said, his voice barely above a whisper. “My good fucking pup.”
Brookes whimpered, nodding as best he could, desperate and obedient.
He wanted to be used. He wanted to be praised. Every sloppy swallow asked for more. Every tightening of Rich’s grip on his hair gave it.
Rich eased him back with a gentle pull, cock slipping free with a wet sound. He ran his thumb across Brookes’s lips, smearing spit. “Turn around,” he said, voice lower now, almost hoarse. “Let me see you.”
Brookes obeyed instantly—shifting, crawling forward, then arching down on all fours. He looked back over his shoulder, breath quick, waiting.
Rich’s hand slid down the curve of his back, then lower, thumbs spreading him open to reveal exactly what he wanted. He exhaled like it hurt to look.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “Look at that hole. Always so eager. Always so fucking open for me.”
He pressed his thumbs wider, watching how Brookes shifted into it—breath hitching, thighs trembling slightly under the strain. Rich let his gaze linger, admiring the slick swell, the faint clench like Brookes knew he was being watched and wanted to put on a show.
“Stay just like that,” Rich said, voice dropping darker. “Gonna take my time with you.”
Rich leaned back, bracing one hand behind him as he slicked himself with the other—slow strokes, deliberate, the wet sound unmistakable in the quiet. He smeared lube from base to tip, fingers working it in until his cock gleamed in the low light. Then he shifted forward, settling on his knees behind Brookes, guiding the thick head between his cheeks with practiced ease, letting it slide up and down the cleft in a slow, teasing drag. He paused to nudge the head against Brookes’s hole, circling it, letting just the tip press in—then pulled back. He did it again, a little deeper this time, then withdrew, making Brookes whine softly in anticipation. Once more, slower, until the edge of stretch made his thighs tremble. Only then did Rich press in for real, hips rolling forward with thick, deliberate pressure.
Brookes arched instinctively, presenting, legs spread just a little wider as he felt Rich’s cock nudge between his cheeks. A pause—measured, electric—then the first push.
He eased in with a steady roll of his hips, thick and slow, claiming every inch. Brookes let out a sound, half-breath, half-moan, and pushed back to meet him.
“That’s it,” Rich growled, hands gripping Brookes’s waist now, pulling him in tight. “Take it. Just like that.”
Then he started to thrust—deep, controlled, the kind of rhythm that left no doubt who he belonged to. It wasn’t rushed. Rich set a pace and held it, hips snapping forward in steady drives that made Brookes gasp into the mattress. Time blurred around the edges—just breath, friction, and the slick sound of skin meeting skin.
At some point, Rich leaned over him, the brim of his cap brushing Brookes’s nape, one hand planted beside his head, the other wrapped tight around the leash. The angle shifted; the thrusts went deeper. The slap of their bodies echoed off the walls.
“Such a good fucking pup,” Rich muttered between gritted teeth. “Taking all of me. Staying right where you’re told.”
He raised a hand and brought it down hard on Brookes’s ass—once, twice, then a third time, open-palmed and sharp. The sound cracked through the room, the sting blooming warm across Brookes’s skin.
Brookes whimpered, pushing back into the next thrust like it had only made him hungrier.
Brookes moaned like praise fed him, body shaking with every push. Minutes passed. Maybe longer. Rich never let up—just adjusted, dragged it out, kept Brookes suspended at that edge where it hurt and thrilled all at once.
His thrusts turned sharper, more erratic. The tight grip on the leash turned to a fist in Brookes’s hair, pulling him up just enough to arch his back harder. Brookes could feel him swelling, the way his hips started to stutter, the low sounds escaping his throat more ragged now.
“Fuck—keep still,” Rich growled. “Don’t move. Don’t even fucking breathe.”
Brookes froze, spine taut, hole pulsing around the thick length inside him.
Then Rich pulled out in one sharp motion, hand already stroking hard and fast. A beat—two—and then he came, thick and hot ropes of cum across Brookes’s lower back, striping his skin with every pulse.
Rich groaned low, head bowed, hand still wrapped around the base as the last drops spilled. He gave himself a slow final stroke, then gave his cock a lazy shake, flicking off the last drops, flicking the excess across the sheets with a breathless exhale. His chest rose and fell, cap tipped forward, the mask around his jaw still damp with heat. He stayed there for a moment, catching his breath—silent, still, watching the slick lines cooling on Brookes’s back like a signature he wasn’t ready to wipe away.
Brookes stayed exactly where he was—knees spread, breath shallow, back arched like he was still offering himself up.
Good pups didn’t move until they were told to.
“Good boy.”
Somewhere in the room, a soft mechanical whir kicked back to life—the camera, still rolling. A red light blinked in the far corner, steady and small, but impossible to miss.
Rich didn’t look at it.
Brookes did.
Just a flick of his eyes beneath the mask. Just long enough to remember: they’d wanted this one unscripted.
And now it was—all of it. Every sound, every mark, every drop still glistening on his skin.
They wouldn’t need to retake a thing.
By the time Brookes stepped out of the shower—damp, flushed, towel slung low on his hips—Rich was already at the desk, the camera plugged in, footage uploading. The room still smelled like sweat and lube, but now it was threaded with steam and soap.
Brookes rubbed the towel through his hair and padded over, still naked, his stride easy, loose, shameless. He leaned in, water clinging to his skin, cock bobbing with each step, and glanced at the screen with curious, unhurried eyes.
“You watching it back already?”
Rich nodded, jaw tight with focus. “Just skimming. Wanted to make sure the audio didn’t clip.”
Brookes smirked. “You mean you wanted to see the cumshot in 4K.”
Rich didn’t look up. “I mean I wanted to make sure your mask didn’t slip.”
Brookes laughed under his breath, reaching past him to grab a shirt off the back of a chair. “Fair. Lighting looked good though.”
“Yeah,” Rich said. He clicked through a few frames. “It’s clean. Might tweak contrast on the wide shots, but it’s solid.”
He paused, eyes narrowing as he adjusted a level. “Also—next time, we gotta keep it down. If someone in the dorm hears us, we’re screwed.”
Brookes cocked a brow. “You think they heard?”
Rich finally glanced up. “Don’t need another soccer field incident.”
Brookes snorted. “That was not my fault.”
Rich gave him a look. “Embarrassing as hell. We’re still not even sure if they bought the whole ‘dare’ story.”
“I mean, some of them did,” Brookes said, tugging the shirt over his head. “Probably.”
Rich leaned back in the chair. “Still weird how our page spiked right after that.”
Brookes tilted his head. “You think it was connected?”
They both paused, then in sync: “Nahhh.”
Brookes stepped closer to the desk, eyes scanning the screen over Rich’s shoulder. “How’s the last one doing?”
Rich tabbed to their analytics. “Views are peaking. Starting to level out.”
“Plateau?”
Rich shrugged. “Normal curve. First 48 hours are always the bump.”
Brookes scratched his jaw. “We might need a new hook soon.”
Rich didn’t turn around. “No more mirror angles. We’ve done that to death.”
“POV again?” Brookes offered.
“Too basic.”
“In the woods?”
Rich snorted. “And get poison oak on my balls—I think not.”
Brookes leaned against the desk. “What if we brought in toys?”
Rich gave a side-eye glance. “You hate cleanup.”
“True,” Brookes muttered. “Okay, what about… a challenge thing?”
Rich shook his head. “Everyone’s doing that. We’d be late to the trend.”
Brookes let out a long sigh. “We’re not doing feet.”
“God, no.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the screen humming in front of them. Then Rich said, “We’ll think of something.”
Brookes nodded slowly, then perked up. “Hey, what about a collab?”
Rich glanced at him. “Could work. What kind are we talking?”
“Depends,” Brookes said, casual. “Could be a third. Or—”
“A fourth,” Rich finished, brow raised.
Brookes grinned. “Double duo. Split the screen, share the heat.”
Rich leaned back in the chair. “That’s… ambitious.”
“Everyone’s doing it,” Brookes said. “We’d just be doing it better.”
“Okay, but with who?” Rich asked, brow furrowed.
Brookes smirked, playing it coy.
“Let’s just say I sent a message. These guys? Same audience as us, top one percent. Clean setup, good energy—and they actually know how to cut a reel.”
Rich snorted. “Dude, anyone who posts more than once a week can hit the top one percent. Doesn’t make them porn-star status.”
“Okay, but still—they seem normal.”
“We fuck around in dog masks,” Rich said flatly.
Brookes grinned. “It’s our shtick.”
Rich rolled his eyes. “I don’t think you know what that means.”
“Whatever.”
Rich leaned back, arching a skeptical brow. “And they’re down?”
“Haven’t heard back yet,” Brookes admitted. “But if they bite, it’s a solid match. Think mirror image. Balance. Chemistry.”
Rich nodded slowly. “You sure they’re not too polished?”
“We’re not trying to out-slick them,” Brookes said. “We’re just trying to light the screen on fire.”
Rich leaned back again, thoughtful. “What if the chemistry’s off?”
Brookes shrugged. “Then we bounce. No hard feelings, no footage. Just keep it tight.”
Just then, a ping sounded from the laptop.
“Awe. Dude—they responded,” Brookes said, eyes widening.
They both leaned in toward the screen, scanning the reply. Then, slowly, they looked at each other.
TO BE CONTINUED…
The story continues with Josiah B Vale. Make sure you’re subscribed so you don’t miss a beat.
⚠️ Caution: Subscribing to The House of Thorne may cause flushed cheeks, late-night cravings, and rereading certain scenes with one hand occupied.
