Offering my ass to my thief partner

The air in the computer lab was thick with frustration. The hum of empty server racks mocked Vince Ferelli’s meticulous planning. His broad, 5’8” frame, rippling with eight-pack abs and biceps that strained his black tactical shirt, felt heavy with failure.

His thick thighs and cubic, muscular ass—his pride as a man who dominated gym mirrors—seemed pointless now. The lab was barren, stripped of anything worth stealing. Randi Josh, his partner, was losing it. Randia was as jacked but with a leaner six-pack and slightly smaller biceps,

He hurled a keyboard against a desk, the crash echoing in the cavernous room. His olive-tan skin glistened with sweat. His face twisted in rage. “You fucked this up, Vince!” Randi spat, his voice low but venomous. “Lousy scouting, man. We’re out here for nothing!”

Vince’s chest tightened, not just from the accusation but from the heat of his guilt. He was the stronger one, the alpha, the guy who always had a plan. His girlfriend’s face flashed in his mind. Her soft curves, her adoring eyes, the promise of a future he’d been saving for with these heists.

Yet here he was, screwing it all up. Shame coiled in his gut like a snake, cold and heavy, whispering he’d failed as a man. But beneath it, something else stirred—a dirty, primal itch born in the adrenaline of the heist. The closeness of Randi’s muscular frame, the raw energy of their shared defeat.

It was wrong, unthinkable for a straight guy like him, but it burned hotter than his embarrassment.“Calm down, Randi,” Vince said, his deep voice steady despite the chaos in his head. He stepped closer, his massive calves flexing in his tight black pants. “I’ll make it up to you.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them, reckless and loaded. Randi paused, his thick, veiny arms still gripping a monitor as if he might smash it. His eyes narrowed, confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”Vince’s heart pounded, shame screaming at him to back off, to laugh it off as a joke.

He was Vince Ferelli, the guy who fucked women senseless, who never looked twice at a man. But the image of Randi’s body—those powerful thighs, that bigger, girthier dick he’d glimpsed once in a locker room—flashed in his mind, and his mouth went dry.

The taboo of it, the filth of crossing that line, made his cock twitch against his tight whities. “I’m serious,” Vince said, voice low, almost a growl. “Let me… suck you off. Make this right.” His face burned, the humiliation of saying it out loud like a punch to his pride.

Yet the heat in his groin surged, drowning out the voice of his girlfriend, his straightness, his self-respect. Randi’s lips curled into a reluctant, sexy half-smirk, his dark eyes glinting with surprise and something darker—curiosity, maybe power. “You’re joking, man. This ain’t the time.”

But Vince doubled down, stepping closer, his massive chest inches from Randi’s. “I’m not joking. Let me do it.” The words felt like acid on his tongue, each one stripping away the man he thought he was. He was degrading himself, offering something so perverse it made his stomach churn.

But fuck, it felt alive, electric, like the thrill of breaking into a vault. The dirtier it felt, the more he craved it. Randi’s smirk faded, replaced by a hard, assessing stare. He saw it—Vince’s seriousness, the desperation in his eyes. “You’re fucked up, Ferelli,” he said.

But his voice was husky now, his desire creeping in. “Blowjob might not cut it for this mess.” Vince’s shame spiked a wave of nausea at how far he was falling. But his desire roared louder, a filthy hunger to submit, to break every rule.

“Do whatever you want,” Vince rasped the words, a surrender, a plea.  “Make it right.” Randi didn’t hesitate. “On your knees, then.” The command hit Vince like a slap, his pride crumbling as he sank to the cold lab floor.

His thick, muscular ass flexed in his tight pants, a reminder of his power, now offered up in weakness. Randi unbuckled his belt, the sound sharp in the silent lab, and shoved down his pants and tight white Speedos. His cock sprang free—huge, thick, veiny, longer, and girthier than Vince’s impressive dick.

The sight of it, paired with Randi’s heavy, full balls, sent a jolt through Vince. Shame screamed. He was a traitor to himself, but his mouth watered, his hands trembling as he reached out. Vince’s fingers wrapped around Randi’s shaft, stroking slowly, feeling its weight, its heat.

The act was so wrong, so humiliating, it made his cheeks burn red. Yet every stroke stoked the fire in his core, the lewd thrill of doing the unthinkable. He leaned in, his lips parting, and took Randi’s cock into his mouth. The taste—salty, musky—hit him like a drug.

He groaned, the sound muffled. It was his first time, but it felt instinctive like his body knew how to worship this taboo. He sucked hard, his tongue swirling, his powerful jaw working with a skill he didn’t know he had. Randi’s hand gripped Vince’s hair, guiding him.

The control made Vince’s cock throb harder in his whities.“Fuck, Vince,” Randi growled, his voice thick with lust. He yanked Vince’s shirt off, then tugged down his pants and tight whities, leaving him naked, his muscular body exposed—broad pecs, chiseled abs, and that perfect, cubic ass.

Vince’s shame peaked, naked on his knees, sucking off his partner like a slut. But the degradation only fueled his desire, the dirtiness making every sensation sharper. Randi stripped fully, too, his own sculpted body gleaming with sweat.

The sight of their muscular forms writhing together in the dim lab light was obscene, primal. Randi pushed Vince onto all fours, his hands rough. “You’re gonna take more,” he said, and Vince’s heart raced. Fear and lust collide.

Randi’s tongue found Vince’s balls, then his cock, sucking with a hunger that made Vince moan, the pleasure erasing his girlfriend’s face. Then Randi’s mouth moved lower, rimming Vince’s tight, virgin hole. Vince’s shame exploded—his straightness shattered by the filthy ecstasy of it.

He returned the act, his tongue diving into Randi’s ass, the taboo act so degrading yet so natural, his desire swallowing his pride whole. When Randi positioned himself behind Vince, the reality hit. He was about to be fucked.

Panic flared—his ass had never taken anything, let alone a cock as massive as Randi’s. “Go slow,” Vince whispered, voice shaking, but Randi didn’t. He thrust in, hard and deep, and pain seared through Vince, his sphincter-stretching to its limit.

He gasped, tears pricking his eyes, the humiliation of being impaled crushing him. But then Randi’s cock hit his prostate, a deep, electric jolt of pleasure that made his vision blur. The pain melted, replaced by a Niagara Falls sensation. His ass tingled with every brutal thrust.

Vince’s moans turned slutty, uncontrollable sounds he’d never made with any woman. “Fuck me, you bastard!” he screamed, his voice raw, filthy profanities spilling out. “Harder, you fucking prick!” The words were shameful and degrading, but they felt so good, each one a release of his pent-up desire.

He was a whore for this, for Randi’s cock, for the taboo of it all. Randi pounded relentlessly, hitting Vince’s prostate with perfect, aggressive precision. Vince’s cock leaked onto the floor, untouched, his body betraying every ounce of his straight identity.

The shame never left—it lingered, a constant reminder of his fall. Every thrust, every moan, every dirty word was a betrayal of who he was. But the desire was stronger, a filthy, all-consuming fire that made him crave more, deeper, harder.

He was Vince Ferelli, the alpha, the straight guy, reduced to a screaming, sweating slut on a lab floor. But he’d never felt more alive.