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< BREAKING BAKER MAYFIELD > < entry seventeen >
Baker somehow managed to get through all the questions, interviews, and social media requests. He'd buried his drenched, soiled jockstrap deep in the bathroom trashcan just seconds before he somehow collected himself enough to emerge from the tiny, tiled space wreaking of ass, sweat and cum, but the only thing on his mind was cock... more cum... that 11-inch, thick, steely cock... more cum... to feel used, to feel Officer Kelly's hard, long rod inside his hole again... to feel that high... he was so close to getting that high again... to be fucked senseless... to scream his face off... to feel his ass tremble and quake from the inside out... to lose total control... to feel full... to feel cum deep inside his ass... to be a cum dump... But all Baker felt was emptiness, tasting the officer's cum still in his mouth and on his tongue... insatiable desperation.
The crazed quarterback dawdled out of the press room after he entertained every last reporter's questions, until - one by one - the room cleared. The kid literally fled from the Browns' press handlers afterwards, first hiding in the emptied locker room, pathetically wandering around every inch of it for Officer Kelly's presence, then finally down that long corridor, finally desolate and eerily quiet... nervously opening every door that was unlocked... nobody. Nobody.
Empty closet. Empty lounge. Empty bathroom, save the stench and stink of cum and ass and sex and sweat still lingering from an hour prior. Baker was horrified at how the tiny bathroom smelled... worse than any dirty locker room or gym bag or running socks or shoes. How he must've smelled...
Nobody. No cock. No cum. No release. Baker feebly fished his precum-soaked jock out of the bottom of that trashcan with a shaking hand... Clenching that soggy, sullied jock in his white-knuckled fist... Angry, humiliated... hysterical. His beefy body shook with desperation, his balls so full, so aching, his cock straining against that cage, his hole... gaping.
He was so close to that release... that orgasm... that high... to finally feel something after being thoroughly emasculated. Seven days of fighting his demons, his urges, his depravity, his addiction. The humiliation of pissing with that stainless steel cage, the unbearable horniness he felt every waking second of every waking day, the helplessness of unable to achieve a proper erection or to properly ejaculate... the impotence of it all... He'd even texted and called that nobody of a man over and over again, begging, pleading, to get that cage off of him. To do anything, just to be free of this degrading shame. But no, Baker's texts and calls were ignored and met with deafening silence.
Baker knew he wasn't going to make it for a full month like this... Then came Officer Kelly... again... who almost got him to cum, hands free, caged, while getting fucked in that bathroom. That cock. That big, red, veiny cock. So thick. So hard. Baker was so blue balled, leaking so much precum and so close to cumming out of that cage... so close to feeling the electricity shoot from his insides out to his fingers and toes and caged cock. He could still taste the officer on his lips and tongue, inside him... pummeling him... owning him. If the officer could just keep fucking him like that, in that bathroom, for a minute longer, 30 seconds... 10 seconds longer, even...
Taking an extended shower in the abandoned locker room, the first he'd taken at the stadium locker room with that cock cage on, Baker dared not touch his hole or cock or balls. Deep down, the quarterback hoped, at any minute, surely, the officer would appear in the abandoned locker room and rape him, use him, fuck him, breed him... that Officer Kelly would fuck him so brutally that he'd finally cum with that fucking chastity device clamped around his pathetic, stub of a cock.
But no. Nobody. Silence. Emptiness. In the locker room, in the showers, in the corridors, the bathrooms... the devastating emptiness in his hole... After such a thrilling, career and life high of a night, Baker crumpled to the depth of abject depression and rage as he slowly got dressed, angrily throwing his soiled jock strap, the one he'd worn while getting fucked in that bathroom, into his locker before slamming it shut with burning anger and utter humiliation.
Thank god he managed to convince Emily to move to Cleveland next month, lying to her... pleading with her that he needed to focus, focus, focus on his new team and career. Just one more month... Baker couldn't believe what he had done... the lies he'd told his family and loved ones... on the biggest night of his life... what he was hoping for... what he craved... his addiction... He was still on the edge of cumming... his entire body still burned for that cock... his balls churned... his hole quivered and gaped... his caged cock... forever leaking... straining...
...
The security guards at the stadium lavished congrats and praises on the freshly-showered quarterback as he finally, finally gave up all hopes of Officer Kelly appearing at any moment. Baker choked back resentful tears, his balls debilitatingly full, his hole painfully empty, as he headed to his car, clad in a hoody, tank top and gray shorts, donning a Browns cap and those Nike sliders.
Baker froze in his tracks when he stepped into the stadium's mostly-abandoned lot, immediately spotting a black SUV with heavily-tinted windows parked deliberately next to his own, with its lights on. The quarterback's long toes dug into his sliders as he immediately felt a wet patch forming inside his boxers and shorts as he heard the engine rev, feeling the pinch of his throbbing cock and balls. Before Baker could realize what was happening, that SUV had pulled away with a screech and the Browns quarterback found himself scrambling to his car. Before he could realize what he was doing, the crazed jock was trailing the mysterious SUV, praying that it was Officer Kelly behind the wheels, his empty hole quivering as he sped down the dark, empty streets of Cleveland.
What felt like a blink of an eye later, Baker found himself parked next to the abandoned SUV. He'd lost track of the SUV momentarily, but the athlete felt his balls boil and leak more precum when he finally spotted the SUV parked on the side of the road. Surely he'd spotted the officer's angry shock of red beard in the dark... surely... he'd seen the officer head into the woods via the wooded trail... ...
"(Sweet boy...)"
"(Beefy young thing...)"
It was a cool September night in Ohio, but Baker was already covered in a fresh coat of sweat. The trail into the woods had ended almost immediately, and the hyperventilating quarterback's knees shook with every step as he began hearing muffled voices around him. He had no idea what the fuck he was doing, nor could he control what the hell he was doing or where he going. Before he could comprehend and contemplate the potential consequences of his uncontrollable brashness, by the time his cloudy, horny mind adjusted to the sounds of depravity all around him, before his eyes could adjust to the darkness and blackness of the woods at night, the athlete felt the heat of other bodies nearing him as he hesitantly ambled along.
"(Fresh meat...)"
"(That ass...)"
The next thing Baker could remember was the taste of a rancid cock... the painful twigs and stones beneath his knees, the fatness of a stranger's large belly pressed against his sweaty face... a hand flipping his Browns cap backwards on his sweaty head while another gripping the top of his head as a mediocre-sized cock pummeled his throat... Of feeling watched, of the perverse sounds of other men masturbating... Of feeling exposed, of feeling his shorts and boxers roughly pulled down and pooling around his knees...
Muffled, sneers, taunts... belittling jeers and demeaning laughter... Sounds of masturbation grew louder all around him in the dark woods.
A calloused hand tightly wrapped around his throat pulling him upright on his knees to receive a stranger's voracious mouth with his own...The wetness of a stranger's mouth, the coarseness of his beard... the forceful hungriness of a stranger devouring his lips and tongue... The horror of accepting a stranger spitting in his mouth, again and again... the sheer humiliation and degradation of letting a stranger spit his face, his eyes, his nose, his lips, his red, cherubic cheeks... in his mouth... again and again.
"Faggot..."
"Hungry little slut..."
"Good boy..."
"Use that pretty mouth..."
"Feed him..."
"Give the whore what he wants..."
All the muted, deadened sounds surrounding the quarterback suddenly flooded his senses at maximum volume when Baker felt the hard sting of a man's rough hand slap his spit-covered cheek. Their laughing, their filthy words, their demeaning jeers... Baker heard himself whimper girlishly as that stranger forced him back down on that mediocre cock, tasting that disgusting man's member, smelling his dirty odor, feeling his belly flop against his face...
Every fiber of his being screamed at him to GET OUT NOW. To STOP. To RUN. But Baker couldn't stop. He could feel his own precum splattering out of his cock cage against his bare thighs... His body burned so hot his tank and hoody were already soaked through. The quarterback heard his own pathetic whimpers gagging on that cock rise in pitch as foreign hands molested his sweat-soaked body, massaging and spanking his exposed glutes, peeling off his drenched hoody...
No. Baker couldn't stop. He could feel the cock fucking his face grow even more turgid. He could feel a pair of demanding hands spreading his meaty ass. He could hear more men encircling him, taunting him, laughing at him as they discovered his caged cock... Slapping his balls from behind... spitting on him... Callous words, hurtful words... the stinging of stones and twigs beneath his knees... Feeling more hands tug on his caged cock, ridiculing him. Feeling more hands fondle and grope his beefy torso through his soaked tank top. Feeling ravenous mouths and tongues on his sweaty skin: his ass, his neck, his sweaty pits, his arms. Feeling men take turns behind him, eating his pink hole, raping him with their tongues, feeling one man after another try to elicit more squeals and whimpers and muffled, girlish cries from the cock-sucking jock with their mouths and tongues. Baker had never felt more violated. He had never felt more exposed, more humiliated. No. His balls had never boiled hotter, fuller. His cock never leaked more precum. His hole never emptier. No. Baker couldn't stop.
"(Ughnn! Ughnnnnn! UGHNNNN! UGHNNNNNNNNN!!!!)"
His hands pawed at the stranger's thick denim jeans when suddenly, two hands gripped the back of his sweaty, capped head even rougher and harder than before. With guttural grunts, the stranger pummeled Baker's mouth and throat with total disregard of the choking, gagging quarterback. Thick, pungent ropes of cum immediately filled and overflowed from Baker's throat and mouth, dribbling down the jock's chin as the man continued to orgasm and spurt in his whore's mouth.
Baker felt he was drowning as he struggled to swallow every last drop of that acrid cum when immediately, the spent cock was ripped from his throat.
"Ughn... ughnnn.. UGHNN! UGHNN! (UGHNN! UGHNN!!! UGHNN!!!!!)
Baker barely had time to catch his breath before another rock-hard cock slapped him across his cummy chin and panting lips before shoving itself inside his cummy mouth and throat. A big, greasy, fat, turgid cock, three times bigger than the previous.Baker barely, barely managed to swallow the whole dick, feeling tears trickle down his face and desperately trying not to throw up, feeling heavy balls finally nestle against his chin and thick pubes against his nose, before he suddenly cried out, screaming as he spat out the veiny cock.
"JESUS! FUCK! UGHNN! UGHNN! OH FUCK! JESUS! FUCK! GUHNNN GUHNNN! UGHNNNNN!!!!! FUCK!!! UGHNNN!!! FUCK! FUCK!"
Baker was dripping with sweat, tasting a stranger's acrid cum on his tongue and lips, feeling the thick, pungent semen still dribbling from his chin, feeling his body burn, shake, and quake... his knees and hands stinging from the twigs and rocks beneath... Screaming. Baker screamed as a raw cock forcefully snaked its way inside his hole with nothing but spit, sweat and precum, screaming as he felt his body get split into two, his now bare feet kicking wildly in the air behind him and his abuser, his knuckles white from gripping the earth, his knees, numb and already bruised.
"Pretty little pussy boy..."
"Little bitch... open up... open up..."
"We got a wild one here..."
Unlike earlier that night - surrounded by his press handlers and the media next door and god knows who else from the Browns - here, Baker finally cried out in full voice as he got fucked brutally. Strangers no longer cared about getting their dicks sucked or face fucking their whore for the night. They wanted that ass. And to make the kid scream more. ...
The presence of fresh blood had the men's blood and cum boiling. It didn't take long for the pariahs to notice the cocky-looking young stud stumbling his way through the park's most densely forested patch. The glimpses of the hot kid in the scant moonlight... the beefy legs in gray athletic shorts... the sounds of bare feet in sliders... the sweet smell of prey.
They watched as the first man, brazen and entitled, felt the kid up, hearing the boy whimper and seeing him drop to his knees in almost an instant, hearing the sounds of indecent gagging and coughing and wet sloppiness as the kid swallowed that old, overweight man's cock. It didn't take long, for the men to hear a moan from the kid, as someone pulled down the jock's shorts and boxers and began voraciously eating out that muscular, sweet ass.
It all escalated like a sweaty, cummy bomb had exploded. The kid fucking lost his mind when a dick got shoved inside his ass. On all fours, screaming his face off, the hot piece of jock ass cried and moaned and whimpered like a bitch in heat as he started taking a rough pounding. His stainless steel cock cage told everyone what he wanted, needed... And they gave it to him.
How the jock boy arched his back, how fat and muscular his ass looked, jiggling and bouncing in the moonlight as it took one cock after another. The woods were instantly filled with boyish sweetness and manly ripeness and stink, with the men counting their blessings for the arrival of such a cock whore, stroking their cocks as they watched the beefy torso - tight and heaving underneath that sweat-soaked tank top clinging to every sinew of muscle on the kid's writhing back - waiting for their turn at that ass.
The kid was hot. Thick and hard with a bit of leftover baby fat. Clearly an athlete with those arms. Voraciously vulnerable. Submissive. Insatiable. A total whore with a muscular ass that just won't quit.
One man literally fucked the kid to tears. Brutally. The boy was sobbing, burying his face in his forearms on the ground, as a burly daddy railed and pummeled his boy hole so deep and rough that the whimpers and cries and screams emanating from the shaking slut turned into dry, hoarse gasps and silent grunts. Fresh and old cum leaked out of that boy pussy with every slam of daddy cock. Some thought the kid had blacked out but soon realized he was sobbing into his arms while backing that glorious ass back onto the cock that hurt him so deeply...
...
Baker wanted to black out. But no. He couldn't. He was drunk. High. He wanted to feel all of it, he wanted it more than he wanted to black out and shut it all out. His demons won. He was broken, again.
The total submission to getting brutalized by strangers. the sneers, the voices all around him in the moonlit darkness, and the sadistic craving for it to never end, for his consciousness to remain intact for as much as possible, to feel the swell of heat and pain and wetness emanating from inside his hole towards every inch of his body, to feel out of control of his own body, to feel that wave hit him over and over again like each man's cock had done... to revel in the humiliation, the perversity of getting used, owned... whored out... to satisfy all these strangers... one after another...
Baker sobbed as he got fucked ragged, feeling one man after another quake and shake behind him, feeling the fullness of their domination overflowing his abused hole, knowing full well his cock was straining against his cage and pissing precum the whole time, hearing his own voice beg for DEEPER. HARDER! HARDER! DEEPER! MORE! despite his tears. Baker was desperate to feel that final elation, that euphoria, as he fought to remain conscious, to ride that perilous line of euphoria, as he begged the men to hurt and abuse him past his limits.
Baker had momentarily forgotten about Officer Kelly, who might be fucking him or have already fucked him, or is waiting his turn. Who knows. The quarterback was beyond any sense or meaningful consciousness... of any self control, of any decorum... as he braced himself on his knees and elbows... His ass up and ready for whoever wanted it next... feeling electricity shoot through every millimeter of his sweaty, cummy body with every painful penetration... that maybe, maybe he'd find that high at last, to feel something again, to explode from all the pent up, debilitatingly horny energy from the emasculating cock cage.
That, if enough men use him that night, hurt him, abuse him beyond his breaking point... if they break him... hard... like he was begging them to do... that maybe, maybe... maybe the pain, the humiliation... the torturous abuse... sadistic violation of his body... the rape... that maybe...
Baker prayed as he begged for cum and cock, hoped and prayed as he cried out with another thick, long cock bludgeoned and pummeled his sloppy, overflowing jock hole... that if he took it all. took everything all these men could possibly do to him and more... that maybe... when he wakes up... feeling the pain of his body from the inside out, that maybe, he'd not crave it anymore. that he'd finally have his fill, finally overdose, finally hit rock bottom... That he'd wake up and not crave any of this anymore... That all the men would break him. Break his dark perversion. Use him so hard that he won't need it anymore...
"FUCK ME! FUCK ME! HARDER! HARDER! FUCK ME! UGHNN! UGHNNN! FUCK! JESUS! FUCK!!! CUM IN ME! CUM! CUME IN ME! PLEASE! CUM! JUST CUM! IN! ME!"
...
Baker Mayfield. Whore of Cleveland. Baker Mayfield. Cum dump of Cleveland. Baker Mayfield. Filthiest faggot of Cleveland. Pussy bottom. Depraved little bitch. Hungry piece of hot ass... Wet cunt Baker... Whore of Cleveland...
The cruelty of strangers, of the men, who, one by one, recognized the rookie quarterback... It was pretty obvious really, with his sweat and cum-soaked Browns cap still backwards on his head. One by one, each man recognized Baker when the athlete's muscular glutes and wet hole wrapped around and and devoured each new cock.
Their cruel words. Their ruthless heartlessness. Their vicious delight in using, abusing and breeding the most famous athlete in the city at the moment. They were surprised at how reckless the quarterback was, given the amount of attention the kid was getting: press, interviews, social media posts and endless high-profiled endorsements. The kid was a marketing team's wet dream, and here he was on all fours, his shorts around his knees and his tank top soaked with sweat and cum, manhandled and fucked for everyone to see and use.
They were all surprised at how voracious a bottom whore Cleveland's new star quarterback was, how fat and hot his ass was, how trained and vigorously muscular his hole was... accommodating each new cock like a bottomless pit of depraved whoredom as he screamed his face off, whimpering like a bitch, like a virgin girl fucked open for the first time... Few even paid attention the stainless steel cage around his cock or how much precum and cum he was pissing on to and soiling those shorts around his knees... It was about the kid's mouth and ass.
"UGNN! UGHNN! OH GOD! OW! OH SHIT! UGHNN! FUCK! UGHNN! OH FUCK! SHIT! FUCK!!! UGHNNN! GUHNNNN!!!! OW!!"
...
Baker couldn't bear it. He was ruined. It was all over. They know. They all know. Their demeaning and callous words echoed through the jock's pounding head as he limped back to his car. Everyone in those woods all had a turn, or two, or three, or four, with the broken athlete. They used him for as long as their cocks could handle that insatiable hole, for as long as cum brewed and replenished in their drained balls, for as long as it was still night...
The sun was just about to rise when Baker final found himself alone and collapsed in a heap of strangers' cum and god knows what. His hoody and cap were nowhere to be found as he painfully pulled himself upright with intense stiffness and aches, gingerly pulling up his cum- and sweat-soaked shorts from around his bruised knees. His boxers were painfully torn off of his body hours ago, and his tank top... somehow still clad to his sticky, muscled torso, also ripped at the seams and barely resembling an article of clothing, save the stretched collar and a few threads holding the tank together.
The men were savages. But... but... the quarterback was nearly in tears as he crawled out of that hellhole... torturous paradise... realizing... not once... could he cum like this... Not once... in the hours of brutal fucking... not once... in the marathon orgy of perversity, was he able to cum. He was so close... so many times... but no... his overflowing balls, blue and aching... saw no release.
Every new cock was a struggle, a reminder of the perversity and humiliation his addiction demanded. Baker, his voice hoarse and gone from screams and whimpers and cries and moans, begged for more and more when a stranger's rhythm suddenly turns erratic, fucking him wilder, deeper, faster, harder... hanging on to those moments when a stranger's cock suddenly swells harder, thicker... those final moments when his rapist slams into his broken hole for the last time, shoving an erupting cock at the deepest point of his quarterback chute, the sensation of getting bred, the heat of gushing cum overflowing his worn ass, of the men convulsing and shaking on top of him...
Every time a man was about to dump his load inside Baker, the quarterback begged for him to keep going, to keep fucking him like that... that wild fucking... that merciless pounding... he begged for the ferocity of the fucking to last... those last, final thrusts... Baker wished it to all be like that those final, guttural thrusts... he wished it could all be that animalistic, that no holds barred, that absolute abandonment... so that maybe, maybe... just maybe, someone can finally push him past the edge he's been riding all week and finally make him feel something, to feel that euphoria, that orgasm...
But no. Baker was broken.
It can't go on like this. Never again. Baker screamed to himself, tears of regret forming in his empty eyes as he ambled to his car, his cummy, sweaty feet barely able to gain traction in those Nike slides of his. He'd felt low before; he'd hated himself like this after every vile bender, but not this. They all recognized him. They jeered him and shouted his name. Men have degraded his body before, but not his name... not all these strangers... not when his celebrity just shot into the stratosphere, not when he was officially a NFL quarterback.
No. He couldn't go on like this. He cannot afford being so abased and reckless, if he still has a career and image and wife and family after tonite/this morning...
...
Baker had barely pieced together his broken psyche... He'd just managed to dull the pain of his body and hole... He'd just mustered the courage to drive into his garage... Just as he yoga-breathed the shit out of himself in order to contain his endless meltdowns and hysterical breakdowns that plagued him on the drive home. Just as he pulled up to his spot, Baker spotted that SUV again... parked next to his spot. It can't be the same car, can it?! No way. There's no way people knew his new address... right? No fucking way.
Every step hurt the quarterback as he climbed the exhausting flights of stairs up to his penthouse apartment. He'd avoided the building's elevators and snuck in wreaking of debauchery and sex via the back staircase, pathetically covering himself with another Browns hoody he found in his car. Every step made the athlete's knees shake with fear, with anxiety, regret... anticipation...
...
"You want this cock, don't you, faggot?"
"..."
"Come on, Baker... you little cunt... You little whore... Never enough, huh, Baker Mayfield..."
The quarterback was a sight. Sweaty. Greasy. Dirty. Covered in dried cum and dirt and god knows what as he shut and locked the door behind him. Frozen in place, Baker gasped with terror as he made out the officer's striking figure on his designer lounge chair, smoking a cigar in his new home...
To be continued...
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