Chapter 3: Give Me Your Babies
The pounding in Dave’s skull had nothing to do with the crumbling city and everything to do with the thick, urgent throb between his legs. It was a second heartbeat, a demanding, primal pulse that drowned out the distant screams and the crackle of spreading fires. The supplement’s power had flooded every cell, but it had pooled, hot and insistent, in his cock. It was a monstrous, veined thing, jutting out from the coarse hair at his groin like the siege tower of some ancient army, dripping pre-cum that fell in viscous, gallon-sized globs to steam on the ravaged asphalt below. It was a distraction, a beautiful, unbearable agony.
The playful destruction, the tasting of the city—it was all just foreplay now. His vision tunneled. The skyline was no longer a playground. It was a menu.
A sleek, glass skyscraper, proud and undamaged, gleamed a few blocks over. It looked like a challenge.
“Fuck this,” Dave growled, his voice a low earthquake. He was talking to no one, to everyone. “I’m so goddamn horny I can’t see straight.”
He stomped towards it, each step a tectonic event. The building grew before him, a shimmering pillar. He didn’t break stride. He turned his hips, the sheer mass of him sending a shockwave through the district. He lined up the swollen, ruddy head of his cock with the building’s central glass atrium, about halfway up its sixty-story height.
He pushed forward.
The initial resistance was a symphony of shattering. The reinforced glass of the atrium exploded inward in a glittering, razor-sharp cloud. Steel beams bent with a shrieking groan. He shoved harder, sheathing himself inside the building’s core. The feeling was tight, cool, and unyielding—a brutal, impersonal friction.
A raw, guttural sound ripped from his throat. “Yeah… fuck, yeah…”
This was it. All those late nights in the sterile office, all the pent-up frustration from years of watching Brad on a screen, wishing it was him, all the ruthless control he had to maintain—it all erupted. He fucked the building with a savage, piston-like rhythm.
His hairy gut, a broad, dense slope of muscle and fur, slammed against the shattered opening with each thrust. The remaining windows for ten stories above and below the point of entry spider-webbed and then blew out, cascading down in deadly, crystalline waterfalls. His colossal balls, tight and heavy, swung up to slap against the building’s exterior with wet, thunderous smacks that echoed like cannon fire.
He gripped the building’s sides, his fingers crushing through the curtain wall, digging into the concrete floors within. He roared, an animalistic cry of pure release that scattered the clouds. He was a force, a primal engine of need, obliterating the structure with every drive of his hips.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Brad stop. The other giant had been toying with a suspension bridge, but now he was frozen, watching. And he wasn’t just watching. His own hand, big as a bulldozer, was wrapped around his thick cock, stroking it in time with Dave’s thrusts. The train was still wedged in his ass, forgotten. Brad’s face was a mask of pure, enraptured awe.
The sight sent a new, electric jolt through Dave. He’s into it. He’s watching me. A lifetime of secret yearning condensed into this single, filthy moment. It spurred him on, made him meaner. He wanted to show off. He wanted to show Brad what a real, rough fuck looked like.
He hammered into the skyscraper with renewed, brutal force. The building groaned, a deep, structural lament. He fucked it harder, faster, wanting to demonstrate his prowess, to impress the only audience that mattered.
It was too much.
With a final, seismic thrust, the building’s structural integrity gave way. The upper thirty stories leaned, then sheared off entirely in a groaning avalanche of steel and glass, collapsing inward and then cascading down in a roaring, dusty avalanche. Dave’s cock slipped free, slick with dust and fluids, as the building became a pile of rubble.
He stood there, panting, his erection still painfully hard, throbbing with unmet need. He glared at the wreckage. “Flimsy piece of shit,” he spat, the words dripping with contempt.
A low whistle cut through the settling dust. Brad let go of his own cock and clapped, the sound like two continents colliding. “Damn, Davey. You packed a wallop.”
Then Brad moved. He dropped onto all fours, his back becoming a vast, muscular plain. The train still protruded obscenely from between his cheeks. He looked back over his shoulder, his expression a mix of challenge and raw invitation.
“Looks like you need something a little stronger,” Brad said, his voice rough. “Something built to take a rough fuck from a big, hairy beast.”
Dave’s breath caught. The world narrowed to the sight of Brad, presented, and the aching, urgent demand in his own body. The ruins, the fires, the tiny, scrambling dots—all of it faded to static.
“Are you…” Dave started, his voice gravel. “Are you asking me to fuck you, Brad?”
Brad grinned, wild and bright. “Hell fucking yes, I am.”
A smile, slow and predatory, spread across Dave’s face. It was the smile he used when closing a hostile takeover. It was the smile of a man who had just been given everything he ever wanted.
He walked toward Brad, his massive cock leading the way, bobbing with each step like a heat-seeking missile finally locking onto its target. The ground trembled with his approach. He placed one colossal hand on the small of Brad’s back, feeling the powerful muscles there. With the other, he gripped the base of his own cock, guiding the dripping, monstrous head. He nudged aside the mangled train cab, letting the ruined thing clatter away down the canyon of the street.
“This is gonna be rough,” Dave warned, his voice thick.
“Better be,” Brad shot back, pushing his ass up higher. “Don’t you fucking hold back.”
Dave didn’t.