**Big Apple Domination**

I’d met Mazzi King at some underground leather bar in the Meatpacking District—where else? The guy was a walking wet dream: 6’4”, broad as a linebacker, with this cocky smirk that made my dick twitch the second he locked eyes with me. But the *real* kicker? Rumor had it he was packing a *monster*—12 inches of thick, veiny godhood between his thighs. And when he leaned in, his breath hot against my ear, and growled, *“You wanna find out if the rumors are true?”*—fuck, I was already half-hard.

Now here we were, in his dimly-lit loft, the city skyline glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Mazzi didn’t waste time. The second the door shut, he had me pinned against it, his big hand wrapping around my throat just hard enough to make my pulse rocket. “You’re gonna take every inch of me,” he rumbled, grinding his bulge against mine. “And you’re gonna *beg* for it.”

I could feel his cock through his jeans, thick and heavy even half-hard. My mouth watered. “Fuck yes, Sir,” I choked out, already surrendering.

Mazzi smirked and shoved me to my knees. “Open.”

I obeyed, jaw dropping, and he unzipped with one rough tug. His dick *sprung* free, and fuck—*fuck*—the rumors were *under*selling it. A full foot of dark, throbbing meat, the head already leaking pre-cum, veins standing out along the shaft. My stomach flipped, but my cock throbbed.

“Worship it,” he commanded, fisting his cock and slapping it against my lips.

I didn’t hesitate. I licked a wet stripe up the underside, tasting salt and musk, before swallowing the head. It stretched my lips wide, but I pushed down, gagging as it hit the back of my throat. Mazzi groaned, fingers tightening in my hair. “Deeper.”

I tried, but he didn’t let me set the pace. Instead, he *yanked* my head forward, forcing his cock down my throat until tears spilled over. I choked, spit dripping down my chin, but he held me there, fucking my face with slow, brutal thrusts. “That’s it,” he growled. “Take it like a whore.”

When he finally let me pull back, I was gasping, lips swollen, but my dick was leaking in my jeans. Mazzi hauled me up and tore my shirt open, buttons flying. “Strip. Now.”

I scrambled out of my clothes, and the second I was naked, he spun me around and shoved me over the back of his couch. One hand pinned me down while the other spread my ass cheeks. I heard the cap of lube pop, then two thick fingers shoved inside me without warning.

“Fuck—!” I arched, but he didn’t stop, scissoring me open with rough, efficient strokes.

“You’re tight,” he muttered. “Gonna *ruin* you.”

Then his fingers were gone, replaced by the blunt, *massive* head of his cock pressing against my hole. I tensed—*holy shit, no way*—but Mazzi didn’t ask. He pushed in, and I *howled* as my body stretched obscenely around him.

“Breathe,” he ordered, gripping my hips.

I panted, shaking, as he fed me inch after inch, my insides burning, stretching, *adjusting* to the girth splitting me open. When his balls finally slapped against my ass, he bottomed out, and I whimpered, full to bursting.

Mazzi didn’t give me a second to adjust. He pulled back and *slammed* home, and I saw stars. “Fuck—*fuck*!” I babbled, nails clawing at the couch as he set a punishing pace, each thrust knocking the air from my lungs.

“Yeah, you feel that?” he grunted, slamming into me harder. “That’s *my* dick wrecking you.”

I could only moan, my own cock bouncing, dripping untouched. Every snap of his hips sent fire through me, his balls slapping against me with wet, filthy sounds. The stretch was *agonizing*—*perfect*—and when he leaned over, his chest pressing against my back, his hand snaked around to squeeze my throat again.

“Gonna cum in this tight ass,” he snarled in my ear. “You want that?”

“*Yes—*”

He pistoned into me, brutal and deep, until I felt his cock pulse inside me. With a roar, he came, flooding me with hot, thick ropes. The feeling of him pumping me full pushed *me* over the edge—I came untouched, spurting across the couch, my hole clenching around his still-throbbing dick.

Mazzi finally pulled out, leaving me gaping and dripping. He smirked down at me. “Told you you’d beg.”

And fuck, I *would*—again and again.