Zander Woodz’s College Gang-Bang

Zander Woodz’s knees dig into the sticky Beta Beta Pi common room carpet, trembling under the weight of what’s coming. Alumni Adam Snow—all 6’4” of him—cinches a leather harness around Zander’s hips with a predator’s grin. The frat pack circles: Dylan Tides cracking his knuckles, Smith Sterling palming himself through sweatpants, Canyon Cole already spit-roasting a half-empty beer can. Adam’s the last to drop his slacks, his dick a meaty curve that slaps Zander’s cheek hard enough to leave a pre-cum streak. “Bet your sweet ass regrets rushing us now,” Adam snorts, watching Zander’s throat bob.

Dylan first—dude’s got a rep for wrecking pledges missionary-style on the poker table. Zander’s legs hook over his shoulders as Dylan’s hipbones leave bruises, the cheap wood creaking under their weight. Junior Collin’s up next, flipping Zander doggystyle so fast his palms skid on Natty Light puddles. “Gape’s already sloppy,” Collin jeers, spearing in to the hilt. By the time VP Dex rams him against the fridge, Zander’s hole flutters loose around each thrust, spit and lube dribbling down his thighs.

Adam waits till the end. Always does. He hauls Zander backward by the harness, impaling him on that monster cock in one brutal shove. Zander’s scream gets swallowed by the brothers’ chants of ”BREAK HIM!” Adam’s balls slap rhythmically against Zander’s wrecked ass, each pump flooding him hotter, deeper. When he finally erupts, the burst’s so violent it backflows around the shaft—thick ropes spurting out to puddle beneath them. They peel Zander off with a wet pop, his stomach bloated, frat jersey pasted to his chest with seven loads. Brotherhood achieved.