Chapter 1

Summer, 1997. Somewhere in the Nordic countryside.

Not Even Close

Dag’s breath hitched as he stared up at the ceiling, heart hammering like a drum in his chest. His head rested in Liv’s lap—her thighs soft, warm, and steady beneath him. She was naked, her skin tanned and smooth, her full breasts brushing his temple every time she leaned over to kiss his forehead.

His legs were in the air, ankles held wide in Liv’s firm hands. His body glistened with sweat and lube. His hole, slick and twitching, had already been worked with fingers. Nils had spent long minutes prepping him in silence—watchful, focused.

But now the real test had finally come.

Nils stood at the foot of the bed, thick fingers wrapped loosely around the base of his cock. It was glistening with lube, heavy, veined, massive. The kind of cock you’d see in a filthy back-page, or on a pornstar. But it was real. It was hard. And it was aimed at Dag’s ass.

“Relax,” Nils said, voice low and steady. “You’re lubed. I’m lubed. You said you were ready.”

Dag nodded. “I—I am.”

Nils didn’t respond. He just pressed forward.

The fat head of his cock met resistance instantly. Dag’s breath left his lungs in a shaky gasp. He tried to push out, just like he’d read in the guides. Tried to breathe, to open, to let the stretch happen.

But his body panicked. The thick cock slid in just an inch. Maybe two. And then—stopped.

Nils held there for a moment. Breathing through his nose. Staring down at Dag’s trembling thighs. Liv let out a soft moan as she watched the stretch.

Dag whimpered, “Please—keep going—”

But Nils just pulled back slowly, letting the head slide out with a wet pop. He looked down at Dag, then gave the underside of his cock a long stroke, lube shining between his fingers.

“You’re not even close to ready,” he said calmly.

Dag blinked, shame crawling up his neck.

“I thought you could handle my cock,” Nils continued, cocking an eyebrow. “Didn’t you say you’d been training with plugs?”

“I—I have—”

“Were they mini-sized?”

Liv chuckled under her breath and kissed the top of Dag’s head. “You poor thing,” she whispered, stroking his calves. “It’s a lot. He’s always a lot the first time.”

Dag closed his eyes, chest rising and falling too fast. His hole still ached from the failed stretch, but his cock was rock hard, leaking onto his stomach.

How did I end up like this? he thought.

The Ad

Three weeks earlier

The room smelled like sweat and hot paper.

Dag lay on his stomach, naked, a pillow bunched under his hips. The adult hookup magazine crackled in his hands—thick pages, grainy ink, the kind of glossy sleaze you had to buy in person, in cash, with no questions asked. It was dog-eared, worn, and absolutely alive with filth.

He was flipping absently, already leaking, when he turned the page—and froze.

There it was.

Half-page. Black and white. No color. No gimmicks. Just pure, devastating truth.

A man and a woman, naked, lying on a rumpled bed. Their faces blurred. But the rest? Unfiltered.

The woman had curves that filled the frame. Her legs were open, feet still in a pair of black silk stockings. The right one was torn from thigh to ankle. Between her legs: a thick, untrimmed bush, glossy and matted with cum—gobs of it, soaking into her. It looked fresh. Like they’d taken the photo five seconds after he finished.

And the man ... his cock rested heavy on his thigh. Big. Thick. Veined. Still dripping from the tip.

Dag’s hand trembled as he stared.

Below the photo, simple typewritten words: