Dean woke up unusually early on his day off, especially considering how late he had gotten home from the airport the night before. Bright, irritating sunlight was already beginning to stream into his darkened bedroom through the gaps in the blinds, the diagonal strips of golden light illuminating his nude form and rousing him against his will. As his eyes fluttered open, he immediately became aware of a very familiar presence in the room with him. Namely, a morning hard-on that had apparently been up for much longer than he had.

Groaning, he rolled onto his back, his hand wandering down to his crotch. He debated on getting up to take a leak but he knew as soon as he wrapped his fingers around it that this wasn't a piss hard-on. He had been on the road for the last few days, and between work and sharing a hotel room with another person, he hadn't had much opportunity to take care of what he liked to call "personal business". And at that moment, his personal business had decided this was a perfect time to be taken care of.

Gripping himself and stroking lightly, Dean let out an unexpected moan. It seemed his cock was way ahead of him, as it was already leaking out a wet, sticky spot onto his stomach. He rubbed his thumb over the head, spreading the wetness around. An involuntary shiver coursed through him as he touched that sensitive spot. He knew what had to be done, but he was feeling way too groggy to find suitable porn clips online to jerk off to.

Closing hs eyes, he tried searching his imagination for stored spank bank material as his hand moved lazily up and down his shaft. Many images flashed through his mind's eye, some only lasting a split second and others lingering, seemingly demanding to be acknowledged. He attempted to focus on one image in particular, which happened to be the ultra-fine ass of the Divas champion.

Being an undisputed ass man, Dean had spent quite a few lonely evenings with the company of his hand and some scandalously dirty thoughts about that ass of hers. Sure, she was a bit young for his usual tastes, but her ridiculously tight behind in those painted-on cut-offs more than made up for it. That, and those damn knee socks. It had gotten to the point where just running into her backstage before a show dressed in her ring gear would be enough to make him unbearably hard. All he could think about was having that ass spread in front of him, so tiny and pert and flawless, just waiting to be drilled hard by his oh-so-eager cock. What he wouldn't have given to be able to feel the heat from inside that exceedingly tight channel as his dick stretched it open, forcing it to accept his girth.

Dean held his breath for a second as he felt a rush of energy flood into his pelvic area, heavy and warm, giving him butterflies in his stomach. His cock twitched in his hand, and he knew then that he had something he could definitely work with. "Yeah, I'm gonna cum in that ass, baby," he mumbled aloud to his imaginary AJ, his eyes still closed, hand starting to move faster between his legs.

In his half-awake state, Dean's mind was not yet engaged enough to stay consciously focused, and after a couple of minutes, it started to wander away from his self-imposed fantasy. Slowly the image of AJ's ass began to fade, his attention drawing itself inward to a deeper level, where some of his filthier thoughts and desires lay buried. Before long, he found himself thinking about what it must feel like to be stretched wide open like that. To have a pair of large, strong hands wrapping tightly around his throat, his lusty moans being snuffed out by the lack of oxygen to his lungs, his body submitting against his own will.

Suddenly Dean caught himself, shaking his head to try to clear that image from his mind. He hadn't planned on beating off while fantasizing about getting dominated and fucked, as he had originally intended to bust a nut to AJ. Plus, that was just weird. He kept his eyes closed in concentration, trying to make her appear again, but every time he did after that, his dick would protest, refusing to work with him.

He finally opened his eyes, lifting his head up and slapping his cock, looking at it as though it had betrayed him. "Come on, what the fuck?" he growled at it, trying to wake it out of its lethargic state. Surprisingly, that slap did wake it up somewhat, and a few firm strokes later he was back in business. As he delved back into his mind, his train of thought made a sharp detour right back to where it had left off. The slap he gave himself had awoken his pain-slut tendencies, the stinging in his cock giving him a little taste of the endorphins he loved so much.

He let out a resigned sigh, deciding to let his mind go wherever it wanted to go. It's not like there was anyone there to see it anyway. Might as well just go with it...it's just a fantasy, he thought to himself, relaxing a bit more, hand still working on his cock.

As soon as he closed his eyes once more, another image manifested itself, one that caused Dean to blush shamefully, but also made his dick surge and grow harder and larger in his hand. It was him again. That bastard was invading his mind, and worst of all it was turning him on immensely.

God, why does that asshole have to be so damn good-looking, he wondered internally as the vision came into clearer view. Gorgeous, long, dark hair, piercing eyes that defied any attempt to categorize their color, his commanding stature...he had the type of genetic perfection that couldn't be bought or manufactured. In Dean's mind, he was naked, his body a masterpiece of sculpted muscle and wet, bronzed skin. Dean's concentration went to the area between the fantasy man's legs, and slowly his brain materialized a cock that he assumed was representative of the real thing, as Dean had shared a many locker room shower with him in the past and had seen enough to know that it was by no means small. His brain locked in on it, focusing on every detail, fleshing out the thick, veined shaft and the glistening, ridged glans, just a tinge darker in color than the rest of it.

Dean bit his lip, tugging on himself harder, still blushing but quickly getting worked up enough to not care. His breath came in little gasps, between which he held his breath. He soon started to get a little lightheaded from the erratic breathing, but his dick responded by leaking a lewd amount of pre-cum and throbbing hard. He grunted and writhed on the bed, imagining that man physically overtaking him and making him his bitch. "Fuuuccckkkk," he hissed, disappointed that he couldn't quite replicate the feeling of being choked out with hands like that on his own.

Or could I? Dean wondered. Eyes suddenly snapping open, he sat bolt upright in bed and jumped off, landing gracefully in front of the closet. He flung the doors open and rummaged around, retrieving a beaten-up shoebox from the upper shelf. He flipped the lid off, grabbing the contents and dropping the rest of the box on the floor.

It was a black leather collar, to which was attached a length of heavy steel chain. It had been a memento of his hardcore days, a collar that he had actually worn in a match. It was still crusted in his own dried blood. He hadn't looked at it in a long time, but it was perfect for his needs at that moment. Dean wasted no time in putting it on and tightening it down, purposely securing it one notch too snug. His pulse quickened as he realized the inherent danger in what he was about to do, but that only made his dick throb even more. With trembling hands, he looked around for a place to secure the other end of the chain.

After scanning the room quickly, he decided the use the doorknob. It was low enough that if he were to accidentally pass out, he wouldn't hang himself. He crudely knotted the chain around the knob, giving it a couple of good tugs to make sure it would hold. Once he had it all in place, he sank down onto his knees in front of the door, leaning away from it until the chain snapped tight.

Dean gasped as he felt the collar bite into his neck, the sensation immediately bumping the tension in his cock up a notch. He moaned, a long, low noise, full of frustrated desire. Spreading his legs a bit, he grabbed his dick and started to stroke it more urgently. In his excitement, he had broken into a sweat, beads of perspiration running down his face and bare chest.

There he was again. As soon as Dean felt that delicious constriction around the front of his throat, his eyes closed and Ro was back, this time behind him, holding the other end of the chain and grinning that fucking irresistible smile of his. Dean's breath hitched and he leaned harder into the chain, dropping down onto one hand, the other busily working his engorged unit as his vision started to grow fuzzy around the edges. "Unhhh fuck, yeah, give it to me," he gasped aloud to fantasy Ro, imagining his beautiful hands choking the life out of him as he simultaneously speared him on that fantastic cock.

Rocking back and forth on his hands and knees, Dean visualized Roman fucking him relentlessly, laying claim to Dean's ass by pounding it to fit perfectly to his contours and no one else's. He whimpered as he started to see dark spots appearing in his field of vision, his mind afloat on a sea of dopamine. The collar resisted his struggle, the wide leather strap rubbing the skin red underneath it. The pain only excited him more, lightning bolts of twisted pleasure shooting straight to his throbbing cock.

Just then, Dean happened to look down at the floor and saw what looked like red polka dots, directly below him. A moment later a droplet fell from his chest and landed, and he realized it was blood. He reached up to his face to see if his nose was bleeding, but it wasn't that. His hand traveled to his neck to adjust the collar, and when he looked at his fingers afterward, they were red. The dried blood on the collar had reconstituted when it mixed with his sweat, and it had been dripping down his torso as he pleasured himself, blissfully unaware.

Dean quickly removed his hand from his dick and swiped it across his chest, smearing the blood in a wet stripe over his pecs. He laughed weakly, leaning even more of his weight against the chain, and brought his hand back to his hard cock. Looking down, he reveled in the sight of his blood-covered hand gripping his throbbing meat, and groaned deep in his throat, pulling the collar even tighter as he laid into it.

The Roman in his head was stroking him now, still stuffing his ass with cock while reaching around him with his beautifully tattooed arm. The collar was his hot mouth, teeth biting into the tender, inflamed skin of his throat, deep growls emanating from between his lips.

Dean was on the verge of blacking out, his heartbeat pounding hard in his ears and his hand working furiously on his insistent cock. He had to make this happen quick or he was going to lose consciousness. He tried with all his might to focus on the fantasy, holding onto Roman so as not to let him disappear.

Suddenly, Dean lost his footing, dropping face down onto the floor, his ass still in the air. The chain rattled as it snapped tight again and Dean's heart jumped in his chest. He instinctively gripped himself harder and stroked faster, and within moments he was crying out, his moans strangled by the tight leather around his neck.

He shuddered, his surging cock gushing out a copious load of pearly jizz all over his bloody fingers. "Oh God Ro, you're so fucking good," he cried hoarsely to the otherwise empty room, feeling like he was watching himself from outside his body. "Sooo fucking good, baby. You ARE the man..." he said as he slumped back against the door, exhausted yet utterly satisfied.