I looked at my cellphone, which still had a 22% charge. I’d only checked the time, which glowed dimly on my phone’s screen. It had been an hour and 55 minutes since they’d presumably headed out in pursuit of me. I sat up and stretched, quietly. I was a little stiff after the effort of fleeing, then sitting still for so long. I felt like moving. I wasn’t sure I could find my way back to the cabin – I should have put a pin down in Google Maps before leaving. Though I had no bars for calling, apparently I had enough geolocation data to see my position on the map, and make out a curving route that might be the main road. I figured I would head in that direction. First I relieved myself in a corner of the clearing, spraying down the base of the rock.
“Justin was here,” I said to myself.
I softly padded my way out of the crevice, still irrationally mindful of the noise I was making. As I emerged back into the forest, hands reached out to grab me. Someone punched me viciously in the gut, someone else wrapped a hand around my mouth and pinned my arms behind me.
“Gotcha faggot,” said Riley, triumphantly, into my ear. Finn, ostensibly, though still mostly unrecognizable, took a doubled length of rope, looped it around my wrists, wrapping it around several times to completely restrain my hands in front of me. I was coughing and gasping to get my wind back. He then spoke into his phone.
“Got him.”
They dragged me over to a massive fallen tree trunk and threw me down on my stomach over it. With the other end of the rope binding my wrists, Finn somehow managed to thread it under the trunk and secure my ankles, effectively hog-tying me over a fallen log. A minute later, we were joined by two more, presumably Coach and Nick, though equally unrecognizable in their war criminal get-up.
“I’m going first. I’ve been boned up for over an hour,” proclaimed Finn, pulling down my pants and silks.
“Go for it,” said Coach. “We’re in no hurry.”
Finn released his cock from his pants and smacked my face with it. It was indeed hard. And seeping in pre-cum, which trailed from my lips and to the tip of his hardness as he pulled away. He hopped over the log and knelt behind me. Spit on his tool and shoved it up my unprepared ass.
I shrieked. He slammed his hand over my mouth.
“Shut the fuck up you faggot bitch. We caught you. Now we rape you.”
Those words went right to my cock.
He pulled out and slammed in again. And again. And told me a story, quietly in my ears.
“I have wanted to rape your ass since I first laid eyes on you. Every time I see you my cock bones up in ten seconds. And doesn’t want your permission.”
He said the next part with a mocking voice. “Faggot’s don’t consent. They take what we give them. I just want to feel my cock violating your sweet, tight little ass. And watch you cry. Or moan.”
I couldn’t help myself. I came on the spot.
Riley noticed. “The bitch just came, hands-free. I say everyone needs to make her cum tonight. We’re not done here until that happens.”
Finn pulled his head back and roared, mercifully not deafening me. And released six or seven jets of come up my ass. He punched the back of my head (What was it about this move? Something Finn once said about his game?), then pulled out.
Riley took his place immediately. He proceeded to tell me a different story while he sawed into and out of my ass.
“We made a pact. We’re all gonna fuck you three times at least. I wanna come quickly, so the next two times I last for hours, and rape you until you bleed.”
I was hard again.
Even so, I whimpered, and he shoved his gloved fingers into my mouth, fish-hooking me then trying to make me gag. There was magic in his words, for him. But also for me. He was casting a spell, creating a reality for himself that might finally surpass his darkest fantasies, ones where he didn’t ever have to take no for an answer.
Riley too shuddered and roared, emptying his release deep within my guts, I counted six, seven, eight spurts searing my insides, slamming his muscled thighs into me with each thrust.
When he pulled out, all four worked quickly to free me from the fallen log. They were more alike then different in their commando garb. It wasn’t just a uniform, it was a second skin that bonded them as brothers. Brothers in mayhem, in wanton lust. They freed my ankles, then hoisted the rope securing my wrists and threw it over a nearby bough. Coach hoisted me up and then secured the rope around the tree’s trunk. I was standing on tiptoes awkwardly, uncomfortably.
Coach instructed Nick, “Get his upper half. Hold him tight.”
Nick complied, throwing one arm around my neck in a choke hold, and wrapping his other arm around my torso. For every one of them, it was like I was weightless. Their need fed their strength, their strength crushed any ability I might have to resist.
Coach then hoisted my legs in the air, holding them up and over his shoulders, his arms bulging nicely with the effort. He placed his cock at the entrance to my channel, saying “Shut him up,” before thrusting his rigid member into my hole.
Nick complied, clamping a gloved hand over my mouth. For the umpteenth time, if I’m honest. I was hard again. What the fuck was wrong with me?
Coach was thick. And cruel. And knew how to manipulate his cock to have maximum impact and maximum pleasure for himself. He too had a story to tell.
“Mouthy fucking faggot who’s been a pain in my ass all fucking semester. I can be a pain in your ass too, bitch.”
His words stung. But he shot me a look of pure desire, then slapped me, almost affectionately, on one side of the hand covering my mouth. He too was unreeling a fantasy, in his own way. And like the others, he wasted little time getting off in my ass. I could feel his girthy cock throbbing with its release.
Nick freed the rope that hoisted my wrists above my head. I stumbled to my knees, off balance and not expecting to support my own weight again. He knelt and looked me in the eyes. And hauled off and slammed his fist into my gut. I gasped. Then he cold-cocked me on the chin. I yelped and fell backwards. He flipped me over and pulled my ass up, positioning himself at my back, kneeling over me, covering my back. He thrust in brutally.”
“Not holding back, bitch. We warned you,” he said, steel in his voice.
Finn piped up. “Room for me in there next to you?”
“Dude, no.” Nick stated, firmly. “I’m soloing. We can double up in the next round.”
He spoke softly in my ear. “My fist is next. No tapping out this time.”
“Do you like hurting me?” I whispered to Nick. “For real. Does it turn you on?”
“You have no idea. Makes me harder than steel. I love being in you like this, when you’re helpless. When you’re crying.” He slammed his fists into my lower back. I could only grunt.
He forced me down flat on my stomach. Pinned me, thrust in and came in multiple spurts. “Fuck yeah. Consider yourself owned, faggot.” He punched the back of my head, as he had before, as Finn had only minutes earlier. I came again, in between sobs.
It was not over. I was trussed to a substantial beam or log, suspended by my wrists at one end and knees at the other. We walked for 15 or 20 minutes through the wood before arriving at a makeshift campsite. They worked as a tight unit, silently, as if in combat. I was stripped and spreadeagled on the ground, arms and legs roped loosely to heavy stakes in the ground, so they could manhandle and manipulate me to suit their wanton needs.
All four were still obscenely hard under their pants, the skintight material leaving nothing to the imagination, cocks easily pulled out when ready for action.
They took me in pairs, next. Coach fucking my face, brutally, Riley at my ass again, legs held firmly over his shoulders, his arms draped almost casually, holding my knees. Announcing their climaxes at the same time, filling me at both ends with their potent seed. I hadn’t tasted Coach’s before, it was salty, in thick clumps. They tucked their dicks back in their pants and withdrew to the campfire, a dozen or so feet away.
Then Nick insinuated himself under me, one arm snaked around my neck in a chokehold, the other firmly gripping my waist as he slipped his steely member into my channel. Finn got on top, crushing me with his weight, and slid his cock in next to Nick’s.
I wailed and Finn pressed his lips over mine, forcing his tongue into my mouth. He raped my mouth for a minute or so, then covered it with a gloved hand and lowered his head to meet Nick’s lips in another feverish kiss. I came for the third time. I looked over and met Coach’s eyes. He was watching intently. Rubbing his straining member through his pants.
Nick squeezed his arm against my throat, announcing his orgasm bluntly. “Coming.” He let out an enormous sigh of relief.
“I can feel you,” Finn said with awe. “I feel your dick throbbing, and more warmth than even this bitch’s hot wet pussy. Here I come.” He thrust in brutally, trying to go reach even further up my boycunt. His tool was probably two inches longer than Nick’s girthy member, and I felt him breaching further into me.
They stayed in me, remaining hard. I think we fell asleep for five or ten minutes. When I was conscious again, they were moving inside me again.
“This is how you fuck a bitch,” Finn boasted.
“No,” said Nick. “This is how you fuck a faggot.”
“Fuck yeah,” Finn agreed. They were egging each other on, turning each other on. They came quickly. I was spent.
My rapist lovers rolled off and out from under me. Weapons sheathed again, they ambled over to the campfire. It was Coach who freed my arms and helped me sit up. He held a bottle of water to my lips. I drank most of it down.
“You’re a resilient little faggot. You can really take a fuck. And more.” He offered me more water and I finished the bottle. He retied my wrists to the stakes, more tautly this time, so there was no give, then readjust the rope binding my ankles to do the same. He produced a roll of duct tape and tore off a length, slapping it over my mouth. He brought over a small gym bag.
“Playtime,” he announced. The first thing he pulled out were a pair of alligator clips, joined by a small length of chain. He straddled my waist, and applied one of the clamps to my right nipple. The pain was like nothing I’d ever felt before, cutting off the blood to my oversensitive nipple. I shrieked into my gag. He clipped the other end to my left tit, and the pain doubled, perhaps tripled in combination. I was thrashing, but he pinned my shoulders to the ground.
“Settle.”
I took a deep breath and tried to absorb the pain. To meditate with it, into some more manageable form. It began to throb dully, and must have been hardwired to my dick, bypassing my brain, because I was hard again. Jump-started, in a manner of speaking.
Coach climbed off me and pulled a monstrous brown dildo out of his bag of tricks, along with a bottle of lube. He repositioned himself between my legs, slicked up the silicon giant and brought it to my hole, pressing in slowly, but insistently.
“Take it, faggot. We need to open up your cunt.” With that, he shoved it in further and further, gradually working it all the way in, to the hilt. Amazingly, I took it. I was panting, though.
He was staring into my eyes, holding my gaze. Communicating his twisted pleasure.
With no warning, he yanked the chain connecting the tit clamps up and off. The sensation was ten times worse as blood returned to my sensitive nipples. I wept, sobs wracking my body. He rubbed my sore nipples, soothing them, trying to massage away the ache. He reached forward and wiped away tears, before ripping off the tape.
"Nick, you're up."
Nick walked over and traded places with Coach, who knelt behind my head. Nick squatted between my legs and pulled the dildo out, slowly, trying not to drag my insides out with it. He wiped it off with a towel from the bag and put it away. He removed the army gloves and pulled out a pair of black nitrile gloves, which he slipped onto his strong hands and fingers.
“I’m not—”
Coach slapped his hand over my mouth and pinned my head in a vice-like grip between his thighs, knees resting on my shoulders.
Nick proceeded to lube up his hand generously, using two fingers to apply it to my relaxed hole. He worked in two fingers, then three, up to the joint, then four, going as far they could.
“Here it comes, bitch. Ready or not.” But he took his time, working the thumb and four fingers in, narrowing them into a bird’s head as he slowly worked them all in, past the knuckles, past the widest part of the hand, until finally, my ass-lips sealed around his wrist.
I was breathing deeply, absorbing the sensation as I had with the nipple clamps, feeling him stretch and turn inside my channel. I felt him nudge my prostate, shooting electric sparks of pleasure to both my brain and my cock, which stood at attention. And then I felt him make a proper fist, pushing in and dragging back out, in gentle strokes.
“Who owns you faggot?” he crowed, in triumph. His forearm was flexed triumphantly, the glove almost disappearing entirely up my ass. I could watch him for hours. The sight of it, combined with the pressure and the stretching caused me to come hands free for the fourth time.
Nick carefully withdrew his fist, which emerged with an obscene popping noise. He probed my hole, massaging it.
“Still tight as a nun’s cunt,” he proclaimed.
Coach removed his hand from my mouth. “Not for long,” he said.
Nick pulled off the gloves, stowed them in the bag along with the lube and put his army gloves back on. They worked together quickly to release me from the stakes and Coach tossed me like a ragdoll over his shoulder.
“Who’s ready for a tag-team foursome?” he called out to the group.
He set me down beside a massive oak tree just outside the circle of the campfire. With more rope, the four worked as a unit, pulling my arms around the tree and tying my wrists together on the other side. They tied more rope around my torso, so my chest was pressed into the tree trunk, then did the same with my knees and calves, so I was hugging the tree, suspended at waist height, my butt readily accessible.
They took turns in my ass, singly, in pairs, tagging in and out, mixing and matching the combinations of dick, sometimes covering my mouth to stifle my squeals of protest, sometimes just letting me moan. I lost track of who was where, no longer recognizing the girth or length of the cocks battering me, particularly when they were doubled up. I came at least once more, maybe twice, sometimes it just felt as if I were seeping cum as my prostate was overworked.
I must have passed out at some point, because I came to as I was being released and set down. Riley picked me in a bridal carry, while Nick wiped me down with a damp cloth, then dried me. I was given more water, then brought into a small tent where I collapsed onto some kind of soft bedding, a pair of open sleeping bags, mostly likely. Nick and Riley curled around me, protectively, still in their commando outfits. We dropped off to sleep immediately.
Several hours later, when it was still dark, I felt a hand clamp over my mouth and a hard dick force its way into my hole from behind.
Nick whispered into my ear. “I will never get tired of raping your sweet ass, faggot.” After three or four brutal thrusts, he quickly emptied his release in my bowels.
“My turn,” said Riley. He flipped me over on my stomach and stuffed something into my mouth, a sock maybe. It was faintly ripe smelling. He covered me with his familiar weight, those broad shoulders covering my back, arms wrapped around in a choke hold, strong thighs ready to drive his rock-hard weapon into me. He fucked me for no longer than a minute before draining his balljuice in my guts. Still hard, he didn’t pull out. We fell back asleep until the sun came up
I awoke with a desperate need to pee, so I made my way out of the tent, still naked, and found a tree away from the campsite where I promptly relieved myself. As I was shaking off the last drops, I heard footsteps behind me and turned to look. It was Coach and Finn. Once again with massive wood nearly bursting out of their crotches.
I gave a startled cry as they grabbed me, slapping another piece of duct tape over my mouth, and manhandled me over towards their own tent. They tossed me onto the bedding, then threw themselves on top of me, pinning me down on my stomach.
Finn went first. “Never raped anyone as much as this faggot. We’ve been tearing up the bitch’s ass all night.”
When he was done, Coach wordlessly took his place and took his time. He fucked me slowly, but solidly, making every stroke count, until his climax approached.
“Fuck,” he said, pouring his load into me. “This faggot is one great fuck.”
They both quickly went back to sleep, pinning me down with their weight, Coach’s left leg thrown over mine on one side, Finn’s right shoulder and arm, weighing down my back. Eventually I nodded off as well.
Several hours later we had all stripped down and were cleaning up in the outdoor shower behind the cabin. It was solar-heated and did the trick. Body paint scrubbed off, faces once more recognizable, we washed each other off and rough-housed like teammates. At one point two or three of them were pissing on my ass and legs, but they just soaped me up and rinsed it off. I should have been exhausted, but I wasn’t.
I was buoyed by this fellowship I’d found. Coach pulled me into a bear hug and kissed me, tongue probing my mouth gently, arms squeezing me with warmth and appreciation. Finn then did the same, thickset arms folding around me, followed by Nick who gathered me in his claw-like grip. Last was Riley, who enveloped me like the golden retriever he was and lapped at my face.
He whispered in my ear, “You’re the best housemate ever.”
Someone had gathered all my clothing at different points in the course of the night, and Nick had snuck a clean pair of sweatpants and a tee-shirt from my closet the day before. The others were all back in their usual attire – no sign of the camo gear to be seen.
I drove back with Nick and Riley, Coach took Finn in his truck.
Riley joined me in the back seat, and pulled me into him, wrapping me in his arms and petting me, my stomach, my face, my chest. We rode in contented silence for a while.
When we were nearly home, I was the first to speak. “Do you know if Coach has ever done anything like that before? Have you ever done something like that?”
“Not me,” Riley quickly replied, “but I’ll do it again in a heartbeat. Even if I do find a girl I like, I’m gonna have to keep a steady diet of faggot.”
Nick spoke up. “I know Coach already told you this. There was a gay kid who was out in my high school who was hot for me and a buddy of mine on the wrestling team. Eye-fucked us constantly. Seemed super submissive. So I told my buddy we should grab the kid and take him to his family’s cabin in the mountain, make all of his dreams come true.”
“Coach told me there were three of you,” I recalled.
“Nah, just two. We were both instantly boned up at the thought of it, but turned out the gay kid was not really into rough play. We didn’t let that stop us, what can I say, we were young and dumb, and having a blast. When it was all over, we persuaded him that it was meant to be fun, said we’d have his back in school and he could suck us off or worship our muscles if he wanted to. Which he did. But I learned to be a better judge of prospective victims.”
“And Coach?” I asked.
“Well, Coach knew about that incident. Told me he had a cabin also, and we should plan on playing there sometime, if we could find the right ‘unwilling’ participant. As I’ve said before, guys talk. They make shit up, brag about the sex they’ve had or want to have, spin their fantasies.
“We talk tough, and a few of us talked about finding a faggot to smack around, gangbang, whatever. It’s mostly bullshit. But Pedro and I would hang out a lot at the athletic center. And he told me he had a housemate that he really wanted to get alone some night and have his way with. I knew he wasn’t talking about the girls.
“He pointed you out once, and I knew right away. Told Coach I’d found a possible candidate. And then lockdown happened. And you kind of fell into our laps.”
I digested the information as Nick pulled up in front of the house.
It popped into my head all at once. “How the fuck did you guys find me so quickly?”
It was Riley who spoke up. “Duh, dummy. Coach gave you his phone as a ‘back-up.’ We had you on ‘Find My’ the whole time.”
I knew when I’d been played. We piled out of the jeep and got on with our week.
* * *
The spring term was drawing to a close. I wasn’t sure what everyone’s plans were for the summer, or the fall term. But we decided to throw a party. Just us. I suggested a toga party, and Jackson responded enthusiastically.
“YES!! A Roman-themed party!”
“Is that different from a toga party?”
“Yeah, we’re gonna do a gladiator party. Gladiators and slaves.”
“Who are the gladiators and who are the slaves?”
“Bitch.” Ethan laid it out for me. “There’s only one slave. And eleven gladiators.”
Naturally, Jackson and Ethan organized the party. Jackson brought me a toga-cum-tunic that draped over one shoulder, but tied off with a rope belt at my waste, so it had a little more form than you’re average college toga sheet.
Of course, the guys outdid themselves on the gladiator front. Jackson, Ethan and Donovan wore gold breastplates with skirts of gold strips or slats hanging down. Ernesto and Dean had a kind of gold epaulettes that just hugged their shoulders.
Pedro and Rico had found a kind of black feathery sleeve harness that went from their round shoulders down to their elbows, laced with spare black reins that crossed over their chests. But by far the most compelling costume, for me, was sported by Nick, Riley, Finn and Luca.
They had a different variant of the leather gladiator harness, which covered one shoulder, crossed under the other underarm, then wrapped back broadly around the neck back to the shoulder cover. Like the others, it had a skirt of black leather slats.
Jackson kicked off the festivities with a toast.
“Welcome to the first of many ‘Lockdown Theme Parties.’ Tonight’s theme is clearly Gladiator and…”
He paused dramatically.
“Free-use Faggot. Enjoy, share and keep it interesting, my bros.”
Once again, I felt like I hadn’t gotten the memo, and yet, I should be used to this by now.
“Fuck it,” I thought. Let’s see how I can steer this party. For once, I heard the capital F in Faggot. I wore my badge with honor. With pride.
I threw Rico and Pedro a look, and headed into the kitchen. Within seconds, they were on me, hustling me into the laundry room. They spit-roasted me, switching sides several times. Rico forewent a couple of throat-fucks to maul my mouth with his tongue. I came. They came.
Next, I caught Riley’s eye and headed upstairs. I hadn’t even made it to the top of the stairs when he, Finn, Nick and Luca tackled me and manhandled me into my bedroom. They pinned me down and took turns double-fucking me on my bed. First Luca and Riley. Then Nick and Finn. I realized I wanted this each and every day.
A quick shower, and I was down in the basement, flaunting my shit in front of Jackson, Ethan, Finn and Donovan. Donovan was the ringleader for once.
“Let’s run a train on this faggot,” he announced. And they did. To heighten the impact, two would pin me down while one of them fucked me. I was into it. Ernesto and Dean wandered in and took their turns also.
It didn’t end there. I was ‘free-use,’ and their sexual appetites were insatiable. They cornered me in bathrooms. Dragged me out into the backyard. Nick and Dean grabbed me and plowed me in their bedroom. Rico fucked me on the floor of the living room.
Finally Pedro gathered me up sometime around three or four in the morning and took me into his shower. Bathed me, toweled me off, and led me naked into his bed. Where he proceeded to rape me brutally. There is no other way to describe it. Choking me, slapping me, gagging me with his meaty hand over my mouth. Just the way I liked it.
Afterwards, he spoke without ambiguity. “I don’t mind other people fucking you. Or fucking with you. I just need you to remember that you’re mine. You were mine first, and you will be mine last.”
“I know,” I admitted. “Do you think you could share my bedroom when Lexi comes back? I’d like to keep Riley, Rico, Nick and Dean around.”
“What I think,” he said, defiantly, “is that it’s gonna be my bedroom that you’re sharing, bitch. And I know you’re tryna hook up Dean and Lexi, and that’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had.”
I looked at him, completely at a loss.
“Lexi talks to me too, charroco. But Nick and Riley are gonna want to keep having access to your holes, so we should put them together, maybe give Rico a room of his own.”
“We don’t have that many rooms,” I pointed out.
“Oh, you don’t know yet. Lexi said Susie’s not coming back in the fall. Her parents were in London, and managed to get her there with them before lockdown was fully in place. At least not for people with private planes. She’s going to stay there. She said to give her shit to Goodwill.”
Riley’s going to have something to say about that, I thought. At least as far as her sex toys and frilly garments were concerned.
“What about the other house?” I asked.
“Well, Donovan and Ernesto are graduating. Finn is probably going to follow Donovan where he goes. He can finish his senior year remotely, while they figure out how Donovan handles the next stage of his career.
“That give us some room to recruit some new ‘like-minded’ folks,” he elaborated. “Coach says he has a pair of hot incoming freshmen twins who’ve gotten carried away with some boys in their neighborhood.”
“Define ‘carried away,’” I hazarded.
“Cornered them and fucked them.”
“What sport do they play?”
“Look at you, all interested in sports now,” Pedro teased. “Football.”
“Sign me up,” I sighed, longingly.
“Bitch,” Pedro said, slapping me with force. “You’ve got me. Don’t get greedy.”
“It’s not like I have a choice, is it?”
“Nope,” he said, shoving his turgid member back into my hole. “Not really.”
