[This story contains elements of dubious consent. If that's not your thing, read elsewhere.]
I wouldn’t say I wasn’t excited about my Brazilian hookup. And I hadn’t really clocked how our other housemates were tracking both our noisy sexual antics and the power dynamics on that front. I should have. Especially after our conversation over the dinner table a few nights ago.
So I should not have been surprised when, a few days later, I came home from a run and found Nick and Riley in my bedroom. Both were shirtless, Nick wearing only compression shorts, Riley in loose basketball shorts. I briefly admired their contrasting shapes, Nick muscle-bound and solidly compact, Riley tall and slender, with a pronounced V-shape frame leading from his solid thighs to his broad shoulders and thick arms. Then I remembered where we were.
“Um, hello. Why are you in my room?” I noticed too late that Riley was holding a roll of duct tape. And ripping off a good five inches. Nick shut and locked the door behind me.
“What the fuck’s going—” And then he landed a solid blow to my solar plexus, which doubled me over. Someone then belted me in the kidney, causing me to fall to my knees. With the wind knocked out of me, Riley plastered the duct tape over my mouth before I could even cry out,
“Got him,” Nick stated.
Riley sneered at me, and I noted that predatory haze had returned to his eyes. “We’re conducting some research. On how to handle your fag.”
Nick addressed Riley as if I weren’t there. “Like I said before. You can do anything. Whatever you want. Not gonna lie, that really turns me on. I’ve got steel in my crotch right now.” I looked up and he wasn’t wrong. His compression shorts showed the impression of a fairly large and completely rigid cock. Riley’s basketball shorts were tented out impressively also.
“Let’s tie the bitch down,” Nick instructed, coldly. “Pull his shirt off and tape his arms behind his back. I’ll get his legs.” They flipped me over and quickly stripped me. Riley pinned my forearms together behind my back, applying the duct tape to join my right wrist to my left elbow, and vice-versa.
Nick pulled off what I thought was a wristband but proved to be paracord. He cut it into two equal lengths with a sinister-looking hunting knife, and used it to bind my legs with multiple loops at the ankles and then the knees. Then they tossed me on the bed, like a beached merman. Or mummy.
Riley was in his element. “I never thought I’d be into fag sex. But the thought of messing him up, doing whatever we want with him, is really turning me on.”
“Yup,” Nick confirmed. “Turn on some music. Put it up loud.” I was going into a full panic, yelling and grunting behind the duct tape. Nick promptly applied two more lengths to cover the tape that was already there, while Riley fiddled with his phone and sent some thumping headbanger music to a portable speaker they must have brought into the room. This was carefully planned out.
“Shit!” Nick exclaimed. “I forgot the lube. It’s on the shelf in my closet, can you get it?” Riley unlocked the door and peeked out into the hallway. Seeing the coast was clear, he slipped out, closing the door behind him.
Nick had the demeanor of a cold-blooded killer. I was seriously about to piss myself. He was kneeling on one side of me on the bed, when he lowered his head and whispered in my ear. “Pedro told me about your kink. CNC. It’s mine too.”
I blinked, with relief and some incomprehension.
“I think Riley’s thing is dubious consent, and I want him to have a little fun. So play along for him, he doesn’t know you’re actually okay with this and I’ll make sure he doesn’t go too far. But the more you put up a struggle, the more he’ll enjoy it.
“I’m gonna role-play, but you should know I want to hurt you, and I will. I won’t leave marks or permanent damage, but you’re gonna forget that I’m pretending, because that’s my thing. Fuck, I’m so boned up just thinking about it. I know what I’m doing, but if it really gets to be too much, shake your head wildly and I’ll stop the scene.”
It was a lot to take in, and moments later, Riley came back in with lube and a couple pairs of athletic gloves. The kind quarterbacks and running backs wear. “Found these. Figured they might come in handy.”
“My man,” Nick hooted. “Absolutely. Hand me a pair.”
Nick made a rather sinister spectacle of putting the gloves on. He then rained a series of one-two punches to my abs and tweaked my nipples. More jabs to my abs. I thrashed about in protest while Riley put on his own gloves. Then lowered his shorts and set free a slender, but respectably long dick that was hard as flint. He got on his knees on the bed on the other side of me.
“I want to fuck the fag’s mouth,” Riley announced.
“You will,” Nick promised. “But we’re gonna have to work him over a bit so he’s properly subdued. Don’t want him biting. We’ll have our way with his ass first, then go for round two in the pussy’s mouth when he knows we’re not fooling around. Go ahead and mark his face with your cock and balls. Get him primed.”
Nick hauled off and slapped my face, then backhanded me just as viciously. “When’s the last time you took a fist, bitch?” He made a fist and pounded me in the chest with it. I pleaded and moaned but made sure not to shake my head too emphatically.
“Or two dicks at the same time?” Riley asked, menacingly, as he rubbed his burning cock cross my forehead and slapped my cheeks with it.
I was starting to slip into a fog of arousal, fear and submission, but I grunted into the tape covering my mouth, nodding in confirmation that it hadn’t been too long ago since I was DPed, truth be told. Obviously, they couldn’t understand me. Nick had a flash of concern, maybe that I’d misunderstood the safe signal.
“Wait. Are you saying you have taken two dicks at once?” he queried.
I nodded just once.
Relieved, he slapped me again just for the fun of it. “Fucking faggot whore. You haven’t been fucked.”
“Look at the bitch’s boner,” Riley jeered. “He’s loving this.”
“Go head and fuck him,” Nick ordered. “I’ll hold his legs back while I work over his cock and balls.” Nick then proceeded to deliver two quick jabs to my balls and another to the base of my cock. I tried to curl up protectively, in agony, but they manhandled me back in position on my back. With seemingly no effort, Nick backed up against the headboard, then hoisted me against his chest and between his legs, which were bent at the knees astride my torso, holding me in place.
He pulled my legs back, grabbing under the knees and folding me backwards so my legs were pressed against my chest, exposing my hole to Riley at the foot of the bed. The latter seemed mesmerized by my helpless state. Nick made it all seem like quick, basic wrestling moves. He was crazy strong, flipping me about into position with no effort. He looked down at me, then spat on me, and Riley followed suit.
“Use lube,” Nick instructed, “but don’t bother to prep his hole. I bet he loves taking a raw pounding.” He secured my knees behind my ears with just one arm, slightly to one side and used his other to wrap me in a choke hold. “It’s gonna hurt so good,” he whispered into my ear.
Riley had greased up his shaft and was lining it up at my hole. I was thrashing impressively, which only made his dick swell even more. “Fucking take it, bitch.” With a single thrust, he plowed into me. I wailed beneath my tape.
Nick whispered into my ear, “Good job, faggot. You’re making his year.” Then tightened his choke hold. “Ready to tap out?” I grunted in response.
Riley had a possessed look on his face. “Dude, the bitch is so tight. I’ve never felt anything this good.”
Nick egged him on. “Don’t hold back. Go as hard as you want.” Riley pounded with even more vehemence. His broad shoulders and thick guns were straining with the effort of holding my thighs while he pounded me.
“Oh my god, dude. I’mma rape his ass every night. Damn I needed this. I’m about to bust.” With that he froze, then plunged all the way in, bellowing as he pumped me full of rope after rope of his load.
“Take my babymakers, you fucking faggot bitch.” He pounded on my chest with both fists, in scorn or jubilation. Two sides of the same impulse. Then he pulled back.
He wiped his dick with his gloved fist and smeared it on my stomach. He then held his hand to my nose. “Smell your ass-juices, bitch. We own that ass now.” He held out his fist towards Nick, who bumped him back as he let go of my knees.
“I’m outta here,” Riley announced. “I need a shower and a nap. You got this bro?”
Nick replied with ice in his voice. “Oh, I got this.”
Riley left, and Nick flipped me over and off him, jumped up and locked the door after Riley. He was back on me in a flash, lifting me off the bed like I was a feather pillow and placing me over an upholstered bench at the foot of my bed. Dude was insanely strong, for someone so compact.
He untied the paracord, but had me duct-taped face down on the bench in about 30 seconds. I was kneeling over one end of the bench as he retied my thighs at the knee to either side of the bench’s legs. I was stretched wide and tied down. And feeling incredibly vulnerable.
“Now for the real fun,” Nick stated. He greased up his gloved hand and pushed two fingers into my ass. After the plowing that Riley had given me, it wasn’t that hard to manage, but he soon replaced two with three, then four.
“Ready for my fist, faggot?” I shook my head emphatically crying out. Nick unwound the duct tape around my head.
“Jesus fucking Christ, man,” I shouted.
“I take it that’s a hard limit?” He reached behind him and suddenly produced a bottle of water. He held it to my lips. I drank gratefully, gulping down the liquid relief.
“I’m not saying never. But not today, anyway.”
“Are you up for another brutal fuck?” he asked, hopefully.
“Yes,” I said, in spite of myself.
“In character?”
“Sure. May as well,” I conceded. He proceeded to free me from the bench, cutting loose the duct tape and paracord. He peeled off his compression shorts, releasing a very thick, very angry and erect cock.
“Try to get away,” he commanded.
“Huh?”
“Make a break for it.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. I jumped up and over the foot of the bed and sprang for the door. Nick was on me in half a second. He lifted me off the floor like a sack of flour and slammed me down, pinning me on the ground on my stomach and knocking the wind out of me. I was gasping, trying to draw breath. He was on my back, holding me down with his weight and the might of his steely legs and arms.
“Your ass is mine. I’m gonna fuck you dry ‘til you bleed. Gonna rape your faggot ass so you know who you belong to.” He was in my head. I knew my ass was lubed from Riley’s load, but he was so convincing. And I felt his thick member throbbing against my ass.
“No,” I wailed, barely registering over the booming music that was still drowning out our activities.
“Go ahead and scream,” he said dully, almost in a trance, arms snaking around to press a gloved hand over my mouth. Then he thrust into me all at once. His dick was much thicker than Riley’s. I shrieked. He clamped his hand even more firmly over my wails.
“TAKE. MY. FUCK-. ING. COCK. YOU. FAG-. GOT. BITCH. He thrust with each syllable. Brutally. I knew I wasn’t bleeding but it still felt like my first night in prison. Nick was just that into his part. It didn’t feel like an act.
“FUCK!! I’m gonna unload in your faggot cunt,” he informed me.
He froze, and I could feel his rod swell and release. He held tight, letting out 6 or 7 shots. He shuddered. Then he punched the back of my head twice. It hurt like hell, but that didn’t stop me from coming on the spot, in a puddle on the floor.
He rolled us over and enveloped me in his arms and legs. We caught our breath for several minutes, coming down from our simultaneous orgasms. Nick squeezed me tighter against his solid mass. “You were so good for me baby. So good.” He kissed the back of my neck and caressed my chest. “We’re gonna have so much fun. We’re all gonna have so much fun. I can think of a dozen different ways to rape you. Need to get Dean in on this action too.”
We lay like that for a while, and both must have fallen asleep. I stirred as Nick untangled himself from me. He jumped up and extended his hand to help me to my feet.
“Let’s clean up in your bathroom.” He led me by the hand into my shower, turned on the water and adjusted the temperature. He was still somewhat in bossy mode as he pushed me under the stream of hot water, but he was very gentle as he soaped us both up and took care of me, attending to my battered ass and inspecting me for marks and bruises.
When we were cleaned, he shut off the water and wrapped me in a fluffy towel. When he was dried off, he stepped into his shorts, unlocked my bedroom door and turned, blowing me a kiss.
“Let’s do this again.”
The next morning at breakfast, Nick and Dean were sipping coffee.
Nick wasted no time. “Good morning, bitch.”
Dean frowned at him. “Hey little buddy. We’re going to spar downstairs this morning. Wanna come watch? Learn a thing or two about wrestling when it’s done by pros?”
“We can teach you about pins, hehe,” needled Nick.
“That we could,” Dean confirmed, opaquely.
An hour later, the guys were warming up with two other teammates when I joined them downstairs. One reached out his hand towards me to introduce himself. He was mid-sized between Nick and Dean, but definitely a solid mass of muscle and strength.
“I’m Ernesto…” I took his hand.
“Justin. Nice to meet you. And you’re…”
“Luca,” said the fourth member of the team. He was roughly the same height as Ernesto, maybe an inch or two taller, and even more solidly built. He had a Mediterranean complexion with honey-blond hair and brown eyes. He didn’t offer his hand and resumed his warm-up stretching.
I turned my attention back to Ernesto, who was talking easily with Nick. He had that mild accent of the second generation of immigrant Hispanics, U.S.-born, from Puerto Rico or maybe Central America. He had a dark complexion, charcoal eyes and surprisingly graceful arms that seemed to flow out of his shoulders and torso. He almost could have been a dancer, but his lats were too pronounced. I was ready to drink him in.
“Okay,” Dean interrupted my thoughts. “Let’s start with Nick and Luca. Nick on top.”
That’s what she said, I thought to myself. But I knew enough about wrestling to know that while matches start out standing, with wrestlers grasping and circling, at some point in the match, perhaps after falls, they start on their knees, one positioned over the other. I stepped back to give them room and to watch.
Luca outweighed Nick, but as I’d already learned, Nick was impossibly strong for his compact size. I mean, sure, he outweighed me both in weight and muscle, so of course that’s how I would experience it. But I could see that he was giving Luca a run for his money. Whatever they were doing, it went back and forth for about 15 minutes, with Dean offering pointers. “Sharpen up, Luca. He’s anticipating you. Anticipate him.”
Then later, “That’s it Nick. Find your move.”
And a few minutes later, “Luca, don’t let go. Find the opening. Find it, damn it!” I couldn’t tell what was happening, but Nick, who was on top, spun over and away from Luca, who stood and walked away and over to his water bottle, bristling at something.
Ernesto spoke up, “Let’s go, you and me Dean.” They took position with Ernesto in bottom position. For the next two hours, they traded partners and alternated pairings and positions. They were drained and dripping with sweat by the end of it, and had peeled the tops of their singlets off their shoulders so the straps were just hanging at their waists.
I walked over to Nick, who set down his water bottle. “That looks grueling. You must be exhausted.”
“What, you think I’m worn out after that?” he asked, defiantly. “Think you can take me now?”
“No, not at—oof” He put me in a neck hold from behind before I could finish that thought, knocked his knees into the backs of mine, and had me down on the mat at his mercy.
“Ernesto,” he called out. “Help me out.”
He came right over. “What’s up?”
“Get his shirt off. This little bitch thinks we’re tired after our practice. Probably thinks we’re sweaty and gross too. Help me show him just how sweaty.”
I protested. “No, I don’t think that—” But once again, Nick cut me off by spinning me over and slamming me down on the mat.
“Ugggghh!” I grunted.
Once Ernesto had my shirt off, they double-teamed me, rolling me around like putty on the mat, pinning me while rubbing their bare torsos, slippery with sweat, all over my body. Burying me in their armpits, pinning my face down with the mounds of their junk or their asses until I was sweatier than they. Dean looked on amused, while Luca seemed to be packing up his gym bag to leave.
“Okay guys,” Dean relented. “Little Buddy has had enough for today.”
The guys let up, but not before both Nick and Ernesto stuck their hands down the back of my shorts and did a little probing and poking, hidden from Dean’s view by the mass of their bodies covering my poor abused remains. Then they jumped up quickly, and hauled me up off the floor.
In a low voice, Nick fixed his gaze on Ernesto while murmuring in my ear, “That’s how we mark our faggots, bitch.”
* * *
I found ways to keep away from the house for the next few days. My thoughts were all over the place. I went running. Shopped for provisions. Visited Coach Jacobs at his office. Theoretically he too was in my bubble, and was limiting his contact with the outside world.
“What can I do you for?” he asked, matter-of-factly when I closed the door behind me. It was a formulation that irked me at the core.
“Tell me why you really put all those guys in my house,” I demanded bluntly.
He looked me over appraisingly. “How ‘bout I just fuck you over my desk instead,” he said, readjusting his growing arousal in his sweats.
“So it wasn’t an accident?” I hazarded.
“Nothing’s ever an accident,” was the reply. “The guys talk, or brag, or act. Pedro told me you were a decent guy, and he was looking forward to spending the lockdown with you. For someone not on any of our squads, that’s a ringing endorsement of you. And it implied he thought you’d be a good resource for my men.”
“Meaning?” I prompted.
“Meaning you’re pretty fuckable. And that would answer some of my other concerns. I don’t want the guys breaking quarantine, I don’t want them messing with girls. I want someone with a cool head helping to keep things running smoothly who won’t run to the dean if the guys get frisky. Or to the police when they’re forceful.”
I stuttered in protest. “D-did you tell the guys it was open season on me?”
Coach chuckled. “I didn’t need to. Pedro and Nick had your number. I just let them do their thing. And let’s be honest. Their thing is your thing.”
I had no response to that.
“And maybe my thing,” he added. He let that hang there.
“But not today. Trust me, we’ll get there at some point. Meanwhile, I have some mail here from the dorms that didn’t get forwarded. This bundle’s for your house, and this one’s for the duplex. Do you mind dropping it off?”
I left in somewhat of a daze and took a long detour from campus to my house to clear my head. It was my night with Dean to cook, and we were going to do a cheat night with spaghetti carbonara and a chopped salad, so I mapped out the prep in my head.
I circled around to the other block and rang the doorbell on one side of the duplex. There was no answer. After a minute or two, I tried the other unit. No answer there either. That’s kind of odd, I thought, maybe they’re all on a group run? Or working out back at my place? I shrugged and pushed the packet of mail through the mail slot on one side.
When I got home, there was nobody around at our place either. Other than being invited to watch the wrestling workout, I tended not to go down to the basement. It had become something of a frat house den, between guys working out, sparring on mats or gaming. When there were four or more guys there, it smelled like a locker room, and was not the hot jock fantasy scene I might have envisioned initially. But today there was a kind of low rumble coming from downstairs, and my phone dinged. An unknown number texting me.
“We need you downstairs.”
Huh. I went upstairs to drop off my stuff, and change into a t-shirt and gym shorts, slipping off shoes and socks. Then I made my way back down and opened the basement door. It was eerily quiet all of a sudden. But I felt the presence of a group, nevertheless. Heavy breathing.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs I was suddenly surrounded by nine extremely muscular men wearing Under Armour leggings that hid nothing. They were all shirtless, and all were wearing those sticky football gloves that somehow emphasized their bare torsos and defined arms. The ones Riley had brought the other night to ‘play.’
But what sealed the look was the final touch. Every one of them was wearing one of those extreme weather snowboarder/biker’s masks with a skull face. I looked around rapidly, as if seeking a way out, or protection. No Pedro or Rico, as far as I could tell. I did think I recognized Nick’s body, and Dean’s massive frame. Riley’s boner tenting his crotch was unmistakeable.
The rest were mostly strangers. Roughly half of them sprouted serious wood beneath their skintight pants. Their upper bodies glistened, like they’d all just finished a workout. They inched toward me in unison, slowly, a well-choreographed unit.
“I can’t tell who’s who,” I protested, feebly.
“That’s kind of the point,” said a massively built guy who could only be a football player. “Faggot.”
“Get on your knees,” said another. He was also a football player, I surmised. He had a more slender build, with legs made for running and a defined torso with broad shoulders and big arms.
A tight end maybe. His brown skin seemed to shimmer, as he pivoted his shoulders from side to side, stretching. Or getting ready to throw. Had they been pumping iron? All their muscles were bulging, the veins prominent.
“Fuck that!” I challenged in reply. “I’m not on board with being your free-use fag.”
Yet another voice I didn’t recognize chimed in. “You’re not our free-use fag. You’re our hard-use fag.” Clearly a wrestler. Maybe Luca. Taller than Nick, but not as massive as Dean.
Before I could respond to that, I was surrounded by guys pawing at me, shoving me back and forth between them. I’d stumble, and someone would catch me and toss me into someone else’s sweaty chest or arms. My shirt and sweats were removed.
Eventually, I ended up near the middle weight bench, manhandled down onto it on my back. I heard the telltale screech of multiple rolls of duct tape unwinding, and found myself fastened to the bench in no time. Arms down one side and taped to the legs, chest and torso taped down to the padded body of the bench with several loops of duct tape. Thighs and calves taped together like hindlegs, so they were up and off the ground. My ass exposed.
The guys lowered their leggings and let their chubbed erections out to play. They were rubbed all over me, my face, my hands, my legs, thighs, you name it. Dickheads were laid at my lips, although I resisted the temptation to accept them. A couple gloved hands grabbed my dick and balls and twisted cruelly.
“Open your fucking mouth, faggot.” I recognized Nick’s voice.
“Let me go,” I pleaded, and one of the football players shoved his thick cock down my throat.
Someone applied lube to my hole and was working two fingers in, slowly, zeroing in on my prostate. I suspected Nick again, but my vision was blocked by the 6’ 2” linebacker who was straddling my chest and fucking my throat. The one who’d first called me faggot when I complained I couldn’t tell them apart.
“Fuck yeah faggot, taking my dick down your throat pussy.” I felt the head of another cock being positioned at the entrance to my hole.
“Go slowly. Work your meat all the way in and let the faggot adjust,” Nick instructed.
“Mmph,” I sputtered, around the cock invading my throat. It’s hard to savor a cock in your mouth when it’s just plunging in and out. I could tell if it was girthy, because I couldn’t breathe around it. Two of them grabbed hold of my bound legs and spread them back, further exposing my puckered hole.
My throat-rapist bottomed out somewhere near my larynx and let out a yell. “So. Good. Fuck!” he cried, as he let loose multiple spurts at the back of my throat.
He exhaled after thirty seconds. “God I needed that. Who’s next?” He stepped away and was quickly replaced by another titan, this one with a lacework of tats on his shoulders and arms. Not tribal, more of a floral or viny pattern of blue and green that emphasized the roundness of his shoulders and the softball-sized guns. He was seriously tall, over 6’ 5”. His gloved hands pawed my head like a center would hold a football before the hike.
“Here you go, hungry faggot. Got another piece of Grade A beef for you.” I opened my mouth, resigned to my fate as their faggot mascot. And fuck-toy.
“That’s right, open wide.” He plunged his thick meat into my mouth. “Damn, this bitch’s mouth feels amazing.” But he went more slowly. I felt the shape of his cock, the bulbous head and the contours of his shaft.
Whoever was pounding away at my ass at a steady rhythm was approaching his climax as he held still then let out a howl. “Take my fucking load, bitch.” And he too erupted in a series of short thrusts as he unloaded in my ass. He pulled out and was quickly replaced by the probing head of another engorged dick.
“Ready or not, here I come faggot.” But he didn’t plunge in brutally, either. He just worked his cock in gently, like they were all getting off at the wonder of a swollen shaft slowly breaching my hole, my boycunt. Tattooed man came down my throat, and someone else took his place. A spectacular black torso, darker than that of the tight end who’d ordered me to get on my knees. Maybe a football player. Maybe a wrestler, I wasn’t sure.
They worked seamlessly in tandem on my two holes, there was never an argument about whose turn it was, no discussion of who wanted which of my holes. Just lust-filled introductions and dirty catchphrases.
“Say hello to my little friend.”
“Ready to get drilled?”
“Can’t wait to get my cock into that boypussy.”
When they’d all had a turn at one end or the other, they formed a tight circle around the bench. Miraculously, they all still sported erections and were stroking an impressive array of swollen members. Once again it was Nick who called the play.
“Let’s mark our faggot, guys,” And no sooner had those words left his lips then two of the jocks on either side of me, a wrestler and one of the football players, began spurting, raining a shower of cum over my chest and legs.
“Bukkake the bitch!” rang out a voice that could only be Riley. The two that had just sprayed me shook off the last droplets. The others took turns, one by one, in hosing me down with their cum, on my stomach, on my crotch, in my face and hair. Mercifully no one got me in the eyes. When they’d finished, I lay my head back and moaned hoarsely.
“Let me up guys,” I pleaded.
“Shut him up,” commanded Nick. Dutifully, someone clamped a gloved hand over my mouth.
It was someone else who spoke next. The tight end, I think. “You’re part of the team now, boy. You may still be a faggot, but you’re our faggot. Gonna let you think about that.”
“And don’t be a stranger,” said another voice I didn’t know, someone else from the duplex. It might have been the darker of the two Black men.
And with that they quickly filed upstairs, hitting the lights as they closed the basement door behind them, leaving me in darkness. I didn’t know how I felt. Overwhelmed. Used. Initiated. At peace, somehow.
