[This story contains elements of dubious consent. If that's not your bag, read elsewhere.]
After dinner, I put on shorts and a t-shirt and made my way to Rico and Riley’s room. When I opened the door, Riley was alone, once again shirtless and in mesh shorts.
“You’re late, faggot.”
I protested. “I literally just got done with wash—”
He cut me off by raising his right fist back behind his shoulder like he was about to coldcock me. “Shut the fuck up, bitch.”
Instead he punched up into my rib cage with the left fist, which I hadn’t been guarding against. I fell to my knees.
“Good,” he said, satisfied. “That’s where you belong. On your knees. Here’s how it’s gonna be.”
He looked at me, and it was as if inspiration came over him. His dick was clearly rigid in his shorts. He pressed his erect dick into my face, holding my head firmly in place and rubbed his crotch all over my face.
“Put your mouth on my cock through my shorts.” He ground his crotch, which was getting soggy with my spit, now all over my forehead, eyes, face and chin as well.
“Look at me, faggot.” I looked up. “I can tell I turn you on. Don’t I?”
He slapped my face just enough to sting. Like a bully.
“Don’t I, bitch? Suck my nipple,” he said, getting down on his knees. I did as instructed.
He pushed my mouth over one nipple, then moved it to the other. I sucked and chewed gently on his tits. He moaned, and I could see his dick throbbing with even more arousal. He shoved my face into an armpit. The musk of him almost made me come. I thought to myself, “I can get behind this body worship thing. He’s definitely worthy of some adoration.”
“You do turn me on,” I admitted. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”
He grabbed my chin in a vice grip. “Do you think I give a shit what you think, fag?” He slapped me viciously, then punched me in the chest for extra measure, knocking me on to my back. He scrambled over me.
“As long as you’re down there.” He lowered his shorts to his knees and offered me his rampant prick. I was still gasping. It didn’t matter to him. He shoved it down my throat. I gagged, of course. He started face-fucking me viciously. I’d never experienced anything like it. He stopped and made me smell his balls, which to me seemed perfumed with his musk, then went back to skull-fucking me.
I was in a zone. Everything about him right now turned me on. It was like I was vibrating with his aura. I’d never felt anything like this before, but I’d do anything for him right now. At that moment, his cum poured down my throat.
“FUUUUUUCK!!!!” he roared. His orgasm seemed to last forever, to the point I was choking on his load. With his cock lodged down my throat, it was difficult to swallow. Eventually I coughed and felt the sting of cum actually coming out of my nose.
I looked up at him, disoriented but in abeyance. He punched my head down towards the floor. It fucking hurt like hell, but I was still hard.
“You’re such a faggot mess.” He threw me a towel. “Clean up your bitch-ass face. I’m still rock hard and it’s time for our date.”
I wiped my face and looked at him in bafflement. “Date?”
“I told you we were treating this like a date, faggot.”
“Which means?” I asked.
“Which means you put these on.” From nowhere he produced a sleek sea-green angora sweater that obviously belonged to Susie, as well as a pair of black lace panties.
“Dude, that’s not cool.”
“Don’t you wanna look pretty for me?” Riley asked, coyly.
“Of course, but it’s not cool to go through Susie’s—” He hauled off and backhanded me on the chin. I howled. There’s no way that doesn’t leave a bruise. Even so, I was fixated on how his bicep tensed just before he smacked me. What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Okay, okay,” I surrendered. “I’ll put it on.” I slipped off my shorts and pulled up the panties. Surprisingly, they fit, although my raging hard-on made the front somewhat interesting. Riley didn’t seem to notice or mind. Then I exchanged my t-shirt for the slinky sweater.
“Fuck man. I’m so hard for you,” Riley stated, candidly, momentarily unaware of our roles. His demeanor shifted. “Come to bed with me, baby.”
He actually swept me off my feet and carried me over to the bed, laying me down on my back in the center. He climbed up and over me, covering me with his nude perfection, caressing every part of me with his hands. I don’t have tits, but he made me feel like I did. His arms went around me and under the sweater, massaging my back, then rubbing over my abs and tweaking and rubbing my nipples and pecs. He used his muscular thighs to pin my thighs together, hold me in place, and ground his crotch on mine.
“I want to make love to you,” he announced, sweetly. He looked at me inquisitively, but there was something in that look that told me to think hard about the right move here. Again, I was so turned on by every part of his body. I ran my fingers through his hair, ran my hands down his broad shoulders and grasped his biceps, running loving circles around his pecs and nipples. He then got up on his knees, legs straddling mine while he looked down at me.
“Will you let me, baby? Will you let me make love to you?”
I made a decision and hoped it was the right one. “You know I want to, stud. Everything about you is turning me on. But I don’t think the timing is right. I think I’d better go home…”
“Noooo,” he protested. “Don’t go home. I’m so into this.”
“And I’m so into you. But it’s late, and I gave you the best blow-job, and I’m tired and it’s time—” Before I could even sense any movement, he’d landed a brutal one-two blow to my solar plexus. I gasped and tried to breathe. His fists were still clenched above me, the biceps taut, the shoulders braced for action, like a prizefighter.
“Why do you have to make this so difficult, bitch? Why are you such a stupid faggot? With a fag, you can do whatever you want.” There were lengths of rope I hadn’t noticed attached to all corners of the bed, and he wrapped them around my wrists first, then my ankles. Tightly. The ropes were pinching me, and I sensed that wasn’t a good thing.
He produced a ball-gag and inserted it in my mouth then fastened it behind my head.
"Bought this last year. Been waiting for a chance to use it." He once again straddled me at the waist, magnificently, triumphantly.
“I’m gonna fuck you twice. The first will be our ‘date’ fuck. You get to look at me fucking you, enjoying how hot I am, how fucking hard I make you. The second will be our ‘rape’ fuck, when I turn you over and fuck you prison-style.”
For all his talk, he was like a Chippendales show. He was flexing for me, gyrating for me, like he was giving me a lap dance. He’d built up a sheen of sweat that was glorious. He pulled down my panties and lubed up his raging member. He made a perfunctory effort to apply a little lube to my hole, planted his knees just under where my butt meets my thighs, and positioned his cock at my entrance. And then drilled in.
I screamed bloody murder, grunting through the ball-gag, and I felt his dick getting even stiffer. He pinned my shoulders down while he thrust violently into me. Everything he did was calculated to make his body maximally spectacular. His arms flexed tautly on either side of my torso, his chest, which was splashing drops of sweat onto mine, bulged, his abs flexed and strained in impossible directions.
With a victorious roar, he let loose in my bowels, thrusting mightily as he released ropes of his manseed. He pulled out, crawled forward to straddle me and smeared his cummy, ass-covered dick over my eyes, cheeks and mouth.
“Look faggot. I’m still hard. My dick isn’t going down. It’s too excited.” Shaking his dick, drops of cum were still flying everywhere.
“Let’s flip you over.” I was too wasted to even help when he untied my arms and legs and flipped me over, reattaching my limbs to the four corner-posts.
He removed the ball-gag. “I wanna hear you, this time.” He spread his sweaty torso over my back and pressed down, pinning me with his legs at the same time.
“You feel how hard I still am? Funny thing, though. Your girlfriend Susie is a kinky bitch. She has the most amazing collection of sex toys, I discovered.”
He lowered his head down to the bed and looked into my eyes. “You’re an expert on cocks. Where do you rate mine?”
“It’s a beautiful cock. Beautiful like the rest of you.”
“I believe you feel that way, faggot. I know it’s pretty long, but I also know it’s not as thick as some. Doesn’t bother me. Don’t try to make me feel better.”
“I wasn’t, I was only—”
He put his hand over my mouth to shush me. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have a really thick cock. Would bitches be able to take it? What about a faggot like you? Fortunately we’re gonna find out. Look what I found.”
Suddenly he was brandishing the most hideous instrument of torture I’d ever seen. It was a black silicon sheath, obviously designed to slide over a cock, but it was thick, with giant ridged rings along its girth and flexible, albeit scary-looking, spikes towards the head. It literally was only slightly less girthy than a beer can.
Riley flipped over on his back and scooted up towards the headboard, so I could see his stiff dick. He proceeded to slide into the monster sleeve.
“Ooh,” he remarked. “Feels good. It pulls nicely on the inside. Not only will I be destroying your hole, but I’ll be feeling the bliss of this pocket pussy.”
He slid back down and over, covering me once again with his magnificent body. Despite how completely into Riley I was at this moment, I was not on board with that torture device. “Dude, I think I have to draw—”
He clamped his very strong, very big hand over my mouth. “Good. I don’t want you to want this. It’s the whole point.” And he lined up the monster with my pussy, and plowed in.
To say I howled doesn’t begin to convey it. The pain was like nothing I’d ever experienced. The material was foreign, rigid, with no give, not like warm human flesh. It was designed to stimulate, maybe, but also to distress.
Riley slammed his other hand over the one already muting me. It worked. No one heard a thing. Tears were streaming down my face, and though I was still thinking about the perfect beauty of the manly forearms I imagined holding those meaty hands over my mouth, I was in agony.
I tried to assess what was going on. Yes, there was pain. No, there didn’t seem to be any tearing, or even bruising. It was so brutal, I’d had no time to relax, maybe I could focus on relaxing my sphincter, my channel. There was too much conflicting information. I wasn’t going to come from the stimulation of this torture device. I just needed Riley to come. I started to moan in pleasure, trying to recall my complete ensorcellment by the sheer beauty of this boy.
Riley seemed to notice. “Oh yeah, faggot. Take that huge cock. Feel what I’m doing to you.” He plowed in and out, in and out.
Was he close? I thought about what we’d done tonight. We hadn’t negotiated hard limits, we hadn’t settled on a safe word, but I wasn’t confident that Riley even understood the concept of CNC, much less safe and sane. There’s something else going on here.
He needs the win, I realized. He needs to fulfill his darker fantasies, while absolutely devastating me, in the best sense of the term. He doesn’t need a critique of where he went wrong. At least not tonight. Baby steps.
I cried out in pain, then moaned in pleasure. Riley stiffened over me. He leaned in and mouthed my cheeks, then actually kissed them. That pushed me over the edge and I came. He thrust the black monster into me with abandon 5 or 6 times, leaving me to conclude he too had come. He let himself drape over me deliciously. That was my trade off. I may have hated that silicon fucktoy, but I loved him under it.
He shifted away and twisted sideways, out of me. The relief was immediate. He then yanked off the monster sheath and emptied its contents on my cheek. Then he licked his load off and sought out my lips, sharing his cum, while he kissed me tenderly for a few minutes. He released my arms and legs with ease, and held me close to him. I looked into his eyes, questioning. His were asking me a louder question.
“That may have been the best sex I’ve ever had,” I told him. We were both exhausted, but his body seemed to vibrate, at a very high, almost undetectable frequency. He breathed out, a sigh of relief. He’d won. And again, he moved his mouth to cover mine and kissed me deeply.
* * *
Riley snuggled against me in the morning, his proverbial morning lumber making itself known, his arms holding me into his warm, solid chest.
“Can I fuck you again, faggot?”
I laughed in spite of myself. “Yes. A nice slow fuck. You already proved yourself last night.”
“I did, didn’t I.” He reapplied a little bit of lube and made a cursory pass at my hole, as was his wont, and slid in. I tried to picture his abs, his strong thighs, his wide shoulders behind me, fucking into me. I looked down at the meaty arms pulling me into him. It didn’t take him long to climax.
“I should just piss into your ass, bitch. The ultimate faggot receptacle.”
“You’re so romantic,” I told him.
“I’m serious. That would be so hot.”
“Well,” I laid it out for him, “that is not going to happen. Your dick is still in my ass, and it feels good there, but I draw the line at piss enemas. That is something we would need to negotiate ahead of time. For one thing, I don’t want to get piss all over the bed.”
“I thought you didn’t get to draw the line?” he protested.
“You don’t really believe that in your heart, do you?”
“I mean Nick does,” he countered.
“No, he doesn’t. Nick negotiated our scene in my bedroom last week. A bit last-minute, I grant you, but we had a safeword worked out, and he was there to enforce my limits. At the same time, he wanted you to have as much fun as you wanted to have, so he let you think you could do anything you wanted to me. And everything you wanted to do was fine. I trust you, now.
“But going forward, with other partners, if you continue to want to play rough, you’re going to have to talk about what you can and can’t do. Last night, I was so besotted by you, I probably would have let you piss in my ass.”
Riley chuckled.
“Seriously, dude,” I continued, “it was the best sex of my life. I felt connected to you.”
“Faggot. Don’t fall in love,” he sneered.
“Too late.”
Riley huffed. “I felt something too.”
I continued with my debrief. “But I probably would have tapped out with the fucking silicon dick-extension. It hurt, it did nothing for me, and if it weren’t for your elaborate Valentine’s Day prison-style date rape scenario, I would never have gone along with it. I applaud your creativity and scene-building skills.
“And seriously, dude, your body is on fire and is probably my kryptonite. But there is no situation in which consent not granted is something you can ignore. We can do shit here you can’t do everywhere, because I’m into it.”
Riley’s cock had softened, and fell out of my ass. “Huh,” was all he said.
After I’d returned to my room and cleaned up, I went down to breakfast. Nick and Dean were there, sipping coffee.
“I can’t get through to Luca,” Dean was saying. “He’s at the top of his form, but he just can’t hear any criticism from me.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Nick agreed. “Maybe he needs some kind of positive message first.”
I poured myself a cup of coffee and Nick looked up at me, smirking. “How’d it go last night?”
“Good. We’ll talk. But we made a good connection, had a few stumbles. He’s fire in the sack, but he needs to learn that he doesn’t have to prove that through coercive persuasion.”
“Baby steps,” Nick said.
“That’s exactly what I thought.”
“I thought coercive persuasion was your guys’ jam,” Dean spoke up, somewhat perplexed.
“It is, in the right situation,” I allowed. “But not everywhere. Not for everyone. Your boy Nick here, for instance, has taken women out of the equation. That’s not how he wants to get with them. And he learned, from experience, that not even all gay guys want what hot-as-fuck wrestlers might throw them—”
Nick cut in. “You talked to Coach…”
“He checks in, from time to time,” was all I said. My phone dinged. Text from an unknown number.
“It’s Finn. Come over and hang out.”
“When?” I typed back.
Another ding. “This afternoon, after my class.”
“K.” I looked up at Nick,
“Any further thoughts about our wrestling ‘scrimmage?’” I asked him.
“It’s coming together,” he replied. “I’m beginning to think of it more as an exhibition.”
I looked at Dean, who just raised his eyebrows. “No comment.”
“I better have some cereal,” I said, changing the topic. “Jax and Ethan are coming over for more weight training pointers.”
Nick shot me a knowing look.
“Just weight training,” I insisted.
After lunch, as I approached the duplex, I realize I didn’t know which one was Finn’s. I shot him a text. “Left or right side?”
The door on the left swung open.
“Hey,” Finn said. “Come on in.”
I entered into a voluminous great room that extended all the way to an open kitchen with a large island and plenty of counterspace. It was modern, updated compared to my place, comfortably but sparely furnished. Very much like an upscale holiday rental, except for the mess, with clothes and sports gear strewn about on the floor and on every piece of furniture, dishes stacked in the sink, a can of protein powder and a blender left out on the island. Beyond the kitchen was a utility room that led out into a back yard.
Finn cleared some room on a large sectional sofa, moving things to an armchair nearby. He sat down on the smaller base of the sectional’s ‘L,’ patting the bigger length with his hand.
“Have a seat,” he said. He was wearing a compression shirt that left nothing to the imagination, especially on a body like his, along with sleek black yoga pants, not skintight, but still hanging perfectly over his muscular quads and calves.
“So who lives here?” I asked, sitting down across from him.
“Me, Donovan and Luca,” he replied. “Next door is Jax, Ethan and Ernesto. It’s not as nice as your place, but at least we each get our own room.”
“True, the guys have to double up at our place.”
“But,” Finn pointed out, “You have a better kitchen and dining room setup for family-style dinners.”
“We’ll have to have you guys over,” I offered, “We can put the extra leaves in the dining room table. Make that a thing, maybe on Sundays.”
“Sounds cool.”
“I’ll talk to the guys about it tonight.” I found myself staring at one of his well-formed pectoral muscles. “So what are you studying, Finn?”
“I’m majoring in sports management,” he replied, “with a minor in economics.”
“Oh.” I looked up at him. “Does that mean you have classes with Pedro? Economics is one of his majors, I’m pretty sure.”
“He’s a year behind me, but he’s also a whiz,” he explained, “so yeah, I’ve had him in a few of my classes. He’s even helped me with classwork when I’m stuck.”
“It’s so odd to me that I never saw any of you before lockdown,” I mused.
“Well, we hung out mostly at the athletic center. Which also has a rec center, dining room, common rooms and study rooms. And you had no reason to go there,” he added.
“Huh.” I thought about that. I suddenly pictured this hub of activity, a network of connections and social interactions, chilling after class, getting nutritional advice, working out, getting help with coursework.
“Of course,” he interrupted my thoughts, “doesn’t mean we didn’t see you.” He looked at me with a knowing gaze.
I swallowed nervously, not really sure how to take that. I marveled at his arms, and at how Under Armour enhanced them, calling attention to the curves and bulges.
“So,” he said. I looked back up into his eyes. “Have you worked out who did what to you at the ‘initiation?’”
“The details are a little hazy,” I confessed, “but I’ve worked out some of it. I couldn’t really see who was fucking me—”
“I have not yet had that honor…” he interrupted.
“A humongous linebacker took my mouth first, by process of elimination that was—”
“My roommate Donovan,” he interrupted. “Roommate in the dorms. As I said, we all have our own rooms here.”
“Right, Donovan. Is he around?” I asked. “I suppose I should meet him.”
“He’s upstairs with an online seminar. He’ll be down later.”
“Cool,” I confirmed. “The next in my mouth was Ethan. Then you, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Bingo. You’re pretty good at this.”
“After that the details get fuzzier,” I confessed.
“Well, I took my time in your mouth,” he boasted, holding my gaze, “and after me there was only Luca left. The others took your ass. So it seems like you owe Donovan, Ethan, Luca and me a turn in your faggot pussy.” His voice had hardened, losing some of its playfulness. His smile was vaguely predatory. My cock once again betrayed me by stirring.
“I already settled up with Ethan,” I said, blushing.
“Wow, he wasted no time,” Finn marveled.
“Very little time has been wasted so far. Are you thinking of this as a group project?” I looked up, trying to read his eyes.
The warmth had returned to Finn’s voice and smile, if not his eyes. It struck me that he could turn on, or off, the charm. The way he had said ‘faggot pussy’ suggested he could also summon a darker self.
He laughed. “No, every man for himself, I say. I’m happy to work you into my bed just with game, baby.”
“So, what,” I asked, “we go on a date?”
“Hah!” he guffawed. “Grindr date maybe.”
I stared at him.
“No, all kidding aside,” he said, setting the charm dial at 11. “We could make it a date. I cook dinner for you here, the other guys can go next door. We often eat at one side or the other. Then ‘Netflix and chill,’ as they say.” He made air quotes with his hands. “How about this Saturday?”
I studied him for any signs he was mocking me, or being ironic. It was Thursday. I had nothing planned for Saturday. “Okay. I’ll talk to the guys about a group dinner on Sunday, then.”
“After your walk of shame, you mean.”
Now he was being ironic. He laughed. “Kidding again. Sounds good.” The discussion was closed.
I looked around. “Bathroom? Three cups of coffee between breakfast and lunch have finally caught up.”
He pointed behind us, in the kitchen corner. “There. Left of the laundry room.”
“Be right back.”
When I came out, I heard voices. Finn’s and another, deep and rumbling. I made my way back to the living room, stopping short of where my seat had been taken by a blond giant.
“Finn, you didn’t tell me we had company. Hello, faggot.”
I came out swinging, coldly. “The name’s Justin. Faggot is my superhero identity. I’m off duty here at the moment.”
“Well maybe I’ll have to commit a crime...” The blond god stared at me contemplatively. “I’m Donovan by the way. We meet at last.”
“We’ve met,” I said, somewhat bitterly. “And you’ve definitely called me 'faggot' before.”
He was a god – an adonis from central casting. Prom king, homecoming king, captain of the football team, big man on campus, all the clichés. He had all-American model good looks. Short, classically-styled blond hair. Chiseled features, a square chin, massively broad shoulders and arms tapering to a slender waist before expanding outward again to huge thighs and muscled calves.
He was wearing loose-fitting shorts that still seemed snug in the crotch, at least at this moment, and a cut-off tee-shirt, the kind worn under shoulder pads at football practice. He had a dusting of blond hair that accented his six-pack, and regrouped into a very alluring treasure trail.
“Apologies. As you say, I was on duty at the time, in super-villain mode. I didn’t mean anything by it.” Donovan may have been backpedaling, but he had meant something by it. Entitlement. Ownership. His whole life preparing and guiding him to be a superior being, a powerful and privileged elite.
Yet he seemed to lack the grace or empathy that make true leaders and elites. He was right. He was a super-villain. Or wannabe.
“Are you the QB, by any chance?”
“Guilty as charged,” Donovan responded.
“Captain of the team?”
I saw a flash of something, resentment or anger, cross his face for a nano-second.
“No.”
Finn stepped in. “Jackson’s the captain. Guess what?” he said, changing the subject. “I invited Justin over Saturday night for a date. Dinner and a movie.” Donovan and he exchanged looks, almost imperceptibly. But it revealed something to me – these two had a deep connection, and deeper history together.
“Maybe I could come for dessert. Or sloppy seconds,” Donovan suggested. He stood and walked over to where I was standing. He gently put his giant paws on my shoulders and stared me in the eyes.
He was literally a head taller than me and I was experiencing a form of vertigo from the towering presence of him, like you do, paradoxically, when you’re standing at a very great altitude and you look up. The floor disappears beneath your feet. I had never been this close to a being of this size, of this beauty, of this power. He was Medusa and I had turned to stone.
“What do you say, Justin, will you be my dessert?” His charisma was undeniable. “Or I can be yours.” He leaned in, lowering his head so his lips approached mine. I closed my eyes. He kissed me, lips barely touching mine, tongue licking my lips like they were made of honey. He let out a rumble of desire. Then gently pushed me back.
“That was the hors d’œuvre.” He put his arm around one shoulder and turned us toward Finn.
“See, I can play nice,” Donovan said, more to Finn than to me, I suspected. Turning to me, he asked, “Aren’t you glad you stopped by? It was long overdue, we thought.” He patted me and stepped away.
“Okay, I gotta head back up for a Zoom with my advisor. Nice meeting you. Faggot.” That broke the spell. He left us. I looked over at Finn, who seemed at a loss for words.
“Sorry about that. He’s had to perform his whole life – put on this persona. He forgets who he is at times. I mean the person he is. He’s not a bad person.”
“Well, I hope I get to know that Donovan,” I said, sincerely, “but I’m not holding my breath.
And I saw myself out.
