"Arrggg, Argh, AAARRRGGG!" I growled as Coach Adams pummeled my mouth. His voice filled with twisted satisfaction. "That's it, you little faggot. I always knew you'd end up an 'Oral'—hypersexual males like you always do." I was still in stunned obedience as he relentlessly face-fucked me, a cruel smile spreading across his lips. "Yes, I can't wait to use you like the stud you are," he sneered, gripping my hair and forcing his cock deep into my throat.
Coach Adams, the man who everyone in our community admired for his work with troubled teens, was known for his impeccable morals and dedication. He was the mentor who took the track team out to the river, ensuring we had a great time while keeping a strict eye on us. But now, that same man, who had been a pillar of our community, was shoving his dick deep into my mouth with relentless force, his face twisted with satisfaction, exposing a dark side that shattered the carefully maintained image of integrity and trust.
He had a body like a powerhouse, built strong and thick, with arms that could crush anything and a belly to match. But it was his dick that commanded attention—eight inches of thickness, veined and rigid, with hairy balls that slapped against my chin every time he drove in deep.
"Look at you, Julio," Coach Adams taunted, a cruel smirk on his face. "If the boys could see you now, jockboy—on your knees, eagerly swallowing Coach."
I couldn’t help but think about how everything had spiraled into this twisted reality. How had Chris and I been so naive? The world we knew back home, the people we trusted—had it all been a lie?
"Look at Coach, Julio—no fainting. You have the ability for this and more," he sneered, his tone condescending even as he continued to coach me on how to please him. "Yes, stud," he emphasized, his voice laced with cruel satisfaction. "That's how it's done. Eat me up, slut."
I forced myself to comply, taking him in hard and deep, every inch of me resisting the humiliation but knowing I had to keep going. I couldn’t fail now, not with my brother depending on me. We had been through too much to let it all crumble now.
"Hello, Coach!" Uncle Rick’s voice cut through the air, startling me as he entered the room, his demeanor as casual as if this were just another day. He gave Coach Adams a high five, their twisted camaraderie a nauseating contrast to the horror I was living. Rick’s gaze fell on me with a pride that made my skin crawl. "How’s my track star treating you today?" he asked, his voice dripping with false cheer.
"Oh, I never imagined the Freeman boys would turn out to be such sluts," Coach Adams grunted, his breath hitching as he continued to use me. "Rick, you’ve really done something special here."
"Please, you’re too kind," Uncle Rick replied, his smile widening as he watched me struggle beneath them. "Arrg. Arrrgghhh! Argh!" The sounds of my discomfort seemed to fuel their pleasure, but they paid them no mind, too absorbed in their sick enjoyment.
"Well, Coach," Rick continued, ignoring my muffled protests, "it was my turn to bring in the studs, and these two were just ripe for the picking."
"Is Matt…?" Coach Adams struggled to get the words out, the pleasure overtaking him. His body shivered slightly, his satisfaction evident. "Has he had a taste of the boys?"
"Yes," Uncle Rick replied with a gleeful tone, as if sharing a delightful secret. "You know Matt—he couldn’t wait."
"Julio, look at me," my uncle commanded, his voice sharp and demanding. I forced myself to meet his gaze, the man who had orchestrated this nightmare, so pleased with what he’d done to us. "Show the Coach how much you appreciate his training," Rick said with a twisted grin. "Show him how long you can hold your breath”
Coach Adams' grip tightened on my head, guiding me further down onto his dick, forcing me to take every inch until I could barely breathe. The pressure was suffocating, but I knew I had to endure..
"That's it, Julio," Coach Adams groaned, his voice low and filled with lust. "Take it all in, show me what a good little slut you are."
Uncle Rick watched with a twisted satisfaction, his eyes gleaming as he leaned back, enjoying the show. "See, Coach? I told you he was a natural. Watch his face; you’ll love it."
My lungs burned, my vision blurred as I fought to hold on, the need for air growing more desperate with every passing second. Coach Adams’ dick filled my throat, blocking my airway, but I held on, refusing to break. The room seemed to spin, darkness creeping in at the edges of my vision, but I kept going, knowing I couldn’t let them win.
Coach Adams groaned louder, his hands gripping my head as he thrust harder, his pleasure evident in every move. "That’s it, boy," he muttered, his voice thick with satisfaction. "You’re doing so well."
Finally, just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, Coach Adams pulled out, letting me gasp for air. I coughed, my throat raw, but I kept my head down, refusing to show them how much it had affected me. Tears blurred my vision, but I wiped them away quickly, determined not to let them see me cry.
"Good job, Julio," Uncle Rick said, his tone dripping with condescension as he patted my head. "I knew you had it in you."
“Coach Adams,” Rick said, his voice dripping with a casual cruelty that made my skin crawl, “Can I interest you in the other boy? You know, take him out for a spin?” He smiled, a cold, calculating grin that sent a shiver down my spine.
Coach Adams chuckled darkly, his eyes narrowing as he considered the offer. “Oh, I’ve always wanted that boy,” he admitted, a hint of regret in his voice. “But he was always more interested in football and the girls. Shame, really.” His gaze flickered over me, a predatory glint in his eyes. “Not gonna lie, Julio is starting to look more like his dad in every way.” He licked his lips, the gesture sickening. “A fine leather stud.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut, the realization dawning with a sickening clarity. These men had wanted my dad too. The idea twisted in my mind, a nauseating thought that made me recoil. And somehow, they had gotten my uncle.
Rick’s smile widened, wicked and full of dark promises. “Well, we’ll see if that’s how things work out for him,” he said, his tone laced with malicious intent. The implication was clear—they had plans for me, just as they had for my brother, just as they had for my uncle.
Coach Adams looked at me again, his gaze hungry and calculating, as if already plotting how to use me next. I met his stare head-on, refusing to show the fear that churned in my stomach.
“Yeah, we’ll see,” I echoed, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “We’ll see how things work out.”
The casual cruelty in their conversation made my stomach churn, but I forced myself to remain composed. “I would love to try Chris if he’s not occupied,” Coach Adams said with a twisted smile, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.
My uncle, with chilling nonchalance, responded, “Well, he was with his football coach, Devon, earlier. You know Devon—he can fuck for hours.” His tone was disturbingly casual, as if discussing mundane details rather than the brutal exploitation of my brother. I sent a silent plea to the universe, hoping Chris could endure just a little longer.
“Julio, get up and take the sling off. I want you just in your cock ring,” my uncle commanded, snapping his fingers for emphasis. I stood, imitating the blank stare that had become all too familiar on Chris’s face, allowing Coach Adams to roughly strip off the sling, leaving me exposed except for the tight cock ring.
“See that body? So much like his dad’s,” Coach Adams mused, his voice thick with sinister admiration. “I can’t wait for him to fill it out.” His words were laced with malevolence, and it took everything in me not to recoil in disgust.
“Now, Julio,” my uncle snapped again, pulling me back to the present. “Go see if Coach Devon is done with Chris so we can let Coach Adams have a taste.” He looked at me directly, his eyes devoid of any familial connection—just cold, calculated intent. We were nothing more than objects to him, things for their twisted pleasure.
“And while you’re at it,” he continued with a smirk, “bring us drinks. A round for all of us. Make sure to add extra ice for your favorite soccer mentor, Coach Rivera.” His tone was filled with dark implications. “You know Coach Rivera likes everything rough, so don’t make him mad…unless,” he paused, his gaze narrowing, “you’re into that, Julio.”
I nodded, swallowing my revulsion. Every word, every command was meant to break me down, to reduce me to nothing more than a tool for their desires. But I couldn’t afford to show any weakness. Not now.
The scene was a nightmare, and I could barely keep my hands steady as I mixed the drinks for these monsters. Each pour of liquor was an act of control, a small, defiant gesture as I fought to keep it together. My hands were trembling, but I had to focus. Rick had already used me in front of everyone, in front of my brother. They had all watched as he came in my mouth, as I was forced to show them, then swallow. The humiliation burned hot inside me, a searing shame that I couldn’t shake.
The entire athletic department was here: Coach Adams, the track and field coach; Coach Devon, the football coach and local hero; Coach Rivera, the soccer coach; and Matt, alongside Uncle Rick. It was hard to wrap my head around it, how these men—respected pillars of our community—were all part of this twisted reality. Yet even after everything, despite the humiliation and the degradation, I couldn’t deny the shameful arousal that gripped me. It was like a sickness, infecting me with every twisted command they gave.
I was slipping, but I swore to myself that I would fight every step of the way.
“There you are, sport,” I heard Matt’s voice as he walked in, dressed casually in some shorts and a buttoned-up black shirt that matched his arrogant demeanor. He looked me over with a twisted satisfaction, his gaze piercing through me as if he could see every inch of my struggle. I felt the walls closing in, but I couldn’t show any weakness.
Matt cupped my face, pulling me close, his grip firm and unyielding. “That’s a good boy,” he said, his voice a mockery of the praise I had once craved as a child. “I can’t wait for you to join your brother. You’ll love it, I promise,” he whispered, his breath hot against my skin before he released me, striding out to join the others on the back porch.
I stood there for a moment, the weight of it all pressing down on me, the air thick with the stench of betrayal and despair. But I couldn’t afford to break—not now, not with Chris depending on me.
I finished the drinks and took inventory, earlier today i had been asked to got he liquor at the rest stop and i made sure t maximize my time as aly tardinesas would be rining alarms, I got everything I needed and came back quickly with allt he things they wanted, snacks, drinks, ber and liquor as well as sandwiches and food trays, everything was ready for this sick party.
The dread was nearly paralyzing as I counted the items for the drinks, my hands shaking slightly. I glanced over the food inventory list Rick had given me earlier when he sent me out to the rest stop shop. It seemed mundane at the time, just a list of snacks and supplies for the so-called "gathering," but now it felt like a lifeline, something to focus on to keep my mind from unraveling completely. The items were all accounted for—chips, sodas, pretzels, even the fresh fruit that Rick had insisted on. Everything was in order, which meant there’d be no excuse to leave the house, no reason to step outside and escape the horrors within.
The thought of leaving my brother behind in this house filled me with a deep, gnawing fear. Every second away from him felt like an eternity in which anything could happen, and I couldn’t bear the thought of what might occur if I wasn’t there.
Taking a deep breath, I started up the stairs, a drink in hand, my heart pounding with every step. I knew what I would find, and that knowledge didn’t make it any easier. It never did. Each time hurt just as much as the first, and each time I felt like I was failing Chris all over again. But I had to keep playing this sick game, for just a little longer, until I could find a way to get us both out.
As I ascended, the creaking of the wooden floors grew louder, each step vibrating through the house, accompanied by the familiar, unsettling sound of the metal bed frame squeaking under the force being exerted on it. My stomach twisted into knots, and I had to force myself to keep moving, to push down the fear threatening to overwhelm me.
“You were always so cocky, bitch. You’re loving this,” I heard a voice sneer from behind the door. “That’s it, push back. Coach is giving you a good workout, boy.” The cruel, taunting words filled the air as I reached the door, my heart hammering in my chest.
There, in the room, was Chris, his eyes glazed over, riding Coach Devin in reverse cowboy. His knees held steady as he braced himself, using his arms for support as he slammed himself down onto the coach’s lap. “Yes, boy, you’ve always had such an amazing ass,” Devin grunted, smacking my brother hard several times. “I trained this ass. This is my ass.”
Chris’s hard-on was like a rod, stiff and throbbing, bouncing with every movement as his balls followed suit. The sight of it all—the degradation, the way Chris had been reduced to this—made me want to scream, to lash out, to do anything to stop it. But I couldn’t. Not yet.
“Hey there, Julio,” Coach Devin said, trying to mock my accent with a twisted grin. He flipped Chris over effortlessly, my brother now face down, grunting as he took Coach Devin in with each thrust, his body jerking from the relentless slapping from behind.
Coach Devin was in charge of the football team, a former star player who had come close to making it to the pros before knee problems ended his career. His black skin gleamed under the light filtering in from the window, every muscle taut and defined. He stood tall at 6’2”, his athletic build and towering presence only amplified by the huge 11-inch dick he was driving into Chris.
“Bring it over, boy,” he demanded, and as I approached, I found myself struggling to catch my breath. The closer I got, the harder Coach Devin pounded Chris, his eyes locking onto mine, searching for any hint of desire or lust. I was caught off guard, gasping as Chris suddenly took my cock into his mouth. Coach Devin watched, a smirk on his face as he gulped down water. “I’m almost done, Julio,” he said with a smile. “Oh, look at that—Chris loves his brother,” he added with a cruel chuckle as he watched Chris slobbering over my hard cock, taking it deep into his mouth with a hunger born from his twisted training.
Coach Devin’s smile widened as he watched Chris devour my cock, slamming into him harder. “Arrgggh, Arrrrghh, Arrgrhhhhghh,” Chris grunted, the sounds of his struggle filling the room. Coach handed me back the water, but when I offered the drink to him, he shook his head, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. “Not yet. I want to drill your brother nice and good,” he hissed, his voice dripping with satisfaction.
“Master Rick,” I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper, thick with shame. “He wants everyone downstairs… something about the night being young.”
Coach Devin finally pulled out of Chris, the motion rough and unceremonious. “You’re right,” he said, smirking as he adjusted his pants. “Let me show you the way,” I offered, trying to maintain some semblance of control as we headed down the stairs. His hand lingered on my shoulders and ass, the touch making my skin crawl.
“Man, you look more like your old man every day,” he said, his voice tinged with a dark, twisted admiration. “I can’t wait to ride you just like your brother back there,” he added, his words laced with sinister intent. “Did you see him still jerking off? Studs like that aren’t born—they’re made,” he laughed, the sound echoing through the hallway as we descended into the gathering below.
“Everyone gather around” my uncle said with pride as he held his drink high and full of liquor “Julio go check on the chicken, tortillas or your brother ,this toast is for real men” i felt the sting of his words and the malevolent eyes of the others looking at me waiting for my obedience. I bowed slightly as I walked away with the open bottle and dumping it near the bushes away from sight.
I walked into the third bedroom, a space tucked away downstairs, more like an unused office that had been transformed into a twisted dungeon. The room was filled with links, straps, and an array of items clearly designed for bondage. It was the perfect place to hide, to plan, as they drank and toasted their so-called victory. I wandered around, my fingers brushing over the cold metal and rough leather, admiring the meticulous effort it must have taken to acquire all the tools of their trade. The room felt like a museum of horrors, each piece telling a story of broken bodies and shattered minds.
Uncle had mentioned that it was his turn to find the next studs, which meant the poor souls who came before Chris and me had been used up and discarded like trash. A wave of sorrow washed over me—I wished they had survived, that they had found a way out. But their fate only steeled my resolve. This was my chance, my moment to turn the tables.
Five minutes later, I stepped outside, walking calmly toward the coaches, who were now gathered together, high as kites and belligerent like addicts on the verge of collapse. They were too far gone to notice the change in my demeanor, the cold calculation in my eyes. I had prepared their drinks with a smile, watching as they downed them without hesitation. What they didn’t know was that I had crushed several pills into the bottles, the same way they had drugged Chris and me. The appetizers, too, had more than just sugar—I made sure of it.
As the substances took hold, their laughter grew slurred, their movements sluggish. They were too relaxed, too confident in their perceived dominance to realize what was happening. One by one, I tied them down, securing each of them with the very devices Uncle Rick had so carefully curated for his twisted games. He had so many tools, it was almost hard to pick the right one for each of them, but I did. The irony wasn’t lost on me—they had spent so long perfecting their craft, and now, it was being used against them.
They were too high, too disoriented to fight back. Their bodies sagged in the restraints, their eyes glazed over, still drunk on their own arrogance. I looked at them, each one a predator who had finally become the prey. And yet, as much as I reveled in the power shift, a deep unease gnawed at me. This wasn’t who I was—or at least, not who I wanted to be. But I had no choice; I had to protect Chris, and this was the only way.
As I stood there, watching them, a dark satisfaction welled up inside me. They deserved this—they deserved every bit of the fear, the helplessness, the pain that they had inflicted on us. But beneath that satisfaction was a flicker of doubt, a small voice reminding me that, despite everything, I was still a good person. I was doing what I had to do to survive, to save my brother, but it didn’t change the fact that this revenge came at a cost. It was a line I never thought I’d cross, and now that I had, I wondered if I could ever go back.
But as I tightened the last strap, securing Coach Adams in place, I pushed those doubts aside. This was about survival—nothing more, nothing less. I would deal with the consequences later. For now, I had to finish what I started.
I walked over to Matt, feeling the adrenaline coursing through my veins. With deliberate slowness, I got on my knees before him, pulling him close as I wrapped my arms around his thick neck. I kissed him deeply, pouring every ounce of calculated seduction into the act. "Come with me to the bedroom," I crooned softly, staring into his eyes with a mix of desire and intent, my teeth gently grazing my lower lip. "I want you to be my first," I whispered, my voice laced with a promise that he was too high and drunk to resist.
Even in his altered state, he managed a slow nod, his foggy mind barely processing the words. His hands fumbled as he stripped off his pants and shirt, leaving him naked and exposed. I led him to the bedroom, his steps unsteady, his eyes glazed with intoxication. As we entered the dimly lit room, I whispered, "Let me get the light," watching as he stumbled over his words and actions, completely under my control.
Moving swiftly, I grabbed an old collar and chain, securing it around his thick neck in one fluid motion. Before he could react, I yanked the chain hard, forcing him onto his tiptoes, his eyes wide with shock as he looked forward, realizing too late that he was trapped. "Son of a bitch, I'm going to make you pay!" he yelled, his voice filled with rage and confusion. But it was too late—he was mine now.
I flicked on the light, illuminating the room. As his eyes adjusted, I watched the moment his bravado crumbled into horror. His mouth dropped open in disbelief as he stared at the scene before him.
In the center of the room, Anthony—his own son—was hogtied and high as a kite. The realization hit Matt like a freight train. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of Anthony on all fours, his limbs bound from every angle, his body completely immobilized. Anthony's eyes were glazed over, barely registering his surroundings, a thick line of drool slipping past the mouth strap that held his jaw open.
The horror in Matt's eyes was palpable as he struggled against the chain, but there was no escape. He was caught, just like his son. I could see the anguish in his face as the full weight of the situation settled in—a father, now powerless, forced to witness his son in the very position he had put countless others in. The tables had turned, and I reveled in the bitter satisfaction of it, even as a part of me recoiled from the darkness of my actions.
“What do you think, Matt?” I asked, my voice cold and deliberate as I circled Anthony like a predator. Matt struggled furiously, the chains clinking with every desperate movement, but it was futile. The devices were designed with brutal efficiency, the more he fought, the tighter they held.
“Listen up, you fat pig!” I growled, my voice filled with an authority I didn’t know I had. It echoed through the room, reverberating with a power that reminded me of my father. It was a voice that made me feel, if only for a moment, like I was in control. “Father,” I whispered in my mind, “I need you.” But I knew there was no turning back. The old me had to be buried, replaced by this new, unrecognizable version that had been forged in the fire of betrayal and torment.
Matt’s eyes widened, his struggling halting for a moment as he processed the authority in my tone. He was no longer the one in control. “I’m going to fuck Anthony,” I declared, my words slicing through the air with cruel precision, “and you’re going to watch every single second.” I yanked Anthony’s hair, jerking his head up into the light so Matt could see his son’s face clearly, every detail illuminated in the harsh glow. “He’s a cute one, isn’t he?” I mocked, my voice dripping with venom as I reached down, grabbing Anthony’s dick.
“MMMMMMM,” Anthony moaned, his body betraying him as his cock hardened in my hand, responding to the twisted stimulation. The sound of his pleasure was like a dagger to Matt’s heart, his face contorting in pure horror. He watched, helpless and broken, as his son was reduced to nothing more than an object of lust, his mind likely reeling with the realization that the roles had reversed so completely.
Matt’s eyes were wide, the terror and disbelief palpable as he took in the scene before him. His own flesh and blood, violated right in front of him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. His face, twisted in anguish
“Cute face, a mans face right?” i said and matts eyes ran cold “hes not much of a man, I said cute face but …this thing I said as I yanked on his cock, this 6 inch thing” i said with a smile “a mans, man, my ass I said as i layed my cock on top of Anthinys ass.
“Julio, please, his my son” he said is voice full lf concern “some studs are not borm I said, some have to e made” as i PULLED A TINY vibrator and slipped it into aNTHONYS exposed ASS”
“MMMMMM” anthony responded “yesssss” he grunted as he tried to flex “look at that” I said “hes a natural”
I pulled out a massive, cone-shaped dildo, its design reminiscent of the traffic cones you see on the streets, complete with ridges and an unnatural orange sheen. The moment Matt saw it, his resolve broke, and he began to cry and beg, making desperate promises.
“Listen up, pig,” I hissed, pouring every ounce of venom into my words. “I don’t give a shit about your promises.” I held the slick, shiny cone in my hand, its surface gleaming in the dim light as I waved it in front of him. Matt’s begging grew more frantic, but his words fell on deaf ears.
I moved deliberately, making sure each motion was clear and precise as I brought the dildo behind Anthony. I positioned the tip just outside his wet, trembling hole, watching as Anthony shivered, his body involuntarily pushing back, teetering on the edge of what he could handle. Matt’s pleading grew louder, his voice breaking with desperation.
“Room for one more?” I asked coldly, retracting the massive plug just enough to brace myself for the plunge. Anthony was writhing beneath me, lost in a sea of twisted pleasure, driven by the perverse conditioning these men had subjected him to. He wanted nothing more than to cum, his body betraying him with every movement.
“I’LL DO WHATEVER YOU WANT! I’LL BE YOUR SLAVE, I’LL OBEY, PLEASE, DON’T DO THIS!” Matt’s voice was filled with raw panic, his bravado completely shattered.
I paused, the tip of the plug just inches from its target. “Good pig,” I muttered, a cruel smile spreading across my face. I walked over to Matt, securing a chastity cage around his cock and pushing a smaller plug into him. He grunted and shuddered, clearly unused to being taken in such a way. The humiliation in his eyes was palpable, a man who had always been in control now reduced to nothing.
“On your knees, pig,” I commanded, and Matt obeyed, still crying, his tears mixing with the sweat on his face. He looked at Anthony, who was lost in a fog of sexual pleasure, the pain, shame, and fear all etched across his face. Matt knew he had been bested, and the realization cut deep.
“You will bring the other pigs and tie them up for me. Hurry,” I ordered, my voice cold and unyielding. Matt scrambled to his feet, this hulking man now reduced to a naked, exposed figure, his cock trapped in a cage and a plug lodged firmly in his ass. The sight of him, once so dominant, now completely subdued, filled me with a dark satisfaction.
Matt quickly brought Coach Adams into the room, his large hands fumbling as he tied the man up, securing him face down, ass up. Next was Rivera, then Devin. Each one was bound in the same humiliating position, their faces pressed into the floor, their bodies fully exposed and vulnerable.
I moved around the room, checking their straps twice, making sure there was no chance of escape. They were all at my mercy now, these men who had once reveled in their power, who had taken pleasure in breaking others. Now, they were the ones broken, their will stripped away.
"Knock, knock." The sound was sharp, reverberating through the tense air. I pointed toward the door. "Go get it," I ordered Matt, standing close behind him, a bat gripped tightly in my hand just in case things went south.
Matt hesitated, but the look in my eyes left no room for argument. He opened the door to reveal a tall, bearded trucker who smelled strongly of diesel and something else—something foul, like the scent of a truck stop bathroom. Two other men of the same build stood behind him, their expressions unreadable, but their presence imposing.
"I'm looking for Matt," the trucker growled, his eyes narrowing as they focused on Matt. The men behind him shifted, their weight causing the wooden porch to creak ominously.
"This is Matt, Steve," I said coldly, stepping aside to let them in. The three men looked Matt over with the same dispassionate scrutiny one might reserve for a piece of meat.
"He'll do," Steve grunted, giving a nod of approval.
"He's all yours then," I replied, my voice devoid of emotion. As soon as the words left my mouth, the three men pounced. Matt barely had time to react before they overpowered him, chaining him up with brutal efficiency. The shock on his face was almost pitiful—almost.
"Where are you taking him?" I asked, keeping my voice steady.
Steve turned to me, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "If you need him," he said, "he’ll be at the rest stop, in the last stall." With no further explanation, they dragged Matt out the door. He was a big man, but the three truckers lifted him like he weighed nothing, tossing him into the back of an open truck with a casual brutality that made the vehicle shake from the impact.
The truck roared to life, the engine growling as it rumbled down the driveway, Matt's muffled shouts fading into the distance. I watched until the taillights disappeared, gripping the bat in my hand until my knuckles turned white.
The trips I made for the party into town had just paid off.
There was just Uncle Rick left. I looked back and noticed he wasn’t on the back porch. *Whack!* The blow slammed into me from behind, sending me stumbling forward. “Little shit,” I heard him growl as he fumbled on his feet, but he was still strong—too strong.
This was it. I pushed myself up and tackled him into the house, crashing into the living room. “I’ll show you!” he roared, swinging wildly. He missed my face, but I felt the air slap against me as I pulled away. I lashed out, landing a punch straight into his gut, the kind my mom would’ve been proud of. “Fuck!” he yelled, doubling over, but not before grabbing my shirt and dragging me down with him.
We rolled on the floor, fists flying, but it wasn’t enough. He was too strong, too much muscle. My mind screamed at me: *Think! If he gets on top, it’s over.* Desperation surged through me, and with a guttural scream, I bit into his face. The taste of blood filled my mouth, but he swatted me away like I was nothing, sending me crashing into the coffee table.
I scrambled to my feet, but he was already on me, lifting me up and slamming me down onto the kitchen table. The impact knocked the wind out of me, leaving me gasping for air. I tried to kick, tried to push him off, but he was on top of me, between my legs, his hands tightening around my throat. Panic surged as I slapped at him, my vision starting to blur.
I heard honking and the distant sound of traffic, so close yet so far away. *This is it,* I thought as black spots danced in my vision. “That’s it, Julio,” Uncle Rick sneered, even with blood trickling down his face from our struggle. “You’re going night-night, and when you wake up…” He smiled, a sick, twisted grin. “…you won’t be awake like you are now. Not for a long time. Not until you can’t even remember who you really are.”
“Fuck you,” I rasped, my voice barely a whisper. I knew I had no other choice. It was him or me. With every ounce of strength left in me, I jabbed my finger into his eye socket. He let out a howl of pain, reeling back.
I stumbled off the table, my lungs burning as I fought to catch my breath. My body trembled with exhaustion, but there was no time. I watched as Uncle Rick, like some creature of the night, rose again, his hand clutching the bat. “Game over, bitch!” he screamed, lunging at me with everything he had left.
A thudding sound cracked over my head, and in shock, I looked up to see Chris wrestling with Uncle Rick on the floor, his fingers digging into the open wound on Rick's cheek, sending him reeling. But Rick fought on, confident in his strength to overcome us.
“Arrgg!” I heard Chris yelp as Uncle Rick dug two fingers into his used hole. “You’re not the only trained wrestler, asshole,” Rick hissed, as they continued to swing and land punches.
Even from the floor, gasping for air, I could see that Chris was still too overpowered to fight fully. If this had been a fair fight, Chris and I would have lost. I grabbed the chair and tried to lift it, but something was wrong—something in me was broken.
I heard the crash before I saw Chris fly over Uncle Rick's shoulder and land on the already broken and shattered living room couch. “Uuuhhhmmm,” Chris moaned as the impact knocked the wind out of him. Rage filled my body, fueling and numbing me as I grabbed the chair. Just as my uncle's leg was coming down on Chris, I jammed the chair under his stomach, sending him crashing back into the last remaining item in the living room—the 75-inch TV.
“Brother, run!” Chris yelled as the sounds of chaos grew louder. “No, Chris, we do this together,” I replied, my arm throbbing with pain as I helped him up.
Our uncle rising again unnaturally or was it just that the effects of the substances were also numbing him? He had the bat again.
“You are both staying,” he snarled. “No one is leaving this fucking house,” he added as he picked up the bat, preparing to lunge at us again.
I looked over at Chris, my brother, my hero, both of us breathing hard, our bodies battered and bruised from the fight. We had given it everything, fought with every ounce of strength we had, but it wasn’t enough. The plan had failed, I tried so hard but there was no more time.
But even in the face of defeat, I couldn’t let the fear take over. I forced a rebellious smile, a final act of defiance, and winked at my brother. His eyes, once clouded with fear, flashed with something new—an anger and determination that mirrored my own.
“Together,” he said, his voice steady despite the tremble in his breath.
“Together,” I replied, my voice firm, echoing his resolve as we both braced ourselves for what we believed was the end.
We knew what was coming. This wasn’t just the end of the fight—it was the end of our freedom, the start of a life where we would be nothing more than slaves, stripped of any hope for escape.
I clenched my fists, feeling the sting of my wounds but ignoring the pain. We weren’t going down without a fight, no matter how hopeless it seemed. I met Chris’s gaze, our silent pact stronger than ever. Whatever happened next, we would face it together, side by side, as brothers.
!BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMM!
The door shattered inward, splinters flying as if it had been struck by a battering ram. Chris and I instinctively ducked, shielding ourselves from whatever was coming next. But instead of another threat, we saw the hulking figure of our dad, his silhouette dominating the doorway.
Without hesitation, Dad lunged at Uncle Rick, the two of them crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs. They rolled, grappling with each other, the raw power of their bodies shaking the floor beneath us. It was like watching titans clash—no room for weakness, only survival.
Uncle Rick managed to get Dad in a headlock, his muscles straining with the effort. But Dad was too strong, too relentless. With a powerful thrust, he threw himself backward, slamming Uncle Rick into the ground with a force that knocked the wind out of him. The impact reverberated through the house, making the walls shudder.
As they moved to the kitchen, their brawl left a path of destruction in its wake. Cabinets splintered, countertops cracked, and the floor was littered with broken glass and debris. Every time Uncle Rick tried to fight back with raw, vicious intent, Dad countered with controlled, devastating blows—each punch heavy and precise, carrying the full weight of his strength.
The sound of each hit echoed through the house, so loud we could hear it from where we crouched on the living room floor. It was surreal, watching the shadowy forms of these two powerful men—warriors locked in a death match where only one could emerge victorious.
Uncle Rick fought with pure malice, his eyes wild with rage, but Dad was relentless, delivering blow after blow with a controlled fury that left no doubt about his resolve. He wasn’t fighting to kill, but every strike he landed carried the weight of years of discipline and power, each one a promise that he would protect us at all costs.
We watched in awe, unable to tear our eyes away from the battle. This was more than just a fight; it was a reckoning. The clash of fists and the crash of furniture breaking were the only sounds, filling the space with a raw, primal energy that left us breathless.
But amidst the chaos, there was a moment—just one fleeting moment—where everything else faded away.
“You called Dad?” Chris's voice broke through the noise, thick with tears, as he looked at me with a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming emotion. His eyes, filled with pain and exhaustion, were glistening with the tears he had fought to hold back for so long.
“Of course I did,” I replied, my voice cracking under the weight of everything we had been through. I pulled him into a hug, and in that instant, we weren’t just two beaten and broken boys—we were brothers, holding on to each other for dear life as the world collapsed around us.
Chris started to cry, his sobs shaking his entire body. “I tried, brother. It was me or you, and… I let them take me,” he choked out, the guilt and shame pouring out with every tear.
“I know,” I whispered, my own tears flowing freely as I held him tighter, feeling his trembling frame in my arms. “You’re my big brother, my hero,” I sobbed, the words spilling out as I buried my face in his shoulder, holding on to the one person who had always been my protector.
The house shook with the force of an earthquake, the battle between Dad and Uncle Rick raging on around us. But in that moment, none of it mattered. All that mattered was that we were together, clinging to each other like we had done so many times before when the world seemed too cruel, too big to bear.
For a brief second, the noise of the fight faded into the background, replaced by the sound of our shared grief and love. In each other’s arms, we found the strength to keep going, to face whatever came next.
The room was thick with tension, every breath heavy with the scent of blood and sweat. Uncle Rick, battered and broken, was barely hanging on. But he had one last ounce of defiance in him, a final surge of desperation. He staggered to his feet, his swollen eyes filled with rage, as he lunged at our father one last time.
But Dad was ready.
“You son of a bitch!” Dad roared, his voice filled with all the fury of a father protecting his children. With a powerful, decisive punch, he drove his fist into Rick's jaw. The impact was like a thunderclap, reverberating through the room. Uncle Rick's body lifted off the ground, flying clear across the room, and crashed into the wall with a sickening thud. He crumpled to the floor in a heap, his body utterly defeated.
Chris moved in front of me instinctively, his protective instincts still on high alert, but it was clear that the fight was over. Uncle Rick was done, reduced to a mass of moans and pain. His chiseled face was a bloody, swollen mess, his eyes barely able to open, his lip split and bleeding. He tried, with futile determination, to push himself up, but his body had nothing left to give.
Our father, breathing heavily, emerged from the kitchen, his own body marked with scratches and red spots, his shirt torn to shreds. Blood dripped from his nose, but he was otherwise unscathed, standing tall and victorious.
Without a second thought, Chris and I ran to him, tears streaming down our faces as we collapsed into his arms. We clawed at him like desperate children, seeking the safety and comfort only he could provide. His strong arms wrapped around us, pulling us close.
“Ssshhhh, my sons,” he whispered, his voice soothing as he held us tight. “You did your best, and you did it right. You get to learn, and you get to live another day.”
Dad looked at me, his eyes filled with both pride and relief. “Son, you were so brave, and I’m so proud of you,” he said, his voice steady despite the chaos we had just been through. “I got here as fast as I could, hoping you’d hear me honking as I tore down the road.” I nodded, still feeling like a boy who needed his father’s reassurance.
He turned to Chris, who was clinging to him, still trembling. “Chris, I love you, son. You were so brave,” Dad said, his voice thick with emotion. Chris didn’t look up, but he held onto us even tighter, like he was afraid to let go.
A moment later, I led Dad to the room where the coaches and Matt’s kid were tied up. They were still unconscious, their bodies twisted and exposed in humiliating positions—remnants of the nightmare we had just survived.
“Take Matt out and put him in the car,” Dad ordered, his voice calm and in control. “And boys, I’ve got some clothes in the back.”
I winced as I moved, the pain in my arm flaring up. “Let me help you,” Chris said, gently easing my sweater on. “Aaaah, shit,” I hissed as the fabric slid over my injured arm. Anthony, now dressed in ill-fitting shorts and a shirt, his gaze still glazed sat in the back seat.
Dad returned, his face set in a grim expression, and handed a phone to Chris, uncle ricks phone. “Upload the photos to the community page and the school page and social media,” he instructed. “No text, just the images.”
Chris swallowed hard as he looked at the screen, showing me the photos of the hog-tied coaches. They were in degrading, vulnerable positions, their bodies still contorted from the drugs, looking like something out of a twisted porn video.
“Close the doors and windows,” Dad said, stepping out of the house. Chris and I did as we were told, the air thick with tension. Moments later, blood-curdling screams echoed through the house—first Coach Devin, then Coach Rivera, Coach Adams, and finally, Uncle Rick.
Chris and I exchanged terrified glances, fearing that Dad had gone too far, that he might have killed them. When he finally emerged, his right arm smeared with fresh blood from elbow to fingers, he saw the fear in our eyes.
“Don’t worry, they’ll live,” Dad said, his voice eerily calm. “I just introduced them to my fist.” He walked over to the vehicles parked outside and slashed the tires, ensuring they couldn’t leave.
As we drove down the road, the events of the night replayed in my mind. “Dad, we need to stop for Matt. He was taken to the truck stop,” I reminded him. Dad, focused but determined, pulled over. “He’s in the last stall,” I added, knowing that Matt was now part of this twisted mess.
Dad handed the phone to Chris again, instructing him to upload more pictures—this time of Matt, humiliated and broken, his body used and abused. When Dad came back from the truck stop, his arm was freshly bloodied, and Chris and I looked down, knowing what he had done to Matt.
Without a word, Dad threw Matt into the back of the truck. We drove to a rundown house, where Dad dumped Matt and his son at the front door. As we pulled away and merged onto the busy street, we left behind the nightmare we had just lived through, the weight of everything we’d endured slowly fading in the distance.
This chapter was closing, and though we were battered and bruised, we were finally on the road to healing.
The end.
Hope you enjoyed the ride: Vote : Excellent!
