The Bully Returns

At school, I was the focus of the scum generally referred to as ‘The Bully.’ His name was Morgan, but due to his size, he got known as Conan. He beleaguered my entire high school career because of his domination. I was subjected to constant pushing, shoving, and smothering by him. I was always up against a wall or on the ground, swamped and controlled by his large body.

Morgan was a big guy and by the time he was seventeen, already stood six-foot-three-inches tall and weighed two hundred and twenty pounds. My diminutive one hundred thirty-pound body was no match for him. What made matters worse was that his hygiene was not exactly exemplary. He was always sweaty, and his smoker’s breath was constantly in my face as his coarse and grubby hands relentlessly tormented my head and torso. Embarrassingly, the worst aspect of his persecution was admitting to myself how much I got turned on by Morgan’s torment.

I was also frequently aware of his stiff cock rubbing against me during my torture sessions and I wondered if he derived sexual pleasure from his supremacy over me. He always referred to me as ‘Slave-Boy’ during these encounters. Morgan was very sexy despite a rather bad acne condition, despite finding that condition somewhat off-putting, I reasoned would no doubt pass after a year or two. Even after my school days had ended, I often thought about him.  

Over the ensuing years, I attended college, graduated, and then settled down to life in a pleasant town. Fortunately, because of the design work I did, I was able to work from my home, only having to spend one day a week at the offices of the company that employed me.

My small home got purchased at a low cost but needed a lot of fixing. Systematically, I worked through a to-do list, and after a year, I had almost completed the renovation. One of the final tasks that I had to tackle was to replace my closed system fireplace. The existing one in the house got neglected by the former owner and was beyond repair.

I contacted a local heating company that then sent their sales representative for a quote. After selecting the fireplace I wanted, he informed me that their technician would be visiting me in two days to install the unit.

Two days later, after responding to a knock at the door, my heart almost stopped when I opened the door to find that Morgan, my high school bully, was their technician. He was even taller and broader than when I had last seen him. Although his acne was gone, there was ample evidence from the scaring it had left. Morgan looked as bewildered as I did, and after introducing himself, he asked, “Aren’t you Reilly?”  

After I nodded uneasily, he entered the house with an uncomfortable smile. As he busied himself, we swapped our life histories of the past five years.

He told me that he had been married but was now divorced. Fortunately, no kids had resulted during the marriage. To get away from his family and ex-wife, Morgan had requested a transfer to our local fireplace branch a few months before.

Morgan had grown sexier since our school days. He still gave off the masculine scent I remembered from years before, but being less squeamish than I was at school, it did not bug me any longer. His enormous hands were rougher than I remembered. Given his job, however, I supposed that was to be expected. He wore a brown two-piece overall with his name and company’s logo embroidered above the top pockets. His boots were colossal, and I felt sure he could fall asleep standing up. I even got to see his hairy tradesman’s crack while he installed my fireplace.

Morgan did a great job and in three hours, his work got done. As Morgan was leaving, he asked if he could pop in from time to time, as he did not know anyone else in town. I responded affirmatively but mentally chastised myself after he left. What the hell was I thinking? Sexy as I Found him, becoming a straight man’s GBF was not what I had in mind.  

At seven p.m. two days later, he phoned me. Morgan had just eaten a takeaway and asked if he could pop in for a visit and bring along a few beers. Having eaten my supper earlier, I answered that it would not be a problem. He arrived ten minutes later dressed in his work clothes. Every fantasy I had ever had about him came flooding back.

‘You are a real fool,’ I mentally reminded myself.

After consuming a beer, he asked if he could use my toilet. Upon closing the bathroom door, I remembered I had a stash of gay magazines in the loo. I had a WTF moment, figuring that our ‘budding’ friendship might just have run just its course. After returning, however, he said nothing about the magazines, and we continued chatting.

A while later, following a pause in our conversation Morgan sheepishly said, “I’m sorry.” Noticing my quizzical expression, he continued, “That I was such a shit to you in high school.”

I smiled benignly before asking, “Why did you torment me?”

He shrugged and then replied, “Because I was jealous of you.”

“What… Why?” I stammered incredulously.

“You were smart, good-looking, everything I’m wasn’t. I came from white trash, and you were clean-cut and cultured.” Smiling forlornly, he then continued, “I was and still am a smelly oaf. Besides, back then my face looked like an acne war zone,” and then, he laughed before continuing, “I’m sure you have never even had one pimple in your life,” he uttered before we both chuckled.

He went on to tell me that he had left everything he owned with his ex-wife, whose redneck family were carbon copies of his clan. Morgan then informed me that he had to get away from the rut that his life had become, having grown sick and tired of it all. Upon visiting me in my beautiful home, Morgan realized what a fuck-up he had made of his life, adding that he was happy he had moved to this new town and was positive about rebuilding his life here. Although he was presently living in a dingy room attached to the back of someone’s house, the peace was well worth it.

“I’m in total awe of you, buddy,” he concluded.

Before he left, Morgan told me that he was very pleased that he had bumped into me and hoped we could be friends. As we walked toward his pickup, he asked if I could cook. Surprised, I replied that I believed I could. He then asked if I would consider teaching him because he was currently surviving on eggs, pasta, and takeaways. I instantly invited him to dinner two days hence, suggesting that he could then make up his mind about my culinary skills. After accepting my invitation, he climbed into his vehicle and drove off.

Two days later, on Saturday, Morgan arrived at seven with a dozen beers in hand. He was wearing shorts, a t-shirt, and sandals. His legs were bandy and hairy, and I finally got to see his huge feet. They were broad and magnificent, and I had to restrain myself from not blatantly staring at them. 

At around eight, we sat down to a leisurely dinner. Morgan continually complimented me as he savoured his food. As our conversation flowed, it astonished me how enjoyable I was finding my former tormentor’s company. We were both very relaxed, and Morgan was liberally putting away the beers. The night flew by, and before we realized it was one a.m.

Morgan then asked if I liked country music. After nodding my head affirmatively, he retrieved a CD from his vehicle. We then listened to one of his favourite tracks with the lyrics; ‘It’s a quarter after one, I’m a little drunk, and I need you now.’ As the song ended, he pushed the repeat button before asking me to dance with him. Flabbergasted, I allowed him to embrace me before we swayed to the music.

I was confused and puzzled at this point. ‘What the fuck is going on?’ I asked myself.

Was this a straight guy, feeling rejected and sad, and just needed someone to hold his hand after one too many drinks?

When the song again ended, he pushed the repeat button once more, and we danced again. This time Morgan held me a lot closer, however, and I could feel that his cock was rock hard. Ironically, as the song ended a quarter after one, we stood silent for a moment looking at one another. I broke the silence by suggesting that he use the spare room, given his alcoholic consumption. Nodding somewhat sheepishly, he followed me to the spare bedroom.

When I arrived in my bedroom, I was excited but confused. The firmness of his grasp displayed a sensuality he had never revealed before. Much as he had intimidated and excited me before at high school, our encounters were devoid of passion. Tonight, Morgan had turned me on incredibly, but I did not want to read too much into the overtures of a well-oiled straight guy. With discretion having conquered lust, I fell asleep a short while later in a state of bewilderment, with his manly smell lingering in my nostrils.

I received two phone calls from Morgan the following week. During the second call, he asked when he could begin his cooking lessons, after which I invited him to dinner on Friday night.

He arrived at six, again wearing shorts, sandals, and a t-shirt. As we prepared our simple meal together, Morgan was quite handy in the kitchen, and by eight o’clock, we were enjoying the fruits of our combined labours. As before, whenever he needed a smoke he went outside, politely ignoring my invitation for him to smoke in the house.

Later, Morgan asked if I minded him having a joint. Although I didn’t smoke weed, I always had special chocolate cookies that did the same job. He was very excited about this prospect. After consuming my cookies, a short while later, we got nicely chilled.

“When I tormented you at school, I always rushed off to the toilets afterward to wank,” Morgan suddenly confessed. “You cannot believe how much I wanted to fuck you.”

Comprehensively gobsmacked, I quietly asked, “Why didn’t you ever ask?”

“Well, firstly, I was sure that you would refuse. Secondly, that would’ve given you the upper hand, and you could’ve exposed me as a homo in revenge,” Morgan replied. We both giggled at the comment.

After a long pause, Morgan self-consciously added, “I would love to fuck you, Reilly.”   

As I nervously got up to fetch us two more beers, Morgan grabbed my arm and pulled me toward him. Seeing the apprehensive look on my face, he said, “Relax, buddy, I won’t hurt you.”

“Well…Who is going to fuck me?” I mischievously asked.

“Huh… Sorry, but I don’t understand,” Morgan countered.

“Well… Is Conan or Morgan going to fuck me?” I mischievously asked.

There was a flood of realization that blossomed on his face. Then, observing me with a naughty grin he measuredly stated, “Well… I suppose Conan has waited long enough.”

“Cool,” I replied. I had no idea where this bravado emanated, but I was as horny as hell by now.

“Do you realize that Conan likes it rough?” Morgan roguishly advised.

I answered with a ‘so what’ gesture. As I once more tried to arise to fetch us two more beers, Morgan again restricted my body. Cupping my head in his left hand, he pulled my face towards his open mouth and kissed me firmly. Lifting his body, he then pulled me under him before pinning me down under his enormous frame. He then began tugging on my lips with his teeth. He was gentle at first, but soon picked up his gnawing tempo.

After letting go of my lip, his lustful eyes sparkled with sexual tension. “If you thought your bullying days were over, Slave-Boy, well, the bad news is that they’ve just begun all over again.”

Whimpering, I answered, “Yes, Conan.”

What was happening transcended every youthful fantasy I had ever imagined.

With a wicked grin, he closed in on my mouth and continued his attack on my lips. Both my ears soon followed, with me pleading for mercy. I had initiated the sex game and was very happy to play the role of the sexually vanquished. I did my best to ‘resist’ his domination, uttering all the appropriate faux protestations. Morgan was in heaven as he comprehensively took control of me.    

Later, when we arose from the sofa, he ordered me to the bedroom, where I got commanded to strip. As Morgan walked around my naked body his eyes scanned every inch of me. He then sat on the end of the bed and pulled me over his lap before brutally spanking my arse. His huge left hand kept my body in place, as he administered hefty slaps with his right hand. Morgan ignored my playacting as I howled and pleaded, relentlessly whacking my backside.

After lifting me, he tossed my body onto the bed and began stripping. First, he kicked off his sandals before removing his t-shirt and shorts. He wasn’t overly hairy but had enough fur to suit my taste. When his underpants finally dropped, I had an OMG moment. His cock was in keeping with the rest of his bulk. Never mind the toddlers-arm story, Morgan’s knob looked more like a toddlers-leg. It was cone-shaped, with an incredibly thick base that tapered to a foreskin overhang that puckered like a long spout off the end of his dick.

As he climbed on the bed, he instructed me to turn onto my stomach. Pulling my legs apart with his strong hands, I again received a few mighty slaps. Leaning over me while balancing on his left arm, his right hand guided his cock into my arse. Finally, propped up on both arms, I felt the giant cones onslaught into my anxious hole.

As he shoved himself further and further into me, my sphincter stretched wider and wider to accommodate the ever-expanding cone. Three-quarters in, I began to yelp before he speared into me. Thank goodness, I had my eyes closed, or they would have popped out of their sockets. Without pause, he slumped onto me, and pushing his arms through under my arms, placed his huge hands on my head. Next, he started riding me like a bucking bronco while grunting with delight as I squirmed and flailed beneath him.

Plundering my outstretched pucker, he battered me with force. The more I begged for mercy, the more he told me that my body belonged to him. I loved my subjugation and the verbal abuse he hissed at me. After having become, inebriated by his abuse, I eagerly succumbed to the torture and began pleading with him to fuck my arse harder. Lifting onto his knees, he pulled my right leg up and began thrusting his huge cock entirely in and out of me. I cried out in ecstasy as he battered my hole relentlessly.

As his massive hand constricted my throat, I began gasping for air. Inexplicably, I started unloading the biggest orgasm of my life a minute later without even touching my cock. As I convulsed in the throes of passion, he began spraying my bowels full of his cream. With both of us sweating like racehorses after a steeplechase, he collapsed next to me on the bed. Panting for the next few minutes, we just lay there exhausted. No words got exchanged as we gathered our composure.

Later in the kitchen, we each drank a large bottle of water.

After we finally got back to bed, there was a complete change of tempo. Morgan’s turn had finally arrived, and he was very loving as he caressed and kissed me with unbelievable tenderness. Moving his body behind mine, he began his next entry of my butt. This time it was slow and gentle. Once he was inside me, he magically moderated his pace. Rhythmically fucking me, we restfully swayed to and fro as he made love to me, constantly kissing and nibbling on my ears and neck.

After an hour-long visit to paradise, we unloaded in a cloud of rapture as we savoured our bliss for several moments.

“So which lover do you prefer?” Morgan eventually asked.

“Do I have to choose?” I answered, giggling.

“Reilly, that was the best sex I have ever had,” Morgan stated. “By the way… How did you cope with Conan?”

“I like both of you guys and would be happy to continue this threesome,” I impishly replied.

Chuckling, Morgan answered, “Well… Both of us will be happy to ensure your continued pleasure.”

With a serious look on his face, he then asked, “Would you consider renting your spare room to me?”

He looked dejected and puzzled when I answered, “Absolutely not.” Relief returned to his face as I added, “But if the two of you would consider moving into the main bedroom with me, the answer would be an absolute yes.”

After giggling for several minutes, we were sound asleep shortly after.