Trigger warning for American babies : use of slurs, which is comparable to actual discrimination and actually maybe worse.
Toby had nothing to do but lie there and vape or scroll while his whole body and cock were licked, sucked, worshipped, ridden, made to come over and over, just because the faggot was crazy about him. Anyone could have a big cock and satisfy the fag, but few had ten thick, straight inches to offer, and also were 6'6 and almost 300 pounds heavy. Now that he worked at the scrap yard, he just kept getting bigger even though he didn't exercise and ate like a pig. And the fag loved him more every day.
Girls didn't like him, not at all. Toby had always been too much for them, a massive bull in a very tight china shop. That's how he ended up here, over and over, lying in his bed with pillows at his back, with the fag ripping his own asshole out riding his cock, thanking him for it all the while. Toby was a townie in the town the fag studied in, and when they'd met, he was 18 and the fag 20. Four years later, the only thing that had changed was the intensity on the faggot's part.
Toby had stayed the same: passive but erect, open to anything. He let himself be sucked, not only his cock but also his fingers and feet, his tongue even. He let himself be kissed, shrugging with a "Whatever" whenever the fag made the puppy eyes and asked if he could kiss Toby. He let his asshole be fucked by the fag's eager tongue. Everything was whatever to him. Girls didn't want him and he didn't mind having tight holes take care of him instead of his hands. The first year, he'd watched porn during, but he had soon figured out he did not need it. The faggot was relentlessly devoted to his pleasure.
He was in love with Toby and said it often, and Toby didn't mind. It was whatever as well. If the faggot wanted to cuddle or be made love to, he just shrugged and did it. Why not? No one else ever asked him and it didn't hurt anything. The strange moments were when the faggot started crying in his arms saying he wasn't good enough to be Toby's girlfriend, because Toby thought the faggot was already getting most of what a girlfriend would.
Toby wasn't very bright, so he had only realized recently that the faggot wanted Toby to be his boyfriend for real. Some people in town had noticed the little routine, Toby going to the faggot's studio apartments above the grocery store in the city center, the faggot going to Toby's trailer and staying there the night. Toby didn't mind. It was whatever. None of them would have said anything to his face or ever attempted anything against him because he was so large, so he let them talk, but that didn't mean he was comfortable with the idea of going out with the faggot on his arm.
Fuck, Toby didn't even like using his name. Or his pronoun. At first, he was "it" and sometimes "she" but Toby had gotten over that. Whatever. Yes, it was a guy, but not a guy who wanted to put a cock up Toby's ass or anything like that, just a girly guy who wanted to be treated like a bitch or something.
So he let a boy make him come at least once a day, every day, and kiss him, and say "I love you" to him. Easier than getting pussy.
Toby started letting the faggot buy him things early on. The fag was upper middle class or more, with parents that paid for a studio instead of the dorm, and lots of clothes. He always had beer and whiskey for Toby, or brought some to the trailer. And why not? Sometimes the faggot wanted to play the little wife, cleaning the trailer, cooking for Toby, serving him drinks and then giving him a long blowjob before riding his cock on the couch. On game nights, when Toby wanted to see the tv, the faggot would fuck himself doggy style, kneeling in front of the couch, his head down so as not to block the screen. That was nice, because Toby hadn't even asked for it.
Toby had not asked for the food or the alcohol or the clothes or any of the trinkets or little things that the faggot bought for him, but he accepted them anyway with a shrug and a "Thanks" because it would have been a hassle to get the faggot to stop to do that, and Toby didnt mind being able to save a little bit of his money.
Plus, he didn't mind the movie nights. The fag would cook and clean, and suck him through a movie of Toby's choice. Game nights were the same but with video games: the faggot had bought him a system and games, because he hadn't had any.
On some nights, the faggot was so horny he cleaned and cooked naked, with just an apron over his front to hide his cock, and a buttplug up his ass at the back. He loved asking Toby for a spanking when he was plugged up, and had long ago explained to Toby he should hit directly on the plug, so Toby always did it. Whatever.
Over the years, to faggot had explained how to do a lot of things to Toby. Left to his own devices and with no instructions, Toby just laid there and left himself be sucked and ridden. But it was all the same to do what the faggot asked. Doggy style, ok. Missionary, why not. In the shower, in the truck, whatever. If the fag wanted spankings or fingers in his cunt alongside the cock or a facial or to have Toby sitting on his face, he asked. Always meekly, like Toby was gonna say no. Whatever.
Toby liked it, of course. It was like being in porn, if not exactly the right kind of porn. Coming that hard, that often, always inside or on someone who was hungry for that cum, did turn him on. But he wasn't about to chase it like a little bitch.
The thing he liked most, though, was the rimjobs. Both when the faggot spread and raised Toby's big legs, or asked for Toby to be on all fours, and shoved his delicate, pretty faggot face between Toby's cheeks to fuck the hole with his tongue. He'd never thought he'd want anything in his ass, but that little, wet and warm tongue was it.
But also when they 69d for preparation, with the faggot on top sucking on his cock, lubing it with spit, and Toby underneath, eating the faggot's cunt. It used to be an asshole, but it was now reshaped into a gash by Toby fucking it daily. It was a cunt, and he loved eating it out. Toby never asked to do it of course, he simply waited for the faggot to ask for 69, but he relished doing it when it was on the menu. That was the thing he truly missed from girls: eating pussy. At least he had cunt.
Turning the asshole into a gash was fun, Toby could admit. He used his hand in a karate chop position to hand fuck the faggot's tight hole and give it its better shape. Then his massive cock would ruin it further. It was the faggot who'd asked to be ruined, every time they fucked, and honestly Toby wasn't doing a single effort. His cock was thick and wide enough, long and hard enough that just riding it for half an hour left the faggot with legs shaking.
It wasn't Toby's fault, really. The faggot wanted everything from him. After a long work day, the fag loves washing him with his tongue and tasting Toby's sweat. When they were fucking face to face, whether riding or missionary, kisses turned into Toby shoveling spit into the faggot's mouth and the fag begging to drink more drool. Sometimes the fag came in and pushed Toby into the couch to start sucking his dick for hours, making Toby come as much as possible like reverse edging, and drinking gallons of his cum. When Toby woke in the middle of the night for a piss, the faggot slid between his legs to take Toby's soft cock in his mouth and drink it. He wanted fucking everything.
So, Toby gave it to him.
And Toby never asked, except in a single situation: when he'd been out with his friends, chasing girls and drinking, and mostly striking out. Those nights, about twice a month, he came through to the faggot's place, undressed him and spent hours eating the cunt and turning it into a gash, before he made love to that hole. He wrapped the faggot in his big arms and legs and made love missionary, feeding his tongue and drool to his little faggot. Those nights, when Toby needed gash and kisses and cuddles after, he didn't mind thinking of him as *his* faggot.
Fag wanted to be his anyway. On those nights, Toby didn't pull out after coming, he just stayed in the fag's cunt and laying over him and slept there however long he needed until he woke up erect again and started fucking. The faggot would cry-chant I love yous as Toby's big cock gave him as much pain as it did pleasure.
And that's where Toby found himself tonight. Out with his boys, 2 am, no pussy in sight.
They were parked on an empty lot, nursing their wounds from the club. Jack and Tate had been dancing and buying drinks but hadn't hit. Toby hadn't even made eye contact with a girl. He knew a mountain of a man like him scared them. So the boys shared a bottle of whiskey bought at the store, and some weed they got from the local niggers, who at least were useful for that. Those were the guys girls went for, these days. Flashy niggers with drug money who could pay a whole club night every night.
Tate was sprawled in the back seat while Jack, at the wheel, and Toby shared the front. They'd been talking about the bitches and had fallen into silence, now, and Toby was trying to get comfortable with an massive erection that wouldn't go down.
Jack slid a look to him as he gave the joint and saw his bulge. With a chuckle, he said, "So, bro, mind if I ask you something? Don't get mad, yeah, it's just us bros. Just, like... do you want me to drop you off at your faggot's place?"
Tate laughed in the back. "Fuck, Jack, we said it wasn't important."
"And it's not!" protested Jack. "That's why I'm asking, to, like, say it's fine if he goes to see his faggot. We know, we don't care."
Toby was fuming. This was the first time anyone dared mention it, and it was his two oldest friends. "First of all, he's not my faggot, and second, you know his name is Benjamin."
"Yeah. Faggy Benji," shrugged Jack, "but I figure he has to be the world's most talented fag if you can take you."
"I'm not fucking him!" said Toby, weakly.
"C'mon, bro, it's dumb to lie about that," mumbled Tate from the back, "we've seen the fag follow you around like a pet for the last four years and I know for a fact you don't fucking clean your trailer, you never fucking cleaned anything in your life."
"Yeah, man," added Jack, "seems like you get yourself a pretty sweet deal, if he does that shit."
"Look, man," continued Tate, "we just mean to say, if you're fucking the fag, we don't care, and if you want to like, be the fag's boyfriend, we also don't care. But, like, we're best friends the three of us, it's weird that you're lying to us."
Toby stayed silent a long while, trying to kill the joint instead of his friends. Finally, he said, "Fag's just a cum bucket, guys."
"Fucking nice!" laughed Jack. He went for a high five, which Toby reluctant allowed. "So, is it true? Do fags suck it better than bitches?"
Toby's shoulders and face fell as he decided to go for the truth. "Couldn't tell you. Never had head from a women."
"Oh, man," said Tate in shock, "is that why -"
"Fag can take all ten inches in his throat and cunt, asks for it and never complains. That's it. I'm not a fag."
"Never said you were," shrugged Jack, "it's not like you're out there trolling for cock to suck on."
"Yeah, you said cum bucket, that doesn't sound like romantic dinners and make out sessions."
"Ever wonder if you could use him to get shit?" asked Jack. "Like, the niggers might give us more green if you lend them the fag to run a train on. I'll bet these apes would fucking like that."
A flash of rage passed through Toby at the idea of lending the faggot to anyone, let alone niggers. "Shut the fuck up, Jack." And after a moment of silence: "Benji's my faggot. He cleans my trailer and cooks my meals and drinks my piss so I don't have to get out of bed in the middle of the night. I'm not giving him to niggers. Or anyone."
"Damn, man," Jack said, finally taking him seriously now that he was honest. "Sorry."
Tate piped up from the back. "Not even to your good ol' boys? I wouldn't mind some of that deepthroat you mentioned."
Toby turned his eyes to his lanky friend with the freckles and messy, curly reddish hair, and thought for a while. Yes, it would be unpleasant to see Benji used by others, he realized now, but his friends might be different. Just because if Jack and Tate fucked Toby's fag, then they'd be in on it, and Toby wouldn't be so weird.
But tonight, Toby was gonna come through, frustrated and drunk, to eat cunt and make a gash. And that was his special night. So he said, "Maybe another time."
Maybe.
For a few weeks after that, things were normal, except that he and his friends sometimes talked or joked about his thing with the faggot. Toby kept letting him into the trailer or going to his place, fucking the fag however he wanted, and making love to him on nights Toby stroke out. Toby pushed the idea of his friends fucking the fag out of his mind and tried to go back to what he'd always known.
Yet, one night, coming back from work, he felt alone and got drunk on his own in the trailer. After all these years, he'd gotten the habit of asking the fag his schedule and so, this was one of the nights where he was busy and would only arrive around 10 pm. The idea of spending four hours alone in his trailer, getting drunk, when all he wanted was a hug, made Toby cry as soon as he got the first beer down. So, he switched to whisky. It was one of these days where he couldn't help but yearn for things he'd never get in this shit town. The love of a good, docile woman, raising boys he'd be proud of, barbecuing on weekends with his friends and their women and kids, having a house with a backyard... But there would be none of that. Given who they were, how they acted, it was most likely Jack would end up planting a baby in some white trash trailer park psycho, and Tate would kill a gas station hooker. As for him, no woman would ever wanna be crushed under an ox like him, and his shitty job would never pay for a white picket fence. All he'd ever have was his faggot. At least, Benji was devoted to him like Toby was a god, or something.
By the time the fag found him, at 10:20, Toby was down to his underwear, his massive erection straining against the fabric. He was covered in sweat, vibrating with anger and sadness, and randomly pacing the trailer while smoking badly rolled blunts.
"Toby, are you okay?"
As soon as he heard his faggot's little voice, Toby crossed the trailer and wrapped him in his arms, lifting him off the floor. "Benji, baby..." he slurred. "Was waiting for you."
"Oh, Toby..." moaned the fag, crushed. "It's okay, I'm here, Toby. Do you wanna tell me what happened?"
But he didn't have time, or the brains for that. Toby started kissing his faggot, without being asked to. Fag was gonna be the only little wife he'd ever have. It wasn't the best but it wasn't the worst either in at the very least, he himself had shaped the cunt, for his own use and pleasure, exactly the way he'd wanted to. So he shoved his big tongue and shoveled his spit in the faggot's mouth, trying to feed him all he craved just to make him more addicted to Toby. So he'd never leave. Not even for a nigger.
They didn't make it to the bedroom, or even to the couch. Toby pushed his little faggot wife down to the floor, right next to the open door of the trailer, and mindlessly ripped his fancy clothes off until exposing what he'd been craving for hours, that cunt. Toby mewled like an animal as he pushed his face in the faggot's hairless, perfect white ass and started French kissing the pink little hole just like he'd done the fag's mouth.
Toby could hear himself mutter into the hole, even as he ate it. "Love your cunt, fag," he said over and over, slurring his words through three fourths of a bottle of whisky. "Give me cunt, give me cunt, fuck, give me this fucking cunt," he mumbled whenever he came up for air and took a second to spread the cheeks and hole. He did it until his erection turned painful, until he could do nothing but pull his cock out of his boxers without taking them off, and shove his whole cock in the fag's perfect cunt in one go.
The faggot's screamed in pain, and it echoed throughout the whole trailer park. But as soon as he was done, he thanked Toby, through tears, over and over. "It's your cunt, Toby, you can do anything, please, Toby, fuck it, thank you for fucking it, thank you for putting it in, please give me more..."
Toby creampied the faggot in less than two minutes, pounding him hard and fast without thinking about anything other than the word cunt. It never mattered to his devoted faggot whether he lasted a minute or an hour and for once, it didn't matter to Toby. His erection did not go down, so he kept himself fucking into the now perfectly wet hole, kept fucking as hard as he could just for the pleasure of pounding his cum in and out of the cunt, of seeing his cock churn it into cream, of knowing the only way to get his little faggot wife wet was to cream her himself. Toby creampied the fag a second time, unaware of how long he'd been fucking this time, and still, his erection wouldn't go down, refused to be pulled out of the cunt he'd built for himself, night after night over four years.
And so, he kept fucking. And fucking and fucking, until another pressure made it the priority.
"Fuck," Toby whined, heartbroken at the idea of having to stop, "gotta piss..., drank too much..." but even as he said it, even before the fag said anything, he let go and started pissing in the hole, and pouding it, and pushing the piss out even as it flooded the depths of the fag's cunt. "I love pissing in your cunt," Toby slurred to the faggot, who was clenching around him and apparently trying to milk his cock, "I fucking love your cunt so much, baby..."
There would be no third ejaculation. After his piss, he simply collapsed on the faggots back, flattening him to the floor, sighing even as he was falling asleep. "Fuck... I got piss everywhere, fag..."
"It's okay, Toby," whispered the fag, crushed under his weight, pissy and cummy cunt still full. "I love everything we do together, you know that. I love you so much."
And then, Toby said it. It just came out. "I love you too, Benji."
The next thing he knew, he was waking up on the floor of the trailer, covered in a blanket, in full daily. Around him, Benji was cleaning. "Good morning, sunshine," he said like it was nothing. "I'm sorry, I couldn't pull you to the couch."
Toby looked at him long and hard. If he didn't make anything out of it, then Toby wouldn't.
Except for an effort. "It's okay, Benji. Thank you for cleaning."
