Eric was eight years old, staring at a frozen lake in his stepfather's hometown, watching his breath turn to smoke in the bitter December air. It was their first Christmas as a "real family"—an 'icebreakers for travel', his stepfather had said.
Eric's new brother—older, taller, white as the ice and as sure-footed—kept close like he'd been told to, trying too hard to look casual. Their parents kept finding reasons to send them out together: take the trash, walk to the store, go see the lake, go "play." The word felt foreign in his mouth that week. Everything did.
The lake stretched endlessly before them, its surface a mirror of ice reflecting the pale winter sky. Local kids glided across it with practiced ease, their hockey sticks cutting through the frozen air as they chased a black puck with single-minded determination. Eric had never seen anything like it—kids his age moving with such confidence across something that seemed impossibly dangerous. Eric's stepbrother had real skates; Eric wore stiff, unforgiving rentals.
"Come on," his stepbrother had urged, his pale cheeks flushed pink from the cold. "Dad said we should play together."
Eric pushed off and immediately went down hard, his ankles buckling. Laughter rippled through the group of local boys. He tried again, managing a few shaky strides before crashing again. This time the laughter had teeth.
"Look at the n****, trying to skate," one boy called out, his voice sharp with learned cruelty.
Frigid air like broken glass. Eric felt his face burn despite the cold, shame and rage mixing in his chest.
"You don't belong here," another added with casual viciousness.
Before Eric could even process the shock, Leo was moving—a blur of motion launching himself at the biggest mouth. His fist hit the boy who had first mocked him with a solid thud on the ice.
Then it was chaos. Eric threw himself into the brawl, they were outnumbered and pummeled, but neither backed down.
They limped home bruised and silent. Parents lectured about fighting and demanded apologies tomorrow. Neither boy mentioned what had started it.
Later that night, in the small guest room, Eric dabbed at the cut on Leo's lip with a warm washcloth.
"Why'd you hit him?" Eric asked quietly.
Leo winced as the cloth touched the split skin, then looked up with serious eyes. "Dad said you're my brother now. Said I gotta look out for you." A hint of a smile.
The apology to those boys never happened. The next day, the kid with the fat lip skated up and shoved a hockey stick into Eric's hands. "You're on our team," he grunted. "We need another body."
The next days rewrote everything. Eric learned how the ice talks: the faint song it sings when it's tight with cold, the deep whale-voice groan when the sun lays its hand on it. He learned the puck likes the blade when the blade is honest. He learned you can be careful and still fall, and that falling is not the point.
Thud. The van hit a pothole, and his head lolled, striking the cold metal floor. The sharp pain of the impact made his consciousness gradually return, the glaring white in his memory, the white of the snow, slowly faded.
Darkness.
A rough, scratchy darkness that smelled of dust and old tools. The severe pain from the blow to his head was still intertwined with a harsh noise in his ears; amidst the noise, he could vaguely hear the low rumble of a car and the clamor of people around him.
The van was slowing, streetlights strobing through whatever gap existed in the hood's weave, creating brief flashes of orange against his closed eyelids. Voices surrounded him, tense and excited, the kind of energy that comes from young men convinced they're about to prove something important.
"That old warehouse is abandoned, if we go there no one will find out—"
"Adrian's gonna learn what happens when—"
The van lurched to a stop beneath a street lamp, its harsh sodium glare flooding the interior. Someone grabbed Eric roughly by the shoulder, twisting him toward the light, and he heard the sharp intake of breath that meant everything was about to change.
"Look at his hands! He's not Adrian!"
"What about his hand?" Marcus's voice, closer now, irritated.
"Look—it's black. This isn't Adrian."
A hand yanked at the hood. He could breathe fresh air again, but his eyes were still covered in darkness. The silence that followed felt dangerous, charged with the kind of electricity that precedes storms.
"Fuck!" Another voice, someone Eric didn't recognize. "Who is this n****? Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
"This is Eric. We grabbed the wrong guy." A familiar voice was heard, but his aching brain couldn’t remember who it was.... "How the hell did we grab the wrong guy?" Marcus's voice was climbing, stress bleeding through his usual control. "You said you saw Adrian leaving the party alone—"
"I did! I mean, I thought I did. They were both by the door, and in the dark—"
"Jesus." The van rocked slightly as someone shifted position violently. "Do you realize what this means? If this gets out—"
Eric's heart hammered against his ribs as he pieced together what had happened. They'd been targeting Adrian. The whole elaborate setup, the careful timing, the warehouse—it had all been meant for his best friend.
"We need to let him go." The panicked voice again, higher now. "Drive him somewhere, dump him off, tell him it was a prank or something—"
"And then what?" Marcus's voice cut through the suggestions like a blade. "He goes straight to Adrian, tells him everything, and by tomorrow morning the whole team knows we tried to grab him? You think Coach doesn't hear about that? You think the administration doesn't get involved?"
The van fell silent except for the idle of the engine and Eric's carefully controlled breathing. He could feel the weight of their collective realization settling over the confined space like a heavy blanket.
"Besides," Marcus continued, his voice dropping to something that sounded almost conversational, "look at it this way. Eric here is Adrian's best friend, right? His little shadow, always hanging around, always whispering in his ear about team loyalty and doing the right thing."
Eric felt a chill that had nothing to do with the night air seeping through the van's doors.
"Maybe this is better," Marcus said, and Eric could hear the smile in his voice now, the way his tone shifted from panic to something that sounded like opportunity. "Adrian thinks he's untouchable because he's got the coaches wrapped around his finger, because he's their golden boy. But what happens when something bad happens to his precious best friend? What happens when he realizes that all his protection doesn't extend to the people he cares about?"
"Marcus—" someone started to protest.
"No." Marcus's voice was firm now, decisive. "The plan doesn't change. We stick to the warehouse, we stick to the script. The only difference is we're sending Adrian a different kind of message."
Eric's mouth went dry beneath the hood. The childhood memory from just now felt like something from another world.
The vehicle stopped abruptly, his hood was pulled off, and the people in the car pushed him out and threw him into the warehouse.
The rope bit into Eric's wrists as he tested his bonds, the rough hemp scratching against skin that had never known restraint like this. The abandoned sporting goods warehouse stretched into shadows around him, old equipment and dusty merchandise creating a maze of hiding spots where Marcus's crew had positioned themselves like predators savoring their cornered prey.
"Look at our reliable little soldier now," Marcus said, circling Eric's chair with theatrical slowness. "Adrian's faithful dog, always so loyal, always so... obedient."
Eric's jaw clenched. "Fuck you, Marcus. When Adrian finds out—"
"Adrian?" Marcus laughed, the sound echoing off the metal rafters. "Adrian's got his hands full with his pretty little freshman. Besides, what's he gonna find out? That his best friend got curious about what real teammates do together?"
The warehouse smelled of dust and rust. Old sports equipment lay scattered in corners. Marcus circled him, a predator savoring its prey. "Team?" to Marcus's words felt absurd, but he quickly realized what was about to happen.
Hands were on him. His shirt was torn off. The cool air hit his chest.
"You know what I love about you, Eric?" Marcus continued, nodding to Colton who moved closer with eager anticipation. "You're so fucking righteous. So dedicated to being the perfect teammate, the perfect friend. But underneath all that virtue..." He gestured at Eric's bound form. "You're just another horny jock who wants to know what it feels like to let go."
Colton stepped forward, already working his belt loose. "Marcus is right, man. Time to stop pretending you're above this shit." His cock emerged, semi-hard and pointing directly at Eric's clenched mouth. "Open up for the team, Eric."
"Go to hell," Eric spat, but his voice carried less conviction than before. The warehouse felt like it was closing in around him, the weight of multiple gazes making his skin prickle with unwanted awareness.
"Stubborn." Marcus shook his head with mock disappointment. "Gerhard, maybe our friend needs some encouragement to be more... collaborative."
Marcus nodded to Gerhard, whose thick fingers slid down Eric's chest, tracing the definition of muscles Eric had worked years to build. His touches were tentative at first, but soon became bold... "Damn, Adrian's been keeping the best for himself," Gerhard murmured, his palms flattening against Eric's pecs. "Look at this fucking body."
Eric's breathing quickened involuntarily. He tried to twist away from the touch, but the ropes held him firmly in place. "Don't... fuck, don't touch me like that."
"Like what?" Terry's voice came from his left side as more hands joined the exploration. "Like you're something special? Something we all want a piece of?" Fingers found Eric's nipples, pinching just hard enough to send unwanted jolts through his nervous system.
"Besides," Marcus added conversationally, "it's not like Adrian's been taking care of all your needs, right? When's the last time anyone showed your body the appreciation it deserves?"
The question hit closer to home than Eric wanted to admit. Adrian was his best friend, his leader, his... but they'd never crossed certain lines. And despite considering himself completely straight, the girl who kicked him out of bed before had hit him too hard, he hadn't been to bed with anyone for a while...
"Look at that," Colton observed with crude satisfaction. "He's getting hard just from us talking about it."
Eric glanced down in horror to see his body betraying him, his cock beginning to swell in his compression shorts despite every rational thought screaming at him to resist.
"No, I'm not—this isn't—"
"Shh." Marcus placed a finger against Eric's lips with mock gentleness. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your brain's still playing catch-up. Colton, I think our friend is ready to be more... receptive."
Colton moved closer, his erection now fully hard and demanding attention. "Come on, Eric. Just open your mouth. Make this easy on yourself."
"I won't betray Adrian," Eric said, but his voice had lost its edge, replaced by something that sounded almost like a question—or rather, this actually had nothing to do with it, it was just an excuse in his panic.
"This isn't about Adrian," Marcus replied smoothly. "This is about you finally admitting what you really want. What you've always wanted."
Gerhard's hands had moved lower, fingers tracing the waistband of Eric's shorts. "Besides, look how your body's responding. This isn't betrayal—this is finally being honest."
Someone else—Eric couldn't see who—had moved behind him and was working on the knots that held his arms. Not to free him, but to reposition him. Hands guided him forward until he was bent over, his face level with Colton's cock.
"Perfect position," Colton breathed. "Now stop fighting it, Eric. Let yourself feel good for once."
The head of Colton's cock pressed against Eric's clenched lips, persistent and warm. Behind him, he felt someone spreading his legs wider, hands exploring territory that had never been touched by another person.
"Never been opened up back here, have you?" The voice belonged to Terry, and Eric felt something wet and warm hit his exposed hole—spit, he realized with a mixture of revulsion and unwanted arousal. "Virgin ass on a body like this. What a fucking waste."
A finger pressed against his entrance, and Eric's whole body jolted. The sensation was foreign, invasive, but as the digit worked its way inside, he couldn't deny the spark of pleasure that shot through him.
"Oh fuck," he gasped involuntarily, and Colton took advantage of his parted lips to push forward.
"There we go," Colton groaned as Eric's mouth was forced open around his cock. "Just like that. Adrian doesn't have to know how good you are at this."
The finger inside him had found a spot that made Eric's vision blur with unexpected pleasure. His own erection was now fully hard, straining against his shorts, and he heard someone laugh.
"Look at that," Gerhard said with amusement. "All that muscle, all that attitude, and what's he packing? Guess the BBC stereotype doesn't apply to our boy Eric."
The humiliation burned through Eric's chest, he had an average-sized cock, not small by any means, but he was always denigrated because he wasn't BBC. But somehow that only made his arousal stronger. He was being used, degraded, turned into exactly what he'd never wanted to be—and his body was loving every second of it.
"Deeper, Eric," Marcus commanded from somewhere above him. "Show us how dedicated you really are to team unity."
As Colton's cock slid further into his throat and the finger inside him was joined by a second, Eric felt something fundamental shift inside him. This wasn't just betrayal of Adrian—this was the discovery of needs he'd never admitted to having, desires that made him question everything he thought he knew about himself.
The worst part was, letting go of the self-esteem nurtured by his mother, protected by his brother, and supported by his friends, the feeling of self-worth, made him feel a sense of relief being here.
Adrian's face flashed through Eric's mind as Colton's cock pushed into his throat, and the guilt hit him harder than the physical invasion. His best friend, his brother, the one person who'd always had his back—and here Eric was, bent over in some abandoned warehouse, letting Marcus's crew take turns using his body like he was nothing more than a piece of equipment... "Fuck, he's getting tighter," Terry groaned from behind him, his cock working in and out of Eric's ass with increasing aggression. "Virgin hole learns fast."
Eric tried to focus on anything else—the dusty smell of old sporting goods, the cold concrete against his knees, the distant sound of traffic—but his body kept betraying him. Every thrust sent unwanted sparks of pleasure through his core, and his own cock hung heavy and leaking between his legs despite the humiliation burning through his chest.
"Switch," Marcus commanded, and suddenly Terry was pulling out, leaving Eric feeling hollow and exposed. Before he could process the absence, Gerhard was positioning himself at Eric's entrance, his thicker girth stretching Eric in ways that made him gasp around Colton's shaft.
Adrian would never forgive me for this, Eric thought desperately as his mouth was released only to be filled by Marcus's cock moments later. He trusts me. He depends on me. And I'm here letting these fuckers—
"Look at him," Marcus said conversationally, his hand tangled in Eric's hair as he fucked his throat with slow, deliberate strokes. "Adrian's faithful dog, taking cock like he was born for it. Makes you wonder what other secrets our golden boy's been hiding."
The words cut deeper than the physical abuse. Eric had spent three years being Adrian's most trusted ally, the one person who could call him out when his ego got too big, the one who helped him navigate team politics. Their friendship was built on mutual respect, shared goals, and an understanding that they'd always have each other's backs.
Now every thrust into his mouth and ass felt like another nail in the coffin of that trust.
"Bet you've thought about Adrian like this," Gerhard panted, his hands gripping Eric's hips as he pounded into him. "Late at night in your dorm, stroking that average cock of yours, wondering what it would be like to have the golden boy's attention focused on you instead of some pretty freshman."
Eric tried to shake his head in denial, but Marcus's grip on his hair kept him still.
"He's getting close," someone observed, and Eric realized with horror that his arousal had only grown stronger. His body was responding to every touch, every thrust, every degrading word like it had been waiting for this kind of treatment.
What the fuck is wrong with me? The thought echoed in his mind as another orgasm built in his core. Adrian sees me as his equal, his brother, and I'm here getting off on being used like a whore.
Marcus pulled out of his mouth with a wet sound, leaving Eric gasping and spit-slicked. "Tell us about Adrian," Marcus demanded, his cock still hard and glistening. "Tell us what it's really like being his lapdog."
"Fuck you," Eric managed, but his voice was hoarse and weak.
"Wrong answer." Marcus nodded to Colton, who moved to replace Gerhard behind Eric. "Try again. What does Adrian really think of his faithful black friend?"
The question hit Eric like a physical blow. Deep down, beneath all the loyalty and friendship, there had always been a small voice wondering if Adrian saw him as an equal or as useful muscle. The team dynamics, the way Adrian could command a room while Eric provided quiet support from the shadows—sometimes it felt less like partnership and more like service.
"He trusts me," Eric said, but even as the words left his mouth, they felt hollow.
"He uses you," Marcus corrected. "Just like we're using you now. The only difference is we're honest about it."
Colton pushed into Eric's ass with a grunt of satisfaction, and the stretch sent another unwanted wave of pleasure through Eric's body. His cock twitched, leaking precum onto the warehouse floor, and the humiliation of his own arousal made everything worse.
Adrian would be disgusted, Eric thought as hands roamed over his back, as mouths left marks on his neck, as his body was passed between Marcus's crew like property. He'd see this and know I'm not the person he thought I was. He'd know I'm weak.
"Getting close again," Terry observed with cruel amusement. "Look at that cock dripping. Our boy Eric loves being a team player."
The orgasm hit Eric like a freight train, his body convulsing as he came untouched, his ass clenching around Colton's shaft while his mouth hung open in a silent scream. The pleasure was overwhelming, undeniable, and completely at odds with the shame burning through his chest.
As the aftershocks faded, Eric found himself thinking about Adrian's smile, the way his friend's eyes lit up when discussing strategy, the casual way Adrian would drape an arm around Eric's shoulders after a good practice. All of that trust, all of that friendship, and Eric had just proven he wasn't worthy of any of it.
"One more round," Marcus announced with satisfaction. "Can't send our boy back to Adrian without making sure he really understands his place on this team."
Eric closed his eyes and tried to disappear into his own mind as hands positioned him for another round of abuse. But even in his darkest thoughts, Adrian's face was there, and Eric knew with crushing certainty that this betrayal would hollow out everything good between them, leaving nothing but the echo of what they used to be.
Through his haze of sensation and shame, Eric heard the distinctive sound of a phone camera clicking. His blood turned to ice as he craned his neck to see Marcus holding up his device, the screen glowing as it captured every degrading second.
"Smile for Adrian," Marcus said with vicious satisfaction, angling the phone to get Eric's face clearly in frame as another member of the crew—a stocky sophomore Eric barely knew—thrust into his mouth. "He's going to love seeing what his faithful friend really looks like."
"No," Eric tried to say around the cock filling his throat, panic flooding his system. The recording made everything infinitely worse. This wasn't just betrayal anymore; it was evidence, permanent proof of his weakness that would destroy everything.
"Oh yes," Marcus corrected, his finger sliding across the screen. "Adrian needs to see who you really are underneath all that loyalty bullshit. Sending now..."
The casual cruelty in Marcus's voice as he sent the Snapchat made Eric's stomach churn. Somewhere across campus, Adrian would get a notification, would open it expecting some normal team communication, and instead see... this. His best friend being used like a piece of meat by the very people they'd stood against.
"Next," Marcus called out, and the sophomore pulled out of Eric's mouth, immediately replaced by a junior defenseman Eric recognized but had never really spoken to. Behind him, someone else was positioning themselves at his ass—Eric had lost count of how many had already taken their turn stretching him open.
"Look at the camera, Eric," Marcus commanded, moving closer to capture the perfect angle of degradation. "Show Adrian how much you're enjoying this. Show him what three years of friendship really means to you."
Eric's body continued to betray him with each thrust, his cock still hard despite the horror of being filmed. Every moan, every involuntary sound of pleasure was being captured for Adrian to see. The psychological torture was more devastating than the physical abuse.
"Getting another good shot," Marcus narrated like a sick sports commentator. "Adrian's going to love watching his boy take it from both ends. Really shows team spirit, doesn't it?"
The worst part was, letting go of the self-esteem nurtured by his mother, protected by his brother, and supported by his friends, the feeling of self-worth, made him feel a sense of relief being here.
"Perfect," Marcus said, reviewing the footage on his phone. "This is going to completely destroy Adrian's little power structure. Can't wait to see his face when he realizes his most trusted ally is just another whore who'll spread his legs for anyone with the balls to take what they want."
Eric fell into despair and panic, and when the sound of the message being sent rang out, he screamed, completely giving up resistance, letting his body be used helplessly by this small group. The desperate carnival continued, and new semen was poured into his ass and mouth. He felt his phone vibrating in the jacket discarded to the side, he knew it was Adrian's call, but he couldn't and didn't want to check. Maybe Adrian was now seeking answers for what his good friend had encountered, but he thought desperately, it was okay to have no answers.
**TBC**
