My friend Scott invited me to his lake cabin for a long weekend of fishing. We both arrived on Friday after work. I got there around 10:45 p.m., and Scott was already there. He had the cabin opened up and airing out. I unloaded my gear from the pickup, set my fishing stuff on the porch, and carried my backpack to the spare bedroom. After cracking open a beer, I joined him on the porch.
Scott and I had been friends since college, when we met in the same dorm and later became roommates. Over those years, I learned he was gay, an only child, and deeply passionate about the outdoors—fishing, hiking, camping, and off-roading. I wasn’t gay, but we shared those other interests. During late-night conversations, Scott had occasionally asked if I’d ever had sex with a man. I had not, and honestly, I’d never even thought about it. Women were my focus.
We were sitting on the porch discussing what time to head out in the morning and where we wanted to start fishing. Scott’s 16-foot open boat with its outboard was ready to go. That’s when we saw a man walking up the path toward us. He apologized for interrupting, explained that his car was stuck in the ditch about a mile down the road, and asked if we could help. Scott glanced at me. “What do you think, Dick?” I said sure, so we all piled into my pickup. Five minutes later, we found the old car half off the road. After a couple of tugs with the tow strap, it was free. The man thanked us profusely and offered to buy us a beer, but we declined. We wanted to get back and finish prepping for the next day.
We loaded the last of our gear into the boat, returned to the cabin, and headed to the kitchen for another beer. That’s when it happened. Six men burst in and bull-rushed us. They quickly bound our hands and feet with straps, pulled black cloth bags over our heads, and plunged us into complete darkness. We couldn’t see anything. Voices above us laughed about how easy it had been. I didn’t recognize any of them.
Scott demanded to know what was going on. “We don’t have much money,” he said, “but take whatever you want. Just let us go.” One of the men answered with chilling calm, “Don’t worry, we plan to take whatever we want.” A few of them laughed, low and sinister. I heard the door open and close again. Then the voice I recognized—the man whose car we’d pulled out—asked how it went. Someone replied, “Easy as could be.” He said, “Let’s get this show on the road.”
They separated us. Scott was taken to his room; I was dragged to the spare bedroom. In the darkness, I felt hands cutting my clothes off me. I assumed the same was happening to Scott. When I started asking questions, they told me to shut up. I didn’t, so they put a ball gag in my mouth. They tied me face-down to the bed, arms stretched to the headboard, legs spread and secured to the outer posts. Dread settled in my chest.
From Scott’s room, I heard them telling him to cooperate. They said they knew he was gay and promised they wouldn’t hurt anyone if we did as we were told. Scott begged them not to hurt me. “He’s straight!” he said. The man I took to be the leader answered, “Don’t worry about him. By the time we’re done, he’ll be gay, like you.”
They returned to my room. I heard rustling as they stripped. The bed sank on both sides. Four hands began rubbing my back, my legs, my ass cheeks. In the other room, someone ordered Scott to lick his balls first. In my room, the hands grew more aggressive. Fingers pushed between my cheeks and prodded my hole. Then I felt liquid, slippery lube or something similar, poured over my bottom. A finger entered me, then another. Two hands worked me open. It didn’t hurt. I was absolutely straight. No one had ever touched my bottom there.
From Scott’s room came a strained sound: “Ugh, it’s too big. Fuck, man, go slow,” followed by silence, then choking noises, loud grunts, and the wet slap of skin. More choking, more slapping. A voice growled, “Here it comes, your first load.” Back in my room, a man lay down on my back. His hard cock slid between my cheeks. He reached up, removed my gag, and said, “We want your friend to hear your deflowering, so scream all you want.” Then he drove into my virgin hole with no mercy, fucking me hard. The pain was blinding. I screamed, then I passed out. When I came to, I was certain I felt blood around my hole. Later I learned it was only cum.
The assault went on for hours. They turned me over, forced me to take cock in my mouth while another took my ass. Three different men used me that way, making me swallow, leaving me dripping from both ends. Eventually they untied me. I thought it was over. Instead they dragged me into Scott’s room, positioned me face-down on the bed, spread-eagled and retied. Then they tied Scott on top of me, his cock nestled between my ass cheeks. He whispered, “I’m sorry, Dick.”
Morning light filled the room. Scott stirred, snoring lightly, shifting as much as the ropes allowed. I felt his cock hardening, pressing right at my opening. I froze, tried not to move. Slowly, while he still seemed half-asleep, it entered me. Suddenly Scott jerked awake, froze with his length buried inside me, and began babbling apologies. The door opened. Four new men walked in, introducing themselves as the next shift. Scott’s erection shrank and slipped out.
They took us to the kitchen. I hoped for food, but instead they forced a small glass of thick, white liquid down our throats. “Last night’s crew left you something to remember them by: bitter cold cum. It was around 10 a.m. They led us back to the main bedroom and tied us on our sides, facing each other. Two of the men positioned themselves, one behind me, one behind Scott. On a signal, they penetrated us simultaneously and fucked us brutally, no buildup, just raw force. When they finished inside us, the other two took their turns.
By mid-afternoon, we’d been used twice more and made to swallow another load each time. Scott whispered that at least there were only four of them now. Then one man asked when the others were arriving. “Around 6 p.m.,” someone answered. Dread hit me again.
Later they repositioned us on our backs, side by side, arms stretched above our heads, ankles cuffed to wrists. One by one, the four men came in and ejaculated on our faces. A few minutes later, six new men entered, announcing they were the night crew. They stripped in front of us, and the assault began again.
That night every one of the six used us, anally and orally. By the end I was wrecked. They strapped me on top of Scott, this time my cock at his gaping entrance. I wasn’t even hard, but he was so open that I slid in easily. “Sleep tight, you fags,” one said as the lights went out. I hadn’t come all day. Scott’s hole squeezed me, and despite everything, I hardened. My pelvis moved as much as the restraints allowed. The orgasm came fast. I couldn’t stop it. I came inside him. “I’m so sorry, Scott,” I whispered. His voice was hoarse. “No problem. I finally got to enjoy a fuck.”
I’d lost track of the days. It turned out to be Monday. No new men arrived. We struggled until I worked a hand free, then both. Exhausted from three nights and two days of nonstop sex, we finally freed ourselves. We showered. Dried cum was everywhere, our asses sore, gaping, and leaking. Afterward, we sat at the table eating chips and drinking beer, speechless.
Scott broke the silence with a weak joke: “Do you know the difference between a gay man and a refrigerator? The refrigerator doesn’t moan when you pull the meat out.” We both broke, crying, laughing, relieved to be alive.
Later that afternoon we packed for an early departure the next morning. As evening fell, we sat side by side on the couch, the TV flickering with some fishing show neither of us watched. Scott leaned over. “Will you sleep with me tonight?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I will. After all that… I think part of me already belongs to you anyway.”
The cabin felt smaller now, quieter in a way that had nothing to do with the absence of voices. The glow from the TV washed across the walls. Our shoulders touched on the sagging couch, contact that once meant nothing but now meant everything.
“You don’t have to say that,” Scott murmured. “Not because of them. Not because you feel you owe me.”
“I’m not,” I replied, eyes still on the screen. “When they finally left us alone, when it was just you and me in that room, the only thing that didn’t feel like violation was you being there, even when they forced us together, even when I came inside you. That part didn’t feel wrong. It felt like the first real thing in three days.”
Scott swallowed hard. “I thought I’d ruined everything when I woke up inside you, when I couldn’t stop myself from getting hard. I kept thinking you’d never look at me the same. You’d hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.” I turned to face him. His eyes were red-rimmed, raw with exhaustion. “I hated what they did, the ropes, the laughing, the talk about turning me gay. But you were the only one trying to protect me, even when you couldn’t.”
He gave a small, broken laugh. “Some protection.” “Still counts.” Silence settled.
Scott shifted, wincing slightly. We were both still sore in intimate places. “I’ve wanted to be close to you for years,” he admitted. “Not like this. Not forced. Just… close. But I never would’ve crossed that line without you wanting it.” “I know.”
“So if we do this, if we sleep in the same bed tonight, it’s not because they won. It’s because we’re choosing something for ourselves.” I nodded. “Yeah. That’s exactly what it is.”
He searched my face, then leaned in slowly, giving me every chance to pull away, and pressed his forehead to mine: no kiss, no rush, just skin touching skin. “Okay,” he whispered. “Then come to bed with me. No expectations, no pressure, just… us.”
I stood first, legs unsteady. He followed. We left the TV on, its glow like a faint nightlight. In the bedroom, we stripped the tangled sheets together without speaking and remade the bed with fresh linen. When we climbed in, we didn’t reach for each other right away. We lay on our sides, facing each other, close enough that our knees brushed. The silence was thick but not suffocating.
After a while, Scott’s hand found mine under the blanket. Our fingers laced. I squeezed once. He squeezed back. For the first time since Friday, the dark didn’t feel intimidating.
With the morning’s light, I awoke first. Scott was spooning me, tight against my back and bottom. His morning hard-on was wedged between my cheeks. I knew then that I wanted him once more before we left for home. Reaching back, I took his hard cock and positioned it at my hole and pushed back on him. It seemed effortless, his cock penetrating me. It felt good knowing it was him.
Scott woke up on penetration, wrapping his arm over me and grasping my semi-hard cock. He whispered in my ear, “You know I love you.” He proceeded to fuck me slowly, penetrating as deeply as possible, just a gentle morning fuck. His stroking of me and his cock pumping… together we both orgasmed. Lying there still connected until he softened and slid out, I clamped down as I wanted to keep his cum inside me as long as possible.
A quick shower together, then a light breakfast. Scott locked up the cabin. We stood at my truck for a minute, hugged, shared a sensual kiss, then off we went. Scott and I got together a week later. We talked about everything that happened, his story, then my story. We decided to keep it to ourselves and not report it. It did open a new chapter in our friendship. I’m still straight, and Scott is still gay. The big difference now is we have sex together, actually make love, about once a month.
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