I woke up Saturday morning to the familiar sound of a lawn mower. The kids I hired to do my lawn work every week had come early, but that was okay. I'd just sleep in anyway. I swung my legs over the bed, fished a pair of sweatpants out of the pile on the floor, and padded into the kitchen in my slippers to start my morning coffee. At least I might get a bit of work done before lunch; that always put me in a better mood.

I sat at my macbook and opened the file I was working on, a short article about game theory, a topic I barely understood, for a market that promised to pay me fifty bucks. I wasn't going to put any more time into research. I had wanted to bang it out Monday, but maybe I could finish it today and spend my Monday on something more lucrative, like that pamphlet for the new rec center.

My doorbell rang, and I set aside the computer to take a sip of coffee. The mower had stopped. Probably the lawn boys asking for their money. My wallet was in last night's pants, so I padded to the door and opened it.

'Come on in, guys. I need to get my wallet.'

'Thirty dollars,' the small one said. Neither of the two boys was all that smart. I think they were high school seniors or maybe local college kids. If they were college kids, woe to the education system. I thought of them as 'the short one' and 'punk,' but I'm sure I must have learned their names at some point. The neighbor had recommended them.

'Yup, I know.' It had always been thirty dollars. I don't know why he told me the price every single time. But he was a little mouth-breather, his jaw always agape stupidly and his crewcut reminding me of nothing so much as the strongman at a circus. Still, though broad-shouldered and a bit stocky, he wasn't exactly strongman material. He stood maybe 5'2', in his dirty sneakers, which were tracking grass clippings all over my carpet.

I darted into the bedroom to get my wallet. When I came out, Punk was sitting on my leather couch in his sweaty track pants and wife-beater, looking at my macbook and - drinking my coffee.

'Um . . . ' I said, which was pretty much all that sprung to mind at the time. The violation of him drinking my coffee, before I had had hardly any of it, actually overcame for a moment the other violation -- he was on my computer. Smirking.

'Yup,' he said. 'You owe me ten bucks, Ty. He's a faggot.' He had opened my download file and was rifling through the thumbnails of men having sex.

The short one swore. 'Fuck, okay. I should've known. No straight guy plants fucking lilacs.'

I opened and closed my mouth stupidly, stunned by the pure rudeness of the conversation. Calling me names. In front of me. I reached into the wallet and pulled out a couple twenties. 'I think you should leave. And I don't need yard service anymore.'

Punk smirked up at me, his tattooed arms glistening with sweat. 'Yeah?' He hawked loudly and spat a thick wad of phlegm into my coffee cup.

Ty laughed a staccato snort. He flopped down on the other half of my couch and propped his filthy sneakers on my antique red lacquer coffee table. 'Got any beer, faggot?' He fished in the pockets of his cargo shorts, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and lit one.

'No, and don't smoke in here. You boys better leave.' I sounded ridiculous even to myself, holding up the two twenties as if I expected change.

Punk half stood and snatched the money from my hand, slipping it in the zippered pocket of his black track pants. He sat back down and glared up at me from under his baseball cap. 'Sit down,' he said.

'No, I -- '

'Sit down or we'll fucking beat you down, faggot.'

I moved toward one of the chairs facing the coffee table.

'Not there,' he said. 'The floor. There.' He shoved aside the coffee table with his foot, and when Ty realized what he was doing, he helped. Punk pointed a long finger at the floor between the two boys' feet. His knuckles, I noticed, all had dark black scabs across them, as if he had smashed his fist into something unyielding.

I kneeled. I looked up at the two young men. Ty grinned at me and Punk stared down, his eyes cold and humorless under the shade of his cap.

'Ty asked you for a beer, faggot. Now, you better have a beer to offer him. And get one for me, too. It's hot work cutting your shitty lawn and watering your faggy lilacs every week.'

I did have some beer in the fridge, a few microbrews I kept on hand for friends who liked the stuff. I made as if to get up, and Punk leaned across and slapped me, not hard, but enough to get my attention, across the top of the head. 'Crawl, fag.'

I was breathing hard, and I could hear my blood in my ears. I thought maybe I was about to die, maybe this was the end of my life, murdered by two young men in my living room. Was this karma for all the nasty domination porn I had watched? I got two longnecks from the fridge and shuffled across the linoleum and carpet back to the living room, where Punk was now watching one of the videos. Ty kept snorting laughter, but Punk just looked disgusted -- no, contemptuous. I opened the beers and put them into their hands.

'Drink your coffee,' Ty said.

'I don't want it.'

'I don't give a shit what you want,' Ty said. 'Drink it.'

'Yeah,' Punk added. 'I already added sugar and cream.'

Looking into the cup, I couldn't see any sign of the glob of thick phlegm he had hawked into it. But I knew it was there. It had already gotten somewhat cool, so I gulped it as quickly as I could, trying not to imagine that I was eating his young man's snot.

'This little queer is into some sick shit,' Ty said.

'No shit.' Punk closed the laptop and set it on the side table.

'What should we do with him?'

Punk considered. 'Whatever the fuck we want, I guess.'

Ty snorted again. 'Faggot, lick my shoe,' he said, sticking his dirty sneaker in my face.

I had watched a lot of domination porn, but never actually done anything like this. It wasn't as appealing as it was in the videos. There, the humiliation is abstract; here, it was real. Physical. Above all, smelly. I pursed my lips and pressed them to the stained rubber of the shoe.

'He said 'lick it,' fag.'

I ran my tongue over it. It didn't taste particularly erotic -- like leather and plastic. And I didn't feel particularly erotic. My face flushed; it must have been bright red, for how hot it felt. I was sweating in fear, a cold sweat that soaked into the waistband of my sweatpants. His foot stank through the shoe. His sock, above the shoe, was an unwashed gray. The short one was clearly not a very clean one, either.

'That's enough,' Punk said. 'Now give me your wallet.'

I nearly stood to get it, but remembered in time and crawled over to where they had shoved the coffee table. I brought it back. Being robbed was less serious than being beaten or killed. Punk riffled through it, then snorted. 'Fuck, about a hundred bucks and one debit card. What the fuck, man? No credit cards.'

'I don't use them anymore,' I said.

'Don't fucking talk to me, you homo. Not unless I tell you too. Fucking fag.'

'We can split it fifty fifty,' Ty said.

'Sixty forty. You owe me ten.' Punk took a swig of peer, and Ty dropped his cigarette, grinding it into my carpet with the heel of his sneaker. He left behind a grey and green smear of ashes and grass clippings.

'So how far do you think this faggot will go?'

'What do you mean?' Ty asked.

'He just drank a glob of my snot and licked your shoe. Where do you think the line will be?'

'He's a pussy. He'll do whatever we tell him, because he knows we'll beat him otherwise.'

Punk seemed to consider. 'Yeah. Is that true, faggot?'

I looked into his cold blue eyes. He looked very capable of murder. 'Yes sir. Just don't hurt me.'

'Open your mouth and look at me.'

I did as I was told, and Punk hawked up another glob of phlegm. This time, feeling it rest on my tongue and slide down my throat was visceral and real. It hadn't dissolved in hot coffee. It wasn't abstract. It was a concrete slimy glob of white, sticky snot sliding over the side of my tongue.

'Swallow it.'

I tried, but gagged on it.

'If you puke, we'll fucking kick your ass,' Ty said.

I tried again, this time got it past my gag reflex. It was salty and thick on my tongue still. 'My turn,' Ty said.

'Please, no more.'

'Fuck you, faggot, open your mouth.'

I did as I was told, and Ty flung a glob of spit just to the side of my nose. It trickled down toward my mouth.

'Lick it,' he said, between snorting laughs.

I stuck out my tongue and caught it. This time, it was easier getting it down. Perhaps because it wasn't so thick or sticky, or maybe I was just used to the idea. It tasted of his cigarettes and beer.

They took turns for a while, hawking ever more obscene chunks of snot and saliva into my mouth. I managed to get them down without puking, and hoped they were getting bored. They were at least getting dry; their saliva tasted more and more of beer.

'We've being mowing this fag's lawn for months now, and what has he done for us.'

'He's paid us,' Ty said.

'Not enough. Faggot, it's time to show your fucking gratitude.' Punk peeled off his sweat-soaked wife-beater, throwing it on the floor next to me. His chest glistened with sweat and tattoos, an ornate sleeve on his left arm, a complex pattern of skulls on his chest, and a spiderweb on his right shoulder. His nipples stood like two brass tacks on his defined pecs. I suddenly realized that I had a hard-on.

'Tell us you're grateful,' Ty said.

'I'm grateful. Thank you so much for taking such good care of my lawn.'

'Tell us what you'll do to prove it,' Ty prompted me.

'Um, anything you say. I'll eat your spit. I'll -- kiss your -- um -- '

'Yeah, you want to kiss our ums? I wonder what an um is,' Punk said. 'Why don't you come over here and show me what an um is.'

I crawled between his legs. If I could just suck them off, maybe they'd be calmer. Then again, maybe they'd be enraged and leave me a broken pile of bones.

Punk pushed his fist against my skull. 'Oh, no, faggot. None of that. You're going to start by kissing Ty's ass.'

Ty snorted laughter. 'Oh, yeah. Kiss my ass, bitch.' He turned around and pressed his buttocks against my face. I put my lips against the fabric of his shorts.

'Tell Ty what you are.'

'What do you -- '

Punk punched me in the back of the head, hard this time. Not so hard that I passed out but hard enough to hurt and smash my nose into Ty's wiggling ass crack. 'Tell us what you are.'

'I'm a faggot,' I said, through the tears caused by my bruised nose. 'I'm a dirty whore.'

'What are you good for?' Punk asked.


'Bullshit. You're giving us some entertainment.'

'I'm good for entertaining men like -- you.'

Ty unbuttoned his shorts, dropped them to reveal his cotton boxers. Punk pushed my face against the sweaty asscrack again. This time, the smell was overpowering. I couldn't see anything, and I could barely breathe. But I could feel Punk's breath very close to my ear. 'Faggot, we own your ass. From now on, you're ours. Anything we say, you do.' I could feel the elastic band against the top of my nose, as Ty pulled them down. His obnoxious snorting laugh was all I could hear, until once again, Punk whispered near my ear. 'Lick it, bitch.'

I put my tongue out, almost eagerly, hoping that if I obeyed I might be allowed to breath. The course hair in the crack of Ty's ass rubbed against my nose and eyes, and my tongue probed into the dank bitter darkness of his sweaty ass.

Ty squirmed and snorted. 'Holy fuck, that tickles,' he said, pulling away, leaving the taste of his sweat and -- I hoped it wasn't, but it probably was -- his shit on my tongue. 'Never had a bitch do that before.'

'Most bitches have shame. This little cocksucker has none.'

Ty flopped down on my couch, in his boxers this time. I could see thick wiry black hair poking up through the fly of his shorts. 'Get me another beer, fag.'

I did as I was told. When I got back, Punk had my computer open and was hunting around the internet. He had my debit card out and seemed to be buying a subscription to a straight porn site.

I took my place between their legs as the moaning started on the computer.

'That little slut loves the cock,' Ty said, watching the screen intently. His shorts were tenting and slowly throbbing with his pulse.

'What the fuck, fag?' Punk sneered. 'You know what your job is. Do it.'

I reached over and fished Ty's sweaty cock out of his shorts. I was glad to see he was cut; a boy this dirty would have horrifying things under that foreskin. But as I drew closer, I knew it made no difference. Did Ty ever shower? Even Punk noticed it.

'Shit, man, I can smell your balls from here. When was the last time you saw a bar of soap?'

'Three days. Whatever, man. I don't have a girlfriend and this cocksucker would suck a bum if it'd mean a load of cum.'

'Maybe we'll try that later,' Punk said. 'Pay some homeless guy to fuck his face.'

'We could videotape it.'

'Oh, shit, good idea.' Punk got up and walked into the back, where my bedroom and study were.

In the meantime, I looked at the soft cock on my hand. It stank of the meat aisle at the grocery store, and the wrinkled hairy balls beneath were damp from sweat. I knew the couch would smell like Ty's ass for a long time.

I put him still soft into my mouth. He stiffened on my tongue a little as he watched the porn. His hand rested, at first almost gently, on the back of my head. Then he started pushing me down and thrusting into my throat. His thick pupes rubbed against my nose and lips as he forced himself into my throat. As his cock hardened, I could fit less and less of it in my mouth. Before long, he was bottoming out with each thrust with only half his cock in my mouth. I struggled to keep from scraping him with my teeth, knowing that could very well lead to a fist to the face, but he didn't seem to care. I had a suspicion he'd fuck a hole in anything, never mind the friction. No self-respecting woman, at least, would have sex with someone this dirty; at least I knew he couldn't be too promiscuous.

It wasn't a particular comfort to realize that I was relying on his lack of hygiene as a safe sex measure.

I could hear Punk standing behind me. 'Tell him how much you love his cock,' he said.

I pulled off long enough to say 'Your cock is awesome.' Then Ty pulled me back on.

'You like sucking off young men, don't you?' he continued.

'Yes.' Again, a cock down my throat cut off my answer.

'Hey, bud, how old are you again?' he asked Ty.

'What? Fuck, man, you know that. I'm eighteen next month.'

'And what's the age of consent in this state?'

'I don't fucking know. Shut up, I'm trying to get my nut here. And you better not get my face on that thing.'

Ty lost his grip on my head long enough for me to turn my head and see behind me. Punk was standing there, with my camera, recording. He got me on tape, sucking off a minor.

Now they really did own me. They could show that tape to anyone, and I'd be at best a sex-offender for the next thirty years or so, at worst in prison.

But I couldn't contemplate my nasty fate any longer, because Ty had stuffed his cock back in my mouth. He was thrusting harder, and his cock was swelling rhythmically in my mouth. He was going to come, and I had no doubt whatsoever I'd have to eat it.

Then Punk grabbed my hair and pulled me away from his cock. 'That's enough.'

'Dude,' Ty protested. 'I was seriously just about to nut. The fuck?'

'You'll get your nut. But I need to take a piss.'

'So take a fucking piss and leave me -- oh.'

I was faster on the uptake than Ty. Piss had never really been my thing, but we've already run through the catalog of slightly perverted sexual humiliation. Why not this one too? Other than the fact that it disgusted me, and I really might throw up this time.

Punk bent down to me where I was kneeling, saliva dripping off my chin, the smell of Ty's raunch heavy in my nostrils. He leaned in close to my face. I noticed his skin was smooth and clear, where Ty's was pitted with zits, and his lips were slender and expressive. Maybe it was just that he didn't smell like cigarettes and three-day-old sweat socks. But I actually kind of wanted him. If he weren't blackmailing me, threatening me, robbing me, and -- technically, I suppose, raping me -- I might be very attracted to him. I might even agree to drink his piss, if he asked nicely. But then all that beauty drained away, and the cold sociopathy rose up in his eyes again.

'You know what's on this video now, right fag?'

'Yes, sir.'

'And you know what it means.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Say it.'

'It means that I do whatever you say, whenever you say it. I give you anything you want, do what I'm told. No matter what. Because otherwise I go to jail or at least get charged -- '

'With statutory rape. And maybe you could win if you could show that we forced you. Good luck with that. I can be really fucking convincing. But even if you did, you'd face a hell of a lot of embarrassment.'

'Yes, sir.'

'So open your fucking mouth, faggot. You're about to be my toilet.'

I opened wide and screwed my eyes shut. A thick glob of hot spit hit me in the face. 'Open your fucking eyes, bitch. You're going to watch this.'

He held his soft cock, about two fingers long and flaccid, over the waistband of his black track pants. He didn't seem to be wearing underwear. His cock aimed at my mouth, he jiggled it a little. The foreskin peeled back a bit, and out of the tip came a thick yellow stream of piss. It splashed on my face, dripped on the carpet. I caught it in my mouth, but it's nearly impossible to swallow with your mouth open. I tried to hold it all in one mouthful, but it just kept coming. Every time I gulped it down and tried not to gag on the bitterness, a fresh volley would splash all over my face and the floor. Ty just kept snorting his obscene laugh.

Finally, the stream petered out in three short bursts. Punk shook off on my face then dropped his cock back under the elastic of his waistband.

I had never felt so humiliated. 'Thank him,' Ty said.

'Thank you,' I said, through the coughing and gagging.

'You're welcome, bitch.' He grabbed a fistfull of my piss-soaked hair and dragged me half on my feet.

I struggled against the pain, tried to get upright, but Ty kicked at the backs of my legs, laughing. They dragged me, kicked me, pushed me into the bathroom, where they threw me, still in my sweatpants, into the tub. Punk turned on the shower and the cold water on full, rinsed off his hand in it. He grabbed my bodywash and squirted it in my face. It narrowly missed my eyes.

'Clean yourself, cocksucker. I don't want you touching me like that.'

The water chilled me and I scrubbed at myself as well as I could with my hands, shivering and going numb. It soaked my sweatpants. When Punk decided I was clean, he pulled me out of the tub. The sweatpants sagged down to my knees.

Ty yanked it back up, where it was wet and cold against my balls. 'I don't want to see that shit,' he said.

They pulled me back into the living room, ignoring the large wet piss-stain on the carpet. Punk sank back on my couch, in the middle, then spread his arms to rest on the back. 'Come here. Lick my pits and tell me why I'm better than you.'

I pushed my cold face into his warm arm pit. Sparse hair and the scent of sweat tickled my nose, but he wasn't anywhere nearly as sweaty as Ty, and his piss had oddly washed out that thick stench, replacing it with ammonia and humiliation. I licked at his pits; he didn't seem to be at all ticklish. 'Go on,' he said. 'Why am I better than you?' He took off his baseball cap to reveal his shaved head.

'You're stronger,' I said. 'And -- younger. Um. Your body is better. It's strong and muscular and you can force me to obey you.'

'Shut up, this is boring. You want to tongue my nipples, don't you faggot?'

'Yes, sir,' I said. It wasn't actually a lie. I heard Ty light another cigarette as I started licking Punk's hard, small nipples.

'Lick my tats, too. Go on.' I ran my tongue over the spiderweb, the skulls, and down the sleeve. I tried not to leave too much slobber behind, knowing he wouldn't appreciate that.

He gave me my next order almost softly: 'Faggot, suck my cock.'

I pushed my face into the smooth fabric of his track pants. His dick was only semi-hard behind the nylon, but mine pressed against the cold fabric of my sweat pants. He lifted up his ass and slid the pants down to his knees. His cock was long, now, and the foreskin had rolled back to reveal a pink, glistening head. I ran my tongue over it. He had trimmed his pubic hair, and now I pushed my face down toward them, taking as much of his hardening cock as I could. The soft foreskin rubbed against my lips and the head pressed more and more insistently against my palate.

'Dude, give me one of those,' he said over my head. He leaned forward and took something from Ty, then I heard the lighter shick and looked up to see him smoking while I slowly sucked his cock. It was a beautiful cock, and any other time this would be a victory to suck a cock like this, on a man like this. Punk was surely a psychopath, a dangerous man with too much charisma, but his cock in my mouth felt right, and my own cock ached in response.

'He sucks good, doesn't he?' Ty said.

'Not bad.'

'You shoulda let me nut in him. I've got blue balls.'

'Fuck his faggot ass,' Punk suggested. 'I'm sure the cocksucker has some lube or something in the bedroom.'

'I don't want to fuck him. I want him to suck me off.'

Punk sighed. 'Fine,' he said, sliding to one side. 'Get over here.'

Ty moved over, the cigarette dangling from his lips, a fresh beer in his hand. He opened the laptop back up and started streaming more porn.

'Suck us both,' Punk ordered. 'Him then me, then him again, until one of us comes.'

I moved over to the thick stench of Ty's cock, swallowed it whole. Now that my cock had responded to the action, I found myself almost liking his cock, the pimply sneering face looking down at me with the cigarette dangling from his lip, the rough way he pushed me down by the hair.

How had I gone to fearing for my life to enjoying my own rape?

I didn't have time to think, it seems I barely got down on Ty and Punk was pulling me back to his long, slender cock, which he thrust deep down my throat. I swallowed at it, trying to get it past my gag reflex, but he pounded my face too quickly. I just had to hope he didn't suffocate me.

Back and forth they used my cum-hungry mouth, but while I was on Ty's thick cock he started to breathe heavily and once again the meat pulsed in my mouth. 'Oh, fuck, dude, let me cum in his hole, fuck, I'm so fucking close.'

Punk grabbed my head in both hands and started pushing me very slowly up and down. 'No, shit, dude, no, let him -- fuck, dude, I'm losing it.'

'Come in his fucking faggot mouth,' Punk hissed. 'He's a whore. Make him your whore. You're his fucking pimp. Go on, mark this bitch.'

I felt the balls draw up against my chin, and once again Ty started thrusting heavily into my mouth.

'No,' Punk said. 'Slow. Fuck him real slow. Don't let him make you hurry. Take your time feeding this faggot.'

Ty obeyed. I looked up into his eyes, which rolled like a horse's as his breath caught. His shoulders and chest reddened and he let out a long breath, a groan really. Then something hot and salty flooded my mouth, painted the back of my throat. I swallowed at it, trying to get it down before it flooded out my lips. But he kept on coming, and I couldn't keep up. Some of it dribbled onto his balls, down between his legs. I tongued at the tender head of his cock, and he shuddered.

'Lick it up,' Punk ordered. I dove between his hairy legs, hunted the droplets of come that had flowed down between his thighs. I sucked every drop up from the leather of the couch, as well.

Ty let out a long, drawn out, 'fuck,' then got up and walked, naked, into the kitchen.

Punk pulled me back over to his cock. 'You sucked him real good. Now finish me.'

Slowly he fucked my face. My jaw grew tired, then numb. When he felt my mouth going dry, he pulled me off and spat on my tongue. No longer disgusted by his spit, I welcomed it. It made my job, sucking his cock, easier. And that was my job. It was what I was for. I swallowed him again and again, until my throat became raw.

Something at my feet vibrated. He pushed me down, resting one hand on the back of my head and forcing me to swallow his cock down. Bending down, he fished out his phone from the pocket he had earlier stowed the money I gave him.

'Keep sucking, slut,' he said, then answered the phone.

I slid up and down on the cock. No longer forced, I could rest my jaw by licking at his balls, sucking them into my mouth. They were nearly smooth and full, larger than average. They were taut from the sexual arousal, and I probed their stuff surface with my lips and tongues while Punk talked.

'Sup? Yeah. No, we're done. Last house. Memorial day? No, I'm not doing anything. Sure, a cookout sounds cool.' He glanced down at me sucking his balls and stroking his cock. 'Actually, I got an idea. After the cookout, how about you and Kevin come over to my place. Ty and I have a new friend. No, not a chick. But I think you'll like it anyway. Remember that kid last year in high school? Davy or Danny or whatever? Yeah.' He laughed. 'This guy's like him. A total pussy. Well, he just sucked off Ty, for one thing. No, no shit.'

Punk pulled me up by my hair. He held the cell phone to my ear. 'Tell my buddy what you did for Ty.'

I choked. I had no idea who was on the other end of this line. 'Um, I -- sucked his dick.'

The voice came over, a young male voice, confident and a little disgusted. 'Why?'

'I had to. Um -- ' I realized I didn't know Punk's name. 'I was told to.'

Punk took the phone back. 'Yeah, see? Total bitch. He'll do anything we say. Yeah, so we can have some fun, like we used to do with that little geek. So yeah. I'll see you then. Bring Kevin, too. He'll fucking love it. Just tell him we can't break the little bitch yet. I want to keep him for a while.'

Punk hung up the phone. 'Back to work,' he said.

I went back to working out his load, and he leaned back in the couch. He looked down at me, his mouth twisted with contempt. 'Suck my cock, you filthy faggot whore,' he hissed, as his balls drew up tight.

I heard Ty snorting behind me, and my dick throbbed and ached.




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