They left me finally, but not before trashing my house. They also took my camera and left me with a stern warning not to tell anyone what had happened, or they'd share the video of me sucking off the just-underage-enough Ty.

Three days passed, while I cleaned up the house, the yellowish stain on the carpet, and my own dignity. If they came back, I told myself, I'd do something -- something. Maybe pull a knife. And get beaten. I considered buying a handgun, but it seemed an easy way to get shot, considering my luck. I'd probably shoot myself before they had a chance to wrestle it away from me.

And I tried not to think about the fact that every time I got a whiff of Ty's funk, still lingering despite the cleaning, I got an instant hard-on and could taste his cum all over again. I managed to avoid the urge to bury my face in the leather cushion where his raunchy ass had rested for almost two days. Well, a day and a half. Then there I was, my face in the couch, beating my own meat while smelling the odor he had left in the leather. Screw my tough self-talk from earlier. I wanted them to come back, and if they did, I'd drop to my knees, because they were right: I was a faggot.

I was glad it was a long weekend. I could spend Memorial day recovering. I hadn't forgotten the phone call the punk had received toward the end of his blowjob, but they had no way of contacting me other than stopping by my house. And they wouldn't do that. I hoped. Or maybe they would. I hoped that too.

I relaxed Sunday, until afternoon came and it finally started to get dark. I opened a bottle of wine and was making a dent in it, finally feeling almost normal, when a truck with a bad muffler roared by -- paused. Lights flashed through my living room window. I looked up.

The horn sounded. Loud in the suburban evening.

I turned on the porch light and opened the door, ready to yell at the kids making all the noise, but a smirking bald head turned to me from the front seat. Next to him sat a baby-faced man of maybe -- God, I hoped -- twenty. His hair was long, nearly to his shoulders, and a dirty blond. I mean, he was blond, and dirty: his hair was sweaty and had specks of mud in it.

The driver side door opened and Punk stepped out. He was wearing some sort of padded gear, a sort of armored jacket unzipped to show a thin clinging undergarment. He was caked with dirt and mud. I glanced at two well-used dirtbikes in the bed of the truck.

'What are you doing here? I'll call the police.'

'Oh, good. I got your camera in the glovebox. I bet the cops'd like it.'

I lost steam. 'What do you want?'

'Get in.'

'I -- '

'That's one.' Punk held up a single finger, his face stone-cold.

'Listen, this is -- '

'That's two.'

I didn't want to know what three was. I climbed into the tall cab, clumsily, past the steering wheel and up against the side of the other young man, who threw an arm around my shoulder in sarcastic camaraderie. His gloved hand squeezed my shoulder, hard enough to hurt. 'My name's Alex,' he said, as Punk sandwiched against me on the other side. The muddy pads of motocross gear pressed against me on both sides. 'And I'm thinking you're going to lick my asshole tonight.'

I was thinking he was probably right.


They made me help unload the bikes, threatening me with every move that if I damaged anything, I'd eat the curb. There actually wasn't a curb; Punk lived out in a trailer, fairly far on the outskirts of the burb, where it was practically rural. But I imagine they'd find a creative substitute in the gravel of the driveway.

Punk pushed me through the door, into the dim light of his trailer. I expected trash, but it was actually pretty clean for a bachelor. No food lying about, a few articles of dirty clothing but nothing horrifying. He pointed to the floor, and I obediently sat.

Punk stripped off his motocross gear, leaving it in a pile on the linoleum. Alex left his on. Punk didn't seem to mind the mud his heavy boots tracked on the floor. Of course he didn't, I realized. I'm the one who'd be cleaning it up.

He stood in white, skin-tight undergarments, darkened with sweat at the crotch, ass, and armpits. Alex flopped on an old futon and watched as Punk strode over to me, grabbed the back of my head, and pressed me into his sweaty crotch. His dick slipped, semihard, under the smooth material. Unlike Ty, Punk's stink was the endurable smell of fresh sweat. I felt my own dick hardening.

'This is some pretty gay shit,' Alex said, almost conversationally. Punk slapped me away from his crotch, and I rocked back, my face stinging. He strode over to sit next to Alex.

'Yeah. Well, this faggot is about as gay as they come. You should have seen him sucking on Ty's dick, like it was a fucking lollipop.'

'I can't believe he sucked off Ty. I mean, Ty is foul.'

'Not as foul as this faggot. Isn't that right, queer?'

I didn't know what to do, so I had started inching toward them. 'Yes, sir,' I said, crawling slowly.

'Just can't resist my ballsweat, can you fag? He's probably hungry for my load. I didn't let him have it the other day.'

'He can have my fucking load, if he can suck cock.'

'Oh, he can suck cock,' Punk assured him. 'Probably the only thing he does well. Hey, faggot. Ask Alex to give you a kiss.'

'Um, can I -- have a kiss?'

Alex rocked out, smashing my face with his heavy motocross glove. This wasn't a sting: it rang my bell and I fell over, nearly banging my head on the cheap coffee table.

Even he looked a little surprised at how hard he hit me. Then his face hardened. He held up a single finger, the middle one. 'Fuck you, faggot.'

That had really kind of hurt. This wiry little man was strong.

'I'm no queer like you. I'm a real man. I just let faggots suck my cock because they're so fucking good at it. And if they're not good at it, I let them suck my cock and then I fuck them up. Are you going to be good at it, fag?'

'Yes, sir. I'll do whatever you say. I'll give you the best blowjob I can.'

'Better be good enough.'

Punk laughed low to himself. 'He's such a little pussy.'

'Let's see what Kevin does to him.'

'Kevin's still coming?'

'Yeah,' Alex said. 'He said he wanted to stick around the cookout and see if he can hook up with that slut with the huge tits, but he doesn't have a chance. He'll be here.'

Punk looked down at me. 'If you're just going to lie there like a pussy, might as well start licking the mud off Alex's gear.'

I looked up hesitantly at Alex, his cold smirk framed by stringy tendrils of blond hair. 'Yeah, do it, fag,' he said, sticking his boot in my face.

I don't know if you've ever eaten mud. It is not pleasant. It is not erotic. It tastes like dirt and it sticks in your throat. You choke. When you do, the nasty young man in motocross gear hawks great globs of spit into your mouth, and his tattooed young friend joins him. Then he pushes you back into the nooks and crannies of his gear, to tongue free sticky globs of mud.

I knew I'd pay for this. That much dirt couldn't be good for someone. My stomach protested, and my cock had wilted. Nothing quite kills a hard on as fast as a sour stomach. Not that they cared. I wasn't here to get off. I was here to entertain them.

Once Alex's gear was clean, he stood up. 'I promised you a special prize, fag. Lie down on the ground. No, you stupid little bitch, face up.' He straddled my face and lowered himself down, while unbuttoning his motocross pants. He had sweated in them, hours of hot ball sweat and ass sweat. He pulled them down and revealed a round, smooth pair of ass-cheeks with a few thin strands of dark hair between them.

I got such a good look, because they descended until they covered my mouth, my nose, and my eyes. Everything was darkness. Everything was the smell of shit and balls and musty athletic gear. Everything was suffocation.

'Here's how it works,' he said, as I tried to struggle to breathe. Something wrapped around my legs, and Alex pinned my arms under his heavy boots. 'I occasionally do this -- ' he rocked forward, just enough for me to suck in a panicked and tainted breath of air. He rocked back, once again suffocating me. '-- if I think you're showing enough enthusiasm in my delicious ass. If you slack off, or seem not to love the taste of my shithole, I do this.' He clamped down harder, pushing against my nose and mouth so hard it hurt. He kept that way for a while, resting his full weight on my face. Someone else stood on my hands, heavy and cruel. I could hear Punk laughing as he ground the bones of my fingers under his feet.

Alex stayed that way long enough for me to start to see bright lights, then rocked forward and back again. 'Well, where's the respect?' He bounced down again to crush my face. I wiggled and tried to fight my way free, but there was no way to overcome their combined strength. I tried to lick his ass, but I couldn't even get my mouth open he was sitting so hard on it. Finally, he rocked forward just enough for me to gasp a filthy breath of air and stick out my tongue. I lapped frantically at his sweaty, bitter hole, pushing my tongue up into the smooth ring as hard as I could. He rocked back and forth rhythmically, slowly, just fast enough for me to get oxygen.

'I imagine a fag like you would get a hard on from this,' he said. 'I don't see you pitching a tent.' He clamped down again and I frantically moaned and sucked at his ass. Just when I thought I'd pass out, he stood up, dripping my spit from his ass crack. I gasped in clean air. Tears, or maybe just spit, leaked down the side of my face.

Alex hoisted his pants back into place. 'I think I heard a car,' he said.

Punk looked out the window. 'Cool. Kevin is here. Keep an eye on the faggot.' He stepped out, still in his undergear.

Alex rested his boot on the side of my face, pressing me into the carpet. I could hear low voices from outside, but I couldn't make out what they were saying.

As soon as Punk closed the door, Alex let up the pressure on the boot and knelt down next to me. 'Dude, you really are getting off on this, right?' he asked, his cruel tone suddenly gone.

'I -- well, they're blackmailing me.'

'Bullshit. You think Ty'll ever take the stand saying he got a blowjob from a dude. You know that's bullshit, right?'

I guess I did. So was I getting off on this? I remembered sniffing the cushion where Ty was sitting, reveling in his stench as I stroked my pecker. 'Yeah, I guess I am, a little bit.'

'I mean, Dan's crazy.' Ah, so that was Punk's name. I think I liked mine better. 'But Kevin is bugfuck crazy. I don't really have any problem with fags, and I don't think Dan does either, especially if they're slobbing his knob and telling him he rules. But Kevin really hates queers. I hit you cause I know you like it -- well, sorry, I forgot I was still wearing the gloves. But he'll hit you to hurt, and he gets off on the pain more than anything. With guys or girls. But he really doesn't like fags. So -- I guess -- just be careful if you're left alone -- ' He stood up, planted his boot on my face, just as the door opened.

I couldn't see Kevin or Punk over Alex's boot, but a pair of military issue combat boots, black and roughed up, planted themselves before my face. I could see those. He had straitlaced them, and they had clearly seen the wars -- if not wars in uniform, then wars on the street. Punk had lacerations on his hands from fighting. This man had lacerations on his boots from fighting.

A glob of spit hit the side of my face, rolled down my cheek. Without being told, I licked at it.

Kevin's voice was deep. 'He's fucking disgusting.'

'Yeah,' Punk said. 'Alex, let him up.'

The pressure of the boot lessened, and my eyes rose up the baggy jeans, the football jersey, and into a face sprinkled with red stubble, a cruel twist of thin, pale lips, a pair of mirrored sunglasses hiding the eyes. I had read, for an article for a woman's magazine that I wrote, that a true sociopath caused some people a frisson of almost atavistic dread. I had thought that Punk was a sociopath. But I had been wrong. This guy was, and if he could kill me, he just might.

On that thought came another quick on its heels: I had to please him. Punk was the alpha of this little pack, but this wolf was a beta with sharp teeth and a thirst for blood. I had to be a useful, amusing little omega.

He took a step forward, and I winced, prepared to be kicked in the face. 'Lick,' he said, pressing the toe of his boot in my face. What was it with these guys and having their shoes licked? Still, I had rather lick it than have it kick my teeth in. I smeared my tongue over the rough leather while the boys above me talked.

They talked about the cookout, the blond slut with big titties, their dirtbiking. All as if they weren't standing there over an abject little man licking boots that were more weapons than footwear.

Now, of course, my dick was rock hard.


Alex really seemed to like his motocross gear. Punk had changed into his usual uniform of wife-beater and athletic warm up pants and Kevin just watched, sitting low and spread-legged, smoking a bowl and occasionally flicking his eyes over to the race on TV. I could hear the muted sounds of the race, the engines gunning, the announcers. But mostly I was focused on what was sticking out of Alex's fly -- a fat cock that leaned to the left over a pair of low-hanging, sparsely haired balls.

It felt almost domestic, sucking him off while he and Punk watched the race and talked about women and cars. Now that Alex had talked to me, I kind of liked my position, on my knees, bringing him pleasure. I looked forward to having another go at Punk's cock; I hoped he'd let me eat his cum this time.

It was a long, slow blowjob. Alex had the stamina of the young and was in no hurry to cum, and probably the thickening haze of pot smoke in the air as they passed, burned, and refilled the bowl again and again didn't help his sense of urgency. I didn't mind. He wasn't roughly fucking my face or choking me, so I could relax a bit and enjoy the blowjob. It actually felt like sex, rather than rape, although I was careful not to touch my own dick or give too large a sign of pleasure.

As the race wound up, I increased my attention on Alex's dick.

'Will you fucking cum in that faggot already, so we can fuck him up?' Kevin asked.

'Don't break him,' Punk said. 'I have plans for him.'

'He's your boyfriend now?'

'Fuck you, Kevin. He's my bitch. Not yours.'

The round, wet head of Alex's cock flexed against my tongue and he rested one hand firmly on the back of my neck. At least he had finally taken the gloves off. I couldn't pull away as he filled my mouth with this thick sperm, but I didn't want to. I sucked it down like an oyster.

'Finally.' Kevin stood up behind me. I turned to look at him but he lashed out, his fist hitting my jaw as I pulled away from Alex's spent cock. Alex's previous slap had hurt, but this was a real punch. I thought for a moment he dislocated my jaw, and I tried to pick myself up off the ground only to have his hard boot meet with my shoulder in a meaty kick.

'That's enough,' Punk said. 'I want him able to move.'

Kevin seemed about ready to bring his heel down on my shocked face, then pulled back. 'Fine,' he spat.

I lay on the ground, filled with a hot heart-thumping terror. After the almost pleasant and bucolic blowjob I had just given Alex, to be treated so brutally was a shock. More of a shock was the fact that Alex calmly lit the bowl and blew out thick clouds of white smoke. I wanted to cry, not just from the pain, but I sensed that doing so could well get me killed.

'Faggot,' Punk said. 'Kevin needs a blowjob. Suck him off.'

I looked up at Kevin, and he must have been pleased with the fear in my eyes. He stood over me, unzipped his fly, and pulled out his already-hard cock. It was thick, veiny, and hairy -- not a pretty cock by any means. I carefully rested my lips on it, trying not to notice the jolt in my jaw when I opened wide enough to accommodate its girth. I didn't have a lot of time to get used to it before he forced me down with his calloused hands into his thick, red pubes. I choked and gaged, but he didn't let up. I thought I might throw up, and he hissed, 'Two rules faggot. If you bite me, I stomp your fucking teeth out and fuck your bloody gums. Second rule: if you throw up on me, I'll kill you.'

I did my swallowing trick, gripping the head of his cock with my bruised throat, getting it past my soft palate and my gag reflex. It wasn't too hard, since he wasn't thrusting, just holding me on his dick, but with his meat down my throat breathing wasn't exactly easy. Easier than trying to suck air through Alex's sweaty asshole, but still not easy.

Finally, he pulled out, and turned away, leaving me gasping for air. 'He sucks okay, but I want to fuck him.'

'Use lube. And a rubber.'

'Fuck that.'

'You don't know where a slut like him has been,' Alex said, taking a puff of the bowl and passing it to Kevin. 'He sucked off Ty.'

A look of profound disgust passed over Kevin's face. 'Yeah. Good point.'

'Let's spitroast the cunt,' Punk said, pulling at the bulge in his nylon sweatpants. 'Strip,' he said to me.

I took off my clothes, as quickly as I could. My dick bobbed and leaked wetly in front of me, faintly ridiculous.

'Bedroom,' Punk said, pushing me down the narrow trailer hallway toward the back. 'You want to watch, Alex?'

'Naw, I'm cool. Just going to sit here and drink a beer.'

Punk set himself up against the headboard, a few dirty pillows behind him. He stripped off his sweatpants and spread his legs, and I lay facedown and burrowed my face below his balls. I licked at the cord between his balls and taint. 'Yeah, you're a real whore, aren't you, faggot?'

'Yes, sir,' I muttered into his balls. 'Yes, sir, thank you for letting me have your cock. Please come in my mouth this time. Please.'

He slapped me, lightly, on the side opposite the one Kevin had punched. 'Shut the fuck up.' I took his long, slender cock into my mouth and began to work it as well as I knew how. I could hear Kevin moving behind me, adjusting his condom I assumed, and fumbling with lube. His rough thumb slammed into my hole, and I just barely avoided biting Punk's pecker. He roughly thumb-fucked me, working lube into my tight asshole.

I tried to relax, but it was hard, knowing this thug was going to fuck me. I had never really liked being fucked, even a the best of times, with a gentle partner. And I knew that Kevin would follow the letter of Punk's rules -- use lube, wear a rubber, don't break him -- with a systematic disregard for the spirit. If he could make me hurt, he'd be happy. I suspected it was pain that got him off, more than the friction of cock on membrane. I could act like I was in agony, try to get him off me faster --

and at that moment my ass tore apart and he shoved his whole cock, in one quick motion, inside me. I screamed into Punk's crotch, loud enough that the neighbors on nearby lots must have heard. I felt like I had been stabbed up the ass by nine inches of hard gristle -- because I had.

'Dude,' Punk said, sounding a little annoyed. 'Do you mind? He almost bit the fucking head of my cock off.'

'Not my problem,' Kevin panted, pounding his hips into my burning ass. I had seen people do this in porn, but those had been trained and experienced porn actors, using lots of lube and off-camera prep time. This was a thug who had worked in a few squirts of lube and then torn me open.

I started to cry at the violation, and Punk took my chin in hand and guided me back on his cock. I bobbed on it, as well as I could, in rhythm to the pounding in my rear. The pain ebbed, over time, as my ass relaxed out of necessity.

Kevin rested his slender, hard body against me, breathed sour pot-breath into my ear as he rocked inside me. 'You fucking faggot, you like this shit, don't you? You whore. You fucking cunt. I bet you wish you had a cunt, so Alex could fuck you at the same time. Fill up all your fucking holes.'

'He doesn't need a cunt,' Punk said. 'He is a cunt.'

'I could carve you a cunt,' Kevin panted, pounding harder and harder into my ass. 'Maybe right in your flabby little gut, huh? Would you like that. Get out my knife and do some fucking carpentry.'

I tried to moan no into his Punk's pubes, but nothing came out but a sob.

'Dude,' Punk said, in a warning tone of voice. 'Not cool. Making me lose wood with that kind of talk.'

'Fine. Tell the little bitch what we're going to do with him. Give him a taste.'

'I'll give him a fucking taste all right,' Punk said, bucking his hips to thrust into my open jaw. 'I was thinking we could pimp the little whore out, find guys who want to drop a load and have them pay us fifty bucks, maybe eighty to fuck his faggot ass.'

'Yeah, but then we couldn't use him,' Kevin pointed out, driving his meat into my guts with another painful thrust. 'He might get something.'

'Yeah. Well, we could just do it with our friends. You know, ones that are down with getting serviced by a fag. Get them high, drunk, whatever, then make him suck their cocks.'

'But you'd like that, wouldn't you faggot? You'd get off on that kind of shit. We gotta do something that shows him his place.'

'Oh fuck, in a minute his place is going to be eating my fucking cum. You hear that, slut? You ready for a load? I bet you are. You begged for it, whore, now get ready to -- ' He inhaled deeply, then filled my mouth with a high pressure jet of semen.

'Don't you fucking swallow that yet, faggot,' Kevin hissed into my ear, his voice rich with hate, his chest wet and hot against my back. 'Hold it in your mouth until I tell you to.' He continued to pound away, harder and harder, into my tender ass. But I was content to roll Punk's thick cum around on my tongue. Everyone always says that it's salty. It's not that salty. It doesn't taste like anything specific to me, anything other than cum. I've never been into eating it, but Punk's cum felt like a reward I had earned.

Kevin sank his teeth into the meat of my shoulder. He bit down hard, and I tried not to scream or inadvertently swallow Punk's cum. Punk just watched as every thrust of Kevin's punishing cock pushed me up against his taut abs. Kevin's fingers dug hard into my upper arms, leaving five brown bruises I would see in the mirror the next morning. He didn't so much thrust now as grind his hips into my ass. It felt like he was trying to crawl up into me, tear me open from the inside. He shuddered, jerked a hard spasm against my body, then collapsed his full weight on me.

'That wasn't bad,' he allowed at last, rolling off of me. He pulled off his condom and yanked my head back by the hair. 'Let me see his load.'

I opened my mouth. He up-ended the rubber over my head, letting his cum roll down my forehead, over one of my screwed-shut eyes, and down to my lips. 'Swallow,' he said.

I did as I was told.

He let go of my hair, throwing my head back into Punk's abdomen. Punk rolled out from under me and pulled back on his sweatpants. My ass felt as if a firecracker had gone off in it. I hoped I didn't need to go to the emergency room, get stitches, or something worse.

'Get dressed, faggot,' Punk said. 'Then clean my fucking trailer.'

'Sir, can I wipe the cum off of my face?'

'Fuck you. You can wear that home.'




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