Rhett smiled to himself darkly the next day when he spotted Tommo walking down the corridor at lunch break. They hadn’t shared any classes yet, so part of him had wondered if the little shit would even show up. But there he was, head down, shoulders tight, moving like he was trying to disappear into the crowd. Rhett shut his locker with a metallic clang and headed toward the lunch hall, already buzzing with anticipation.
The usual crew was already at their table when he arrived. As soon as he sat down, the questions started.
“Tommo still feeling rough?” Si asked, mouth half-full. “He was proper quiet in English this morning.”
Rhett shrugged, grabbing a handful of fries. “Haven’t seen him yet. Dunno, man.”
He smiled inwardly, the expression never reaching his lips. He’ll be even quieter later when he’s on his knees choking on my dick.
Across the hall, Tommo stood frozen for a second with his tray in his hands. His stomach was in knots. He’d spent the entire morning avoiding every hallway he thought Rhett might use, but he had to eat. Skipping lunch would just raise more questions. With a deep breath, he forced himself toward the table where the lads were waving him over. Sitting anywhere else would look weird.
He slid onto the bench next to Si, keeping his eyes fixed on his food. Si immediately launched into some story about last night’s party, and Tommo nodded weakly, forcing a small smile. The others chimed in, asking if he was feeling better. He mumbled something about still being tired from the weekend and tried to act normal.
All the while, he could feel Rhett’s stare burning into the side of his face like a brand. Heavy. Knowing. He refused to look over. Fuck Rhett. Fuck all of this.
Rhett watched in silence, saying nothing, letting the tension simmer. It didn’t matter what Tommo was thinking right now, or how hard he was trying to hide between his friends. Tonight in the gym, on those mats, the boy would go all floppy again the second Rhett pinned him. He was a bottom through and through. One rub of dick along that fat crack and he’d start pushing back like a bitch in heat. Rhett just had to wait.
He almost laughed out loud when Tommo suddenly wolfed down the rest of his food in record time, muttered something to Si about needing to finish schoolwork before biology, and practically bolted from the hall after barely fifteen minutes. The lads shook their heads, commenting on how weird Tommo was acting lately. Rhett just shrugged again, the corner of his mouth twitching.
The afternoon dragged for everyone else but flew by for Rhett. He barely paid attention in any of his classes. His mind was already in the wrestling room, playing out exactly how the evening would go.
First, he’d punish Tommo for daring to run out on him yesterday morning. Training would be perfect for that: pin the little shit hard and fast, then “jokingly” dry-hump him in front of the team before loudly announcing that Tommo was getting hard. That ought to humiliate him nicely and remind him who was in charge.
Then he’d make sure Tommo couldn’t just bolt after practice. The lockers in the changing room were almost all broken anyway; it would be easy to hide his trousers (or his phone and keys). Once the other lads cleared out, Rhett would have him all to himself for round two.
He was confident it wouldn’t take much. Last time, all it had taken was the feel of his soft cock pressing against Tommo’s ass and the boy had lost control, grinding back like a desperate slut. One look or feel of Rhett’s dick tonight and Tommo would turn to putty again. Just to be safe, Rhett had even packed a small bottle of lube in his bag. He’d thought about bringing condoms for half a second, then snorted at the idea. No chance of knocking the fag up, so why bother?
By the time the final bell rang, Tommo’s heart was hammering so hard he felt sick. He’d made up his mind: get through practice, keep his head down, then get the hell home. No lingering. No eye contact. Nothing.
He practically sprinted to the changing room the moment the school day ended, changing in record time. Within five minutes he had stripped out of his uniform, pulled on his spare singlet (a plain red one today), and slipped into the practice room before most of the team had even arrived. He started warming up on his own in the far corner, stretching aggressively, trying to burn off the nervous energy.
Rhett arrived a couple of minutes later and immediately scanned the changing room for Tommo. Not there. He smirked, knowing exactly where the boy’s usual locker was. After changing into his own blue singlet, he waited until the last of the lads headed out to the mats, then casually walked over to Tommo’s locker. The padlock was busted, just like he knew it would be. He popped it open, grabbed Tommo’s school trousers and folded them neatly into his own locker, then shut the door and headed out to join warm-ups.
The guys were already stretching and doing light drills. Rhett joined in, his eyes constantly flicking toward Tommo, who was deliberately keeping his back turned and focusing on Si and Eddy’s bout.
When it came time for sparring pairs, Jake was lined up to go against Tommo. Rhett clapped Jake on the shoulder. “Switch with me, yeah?”
Jake shrugged and moved on without argument.
Tommo was still watching the previous match, refusing to look around, terrified of making eye contact with Rhett. He stepped onto the mat when it was his turn, expecting to see Jake.
Instead, he looked up and his face fell. All the colour drained from his cheeks the moment he locked eyes with Rhett’s smug, predatory grin.
Tommo had no choice but to wrestle now. He was trapped by the circle of his friends and teammates watching expectantly. Backing down would only make everything worse. His stomach twisted as he stepped onto the mat, trying to keep his breathing steady.
Rhett felt a dark thrill run through him the moment Tommo’s foot touched the mat. He started slow on purpose, letting the smaller boy dart and weave, making it look like Tommo might actually get the better of him for a few seconds. The quicker movements, the feints, it was almost cute how hard Tommo was trying.
Tommo’s heart raced as he slipped around Rhett’s guard once, then again. For a brief moment he allowed himself to believe he could just get through this without anything bad happening. He was smaller, faster, and he knew the moves.
Then Rhett stopped playing games.
In one brutal motion he flipped Tommo over, hooked a thick arm around his waist, and drove him down hard onto his stomach. The impact knocked the air from Tommo’s lungs. Rhett dropped his full weight on top of him, chest sealed to back, hips pressing deliberately against Tommo’s ass as he pinned him firmly to the mat.
“Jesus, dude,” Rhett announced loudly, voice carrying across the entire room, “is your dick hard right now?”
Tommo’s eyes flew wide with panic. “No, man! What the fuck are you talking about?” His voice came out higher than he wanted.
Rhett grinned, making sure everyone could hear. “Fuck, man, you’re hard. I can feel it pressing against me.”
Tommo’s face burned bright red. He wasn’t actually hard, his cock was soft and terrified inside the singlet, but the loud accusation and the sudden flush made it look exactly like guilt. Laughter erupted from the guys standing around the mats.
“Bro, Tommo’s popping a boner!”
“Get a room, you two!”
Tommo wanted the mat to swallow him whole. He squirmed desperately under Rhett’s heavy body, face flaming. “Fuck off, I’m not—”
Rhett eased back just enough to let Tommo start scrambling out from under him, still protesting weakly. The moment Tommo pushed up to his knees and then stood, breathing hard, Rhett moved again without warning.
Tommo wasn’t ready. Rhett shot in low, took him down hard a second time, and pinned him face-down once more, this time with even more crushing weight. Rhett shoved Tommo’s face firmly into the mat, muffling any further protest, and leaned down close to his ear.
“Don’t you ever disobey me again, faggot,” Rhett whispered, hot breath ghosting over Tommo’s skin, “or I’ll do a lot more than just humiliate you.”
The words sent ice through Tommo’s veins. Then, as quickly as he’d struck, Rhett released him and stood up, brushing off his singlet like nothing had happened.
The coach called for them to rotate and move on to normal practice drills. The team paired off again for technique work and light sparring. On the surface everything looked routine, but both boys were completely distracted.
Tommo moved through the rest of practice in a fog of humiliation. His face stayed flushed long after the laughter died down. Every time someone glanced his way he felt their eyes on him, replaying Rhett’s loud accusation and that vicious whisper in his head. His hole still ached from two nights ago, and every sprawl, every takedown sent fresh twinges through his body. He kept his head down, avoided eye contact with everyone, and silently counted the minutes until he could escape. Shame sat heavy in his chest like a stone.
Rhett, meanwhile, was riding a quiet wave of arousal. The rush of dominating Tommo right in front of the entire team, pinning him, humiliating him publicly, then whispering that threat while everyone else thought it was just normal shit-talk, had him half-hard inside his singlet for the rest of practice. Every time Tommo moved stiffly or kept his eyes on the floor, Rhett felt another surge of possessive heat. He could barely focus on technique. All he could think about was clearing the other lads out of the changing room so he could have Tommo alone again.
Practice finally ended. Tommo didn’t wait for the coach’s final words. The second the whistle blew he bolted for the changing room, singlet still clinging to his sweat-damp skin, heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. He just needed to get changed and get the hell out. Keep his head down, avoid Rhett, and pretend none of this was happening.
Rhett took his time. He lingered on the mats, chatting casually with a couple of the guys, stretching out his shoulders while he watched Tommo’s retreating back. A slow, satisfied smirk tugged at his lips. The little fag wasn’t going anywhere. Not without his trousers. Rhett had made sure of that.
Tommo burst into the changing room and went straight for his locker. He yanked the broken door open, expecting to see his school trousers right where he’d left them. They weren’t there. He frowned, checked the bench, then the floor around his locker. Nothing. He rifled through his bag again, confusion quickly turning to alarm. His trousers were gone.
The other lads filtered in, laughing and joking as they stripped off singlets and headed for the showers. One by one they changed and left, the room gradually emptying. Tommo kept searching frantically, checking under benches and even the wrong lockers, panic rising with every passing minute. By the time the last voice faded down the corridor, the changing room was silent except for the drip of a showerhead and his own ragged breathing.
Only then did Rhett stroll in.
He moved leisurely, singlet still on, broad shoulders rolling as he crossed the tiled floor. Tommo was bent over, desperately checking under the benches when Rhett’s shadow fell across him.
“Lost something, Tommo?”
Tommo spun around. Rhett was standing there, arms loose at his sides, grinning like a predator who’d already won.
Tommo’s mouth went dry. “Where are they?” he asked, voice cracking. “My trousers. Did you take them?”
Rhett just kept grinning, saying nothing.
Tommo’s fear flipped into desperate anger. “This isn’t funny, Rhett! Just give them back!” His voice rose, echoing off the lockers. “Leave me alone! You’re fucking nuts, what you did out there, what you did the other night—”
Rhett cut him off with a hard, open-handed slap across the face.
The crack of skin on skin rang through the empty room. Tommo’s head snapped to the side, cheek stinging bright red. Before he could recover, Rhett shoved him hard against the bank of lockers. Metal clanged loudly as Tommo’s back hit the doors. Rhett loomed over him, one thick forearm pressed across Tommo’s chest, pinning him in place.
“Don’t you ever talk to me like that again, you little fag,” Rhett growled, voice low and dangerous, eyes dark with excitement. “I told you, I own you now. If you don’t respect me, I’ll fucking destroy you.”
Tommo looked up at him, wide-eyed and terrified, chest heaving under the pressure of Rhett’s arm. His cheek burned where the slap had landed. He wanted to push back, to shout, to run, but his body had gone rigid with fear.
Rhett drank it in. The terror in those eyes, the way Tommo’s breath shook, the way he’d gone completely still under his hands. It sent a hot rush straight to his cock. He loved it. Loved how easily the boy folded. How quickly the defiance drained away and left nothing but a scared, trembling hole that knew exactly who it belonged to.
Rhett’s forearm stayed pressed across Tommo’s chest for another second, then he grabbed the smaller boy by the shoulders and manhandled him around roughly. Tommo’s cheek slammed against the cold metal of the lockers with a dull clang. Rhett pinned him there, chest to back, and immediately started grinding his hips forward, letting the thick bulge in his singlet drag along the cleft of Tommo’s ass through the thin fabric.
Tommo whimpered, the sound small and broken. His hands pressed flat against the locker doors, trying to push away, but there was nowhere to go.
Rhett felt himself starting to harden fast. The power, the fear still radiating off Tommo, the way that fat ass felt under him, it was addictive. He rolled his hips again, slower this time, letting his cock thicken and push insistently against the red fabric stretched over Tommo’s cheeks.
Then Tommo’s body betrayed him again. Just like in the basement. A tiny, involuntary push backward, pressing his ass firmer into Rhett’s growing bulge.
Bingo.
Rhett grinned against the back of Tommo’s neck. “Slut needs it again, don’t you?”
He kept dry-humping him with steady, deliberate rolls of his hips, grinding harder until his cock was rock-hard and leaking, the fat head clearly outlined and soaking a dark wet spot through the blue singlet. The thick length pushed deep into the cleft of Tommo’s fat ass, and Tommo kept whimpering, still pushing back in small, shameful little rocks to meet every thrust.
“Tell me you want my dick, fag.”
Tommo’s voice cracked. “Please don’t, Rhett…”
“I said say it.”
“Don’t make me.”
“Now.”
Tommo swallowed hard, face still smashed against the cold metal. “I need your dick, Rhett.”
“Not good enough.”
“Please, Rhett… I need your dick.”
“Better. But still not good enough.”
Tommo’s breath hitched, shame burning through him. “Please, Rhett… I need your big dick to fuck my hole. My… my… my pussy.”
“Much better,” Rhett growled, sounding pleased. “I’ll let you off this time because you’re learning. But from now on, when it’s just the two of us, you call me Sir. So you remember we aren’t equals anymore.”
Rhett gave one last hard grind, then pulled back just enough to speak against Tommo’s ear. “I’m going to tear this pussy up again, slut.”
“Here?” Tommo whispered, voice trembling.
“Yes.”
Rhett grabbed the back of Tommo’s red singlet and went to rip it open like he had in the basement. Tommo panicked.
“Please, Sir, don’t. Just let me take it off. I don’t have another one at the moment.”
Rhett paused, then released the fabric. “Fine. But quickly. And keep that little clit covered with your hand. I don’t want to see it.”
Tommo’s fingers shook as he peeled the straps off his shoulders and worked the red singlet down his body. He stepped out of it carefully, one hand cupped tightly over his small, soft cock and balls the entire time, trying to hide them from view.
Rhett stripped off his own blue singlet without ceremony, letting it drop to the floor. His thick, heavy cock sprang free, already fully hard and leaking. This was the first time they were really seeing each other naked in a sexual context. Tommo couldn’t help but stare, Rhett’s body was incredible: broad chest, thick pecs, ridged abs, powerful thighs, and that enormous, veined dick jutting out aggressively.
Rhett, however, had zero interest in looking at Tommo’s front. He glanced once at the smaller boy standing there awkwardly cupping himself and snorted. “Turn around, fag.”
Tommo obeyed. Now that was what Rhett wanted. He finally got to see it properly in the harsh locker-room light, that fat, round, muscular ass, cheeks slightly flushed, the cleft deep and inviting. Perfect.
“Bend over the bench, fag.”
Tommo hesitated for half a second, then complied, leaning forward and bracing his hands on the wooden bench, ass presented. Rhett knelt behind him, big hands gripping those fat cheeks and pulling them apart roughly, exposing the tight pink hole that had already taken him once. The sight hit him instantly: that small, flushed pucker, still a little tender-looking from the other night, twitching under the cool locker-room air.
He leaned in without hesitation and buried his face between Tommo’s cheeks.
The scent hit him first, thick and heady, just like in the basement. Warm, musky skin mixed with the faint salt of fresh sweat from practice, and underneath it all that same sweet, almost honeyed note that made Rhett’s cock throb. It was stronger now, richer after a full day of Tommo’s nervous tension. Rhett inhaled deeply, nose pressed right against the twitching rim, and groaned low in his throat.
Tommo whimpered, hips jerking forward against the bench at the sudden wet heat of Rhett’s breath. Oh fuck, not again. Shame crashed over him like ice water. He was bent over a locker-room bench, completely exposed, while his straight best friend, the guy he used to trust more than anyone, buried his face in his ass like it was the most natural thing in the world. Self-loathing twisted in his gut. What the hell is wrong with me? I let him do this. I’m letting him do it again. Yet even as the thought burned, a traitorous spark of heat flared low in his belly.
Rhett didn’t tease. He licked broad and flat, one long, slow drag from taint all the way up over that tight little star, savoring the clean-salt taste mixed with the sweet slick that was already starting to leak again. “Fuck… still tastes like honey,” he muttered against the sensitive skin, voice thick with hunger. “This pussy’s leaking for me again already.”
Tommo’s thighs trembled violently. A broken little sob escaped him as he gripped the edge of the bench, ass instinctively pushing back into Rhett’s hungry mouth despite the shame burning through him. Pleasure spiked sharp and unwanted through the fear, hot, wet pressure against his hole, Rhett’s tongue spearing inside with filthy, swirling strokes. The walls clamped down greedily, trying to pull him deeper. No, stop feeling good, Tommo thought desperately, tears pricking at his eyes. I hate this. I hate how much my body wants it. But his hips gave another small, shameful roll anyway, chasing the slick heat of Rhett’s tongue.
Every wet, filthy sound echoed through the empty locker room, sloppy licks, filthy suction, low groans of pure enjoyment from Rhett. Tommo’s cock twitched uselessly in his cupped hand, leaking steadily now. He felt pathetic, exposed, and disgustingly turned on all at once. Fear kept his heart racing, what if someone came back? What if this never stopped? while the pleasure made his toes curl and his hole flutter like it was starving.
Rhett pulled back just enough to speak, lips shiny and swollen, chin glistening. “Look at this greedy little hole sucking on my tongue. You’re getting so fucking wet again, princess. Dripping like a bitch in heat.” He dove back in immediately, tongue working deeper, thumbs spreading Tommo’s cheeks even wider so he could bury his face completely. The taste was addictive, clean sweat, that impossible honeyed sweetness, and the unmistakable slip of Tommo’s body betraying him.
Tommo bit his lip hard to stifle a moan, but it slipped out anyway, soft and needy. I’m such a disgusting slut, he thought, self-loathing flooding him even as fresh slick leaked onto Rhett’s tongue. This is what I am now. Just a hole for him. The fear and shame only seemed to make the pleasure sharper, more overwhelming. He hated himself for it. He hated how good it felt.
Rhett finally pulled back with a wet pop, face flushed and shiny with spit and slick. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, spreading the mess, then reached for the small bottle of lube he’d stashed in his locker earlier. His own cock was throbbing hard, pre-cum dripping steadily from the slit.
“Such a perfect little pussy,” he rasped, voice rough with lust. “Gonna open you up again and fuck it raw.”
Rhett rose from his knees, his thick cock jutting out heavy and angry, the head flushed dark and already dripping. He grabbed the bottle of lube and poured a generous stream over his shaft, stroking himself slowly from root to tip until every veined inch glistened lewdly. More lube followed, squeezed directly onto Tommo’s exposed hole, watching the cool liquid mix with the sweet, honeyed slick already leaking from the twitching pucker and trickle down toward his balls.
“Time to get back inside that perfect silky hole,” Rhett growled, voice low and thick with lust. He pressed the fat, blunt head against Tommo’s entrance and pushed forward without mercy.
Tommo’s breath caught in a sharp gasp. Oh god, it’s happening again. Fear flooded him instantly, the stretch was already burning, the sheer girth forcing him open far too fast. His hand stayed cupped tightly over his small, soft cock and balls exactly as ordered, fingers trembling against his own skin. Shame burned hot in his chest. I’m bent over a bench in the school locker room like some cheap slut, hiding my pathetic little clit while my best friend uses me. Yet beneath the fear and self-loathing, a dark, unwanted spark of desire flickered to life the moment the head breached him.
Rhett groaned deep and rough as the tight ring gave way, the silky heat swallowing the head of his cock. “Fuck… still so fucking tight for me.” He didn’t pause. He drove forward in one long, relentless thrust, burying himself to the hilt until his heavy balls slapped against Tommo’s ass. The wet, filthy squelch of lube and slick filled the empty locker room, mixing with the sharp slap of skin on skin.
Tommo cried out, a high, girlish whimper that echoed off the metal lockers. Pain flared bright and sharp at first, the brutal stretch making his eyes water, but then Rhett started moving and intense, unwanted pleasure spiked through him with every drag against his prostate. “Sir, please… it hurts… ah… fuck—” His voice came out breathy and high, completely at odds with Rhett’s deep, masculine grunts. His hand remained pressed firmly over his soft dick, hiding it completely as ordered, even as his hole clenched greedily around the thick invasion.
Rhett’s pleasure was pure and selfish. The vise-like grip, the silky ripple of Tommo’s walls, the way that fat ass jiggled with every thrust, it was better than any pussy he’d ever had. He could smell it again: that rich, sweet-musk scent rising stronger now that he was buried deep, mixing with the sharp tang of sweat and lube. It made his head spin. He started with short, violent thrusts, hard, punishing snaps of his hips that rocked Tommo forward against the bench with every stroke.
“Listen to you,” Rhett grunted, voice rough and low. “Whining like a little girl while your pussy takes every inch.” He switched suddenly to long, slow dicking, pulling almost all the way out until just the flared head stretched the puffy rim, then sinking back in to the root in one smooth, possessive glide. The drag was filthy and wet, the squelching sound loud and lewd in the quiet room.
Tommo’s whimpers turned desperate and broken. The long strokes lit up every sensitive nerve inside him, sending waves of sharp, toe-curling pleasure rolling through his belly despite the burn. I hate this. I hate how good it feels. I’m just a hole for him now. Self-loathing twisted deep in his gut, but his body betrayed him anyway, his hole fluttered and clenched rhythmically around Rhett’s cock, milking it with every slow withdrawal and deep thrust. Tears pricked at his eyes as conflicting pleas spilled from his lips in that high, girlish voice. “Sir, go easy… please… it’s too much… fuck, don’t stop, I need more—”
Rhett laughed darkly between heavy grunts, the sound vibrating through his chest. He loved the contrast, his own deep, animalistic groans against Tommo’s pathetic, feminine whimpers. He picked up speed again, switching back to short, brutal thrusts that punched the air from Tommo’s lungs. Skin slapped loudly against skin. The locker room filled with the wet, rhythmic sounds of rough fucking: squelch-squelch-squelch, slap-slap-slap, and Tommo’s constant high-pitched mewls.
Tommo struggled to accommodate both the massive size stretching him open and the violent pounding. His legs shook violently, free hand clawing at the wooden bench for support while the other stayed obediently cupped over his soft, leaking little dick. Every brutal plunge sent sparks of unwanted pleasure shooting up his spine, but the pain never fully faded, it just blurred into something darker and more overwhelming. I’m disgusting. I’m leaking all over his cock and still hiding my useless clit like he told me to. Fear and shame warred with the building heat low in his belly. “Sir, please… slower… ahh… harder… I can’t… fuck—”
Rhett was lost in his own pleasure. Every tight clench, every silky ripple along his shaft, every desperate whimper fed the dark, possessive rush surging through him. This was his now. His personal hole. He could feel Tommo’s body starting to open up more, the walls growing slicker and hotter around him. The sweet musk grew thicker in the air with every thrust. He groaned long and low, hips snapping faster, chasing the tight, wet heat that gripped him so perfectly.
He alternated again, long, deep strokes that ground against Tommo’s prostate, then sudden bursts of short, punishing jabs that made Tommo’s whole body jolt. Tommo’s high, girlish pleas grew louder and more broken, mixing with Rhett’s deep, guttural grunts until the locker room echoed with the filthy symphony of their fucking.
Finally, Rhett felt his balls draw up tight. He slammed in balls-deep one last time, grinding hard against Tommo’s ass, and came with a rough, satisfied groan. Thick, hot ropes of cum pulsed deep into Tommo’s guts, pulse after heavy pulse, flooding him full. Rhett kept grinding through it, milking every drop into the spasming heat, low groans rumbling from his chest as the intense pleasure rolled through him.
Tommo whimpered helplessly beneath him, body trembling, his own untouched cock twitching uselessly in his cupped hand. Waves of unwanted pleasure crashed through him as Rhett’s cum filled him, but it remained secondary, just a side effect of Rhett using him for his own release. Shame, fear, self-loathing, and a sick, addictive satisfaction all twisted together inside his chest while Rhett stayed buried deep, panting against his back.
The heavy scent of sex, sweat, lube, cum, and that sweet honeyed musk, hung thick in the air between them.
Rhett stayed buried deep for a long moment, chest heaving against Tommo’s back, savoring the last twitching pulses of his orgasm. Then, with a low grunt, he slowly pulled out.
The withdrawal was filthy. His thick cock slid free with a wet, filthy pop, followed immediately by a thick stream of his own cum that bubbled out of Tommo’s gaping hole and ran down the cleft in slow, pearly ropes. The once-tight pink pucker was now swollen and puffy, red-rimmed and slack, still fluttering weakly as it tried to close around nothing.
Rhett slapped Tommo’s fat ass hard, the sharp crack echoing through the empty locker room. The cheek jiggled under the impact, leaving a bright red handprint.
“Fucking amazing cunt, fag,” he said, voice rough and satisfied. “Should have cracked it years ago.”
He gripped the base of his softening cock and casually wiped it clean between Tommo’s spread cheeks, smearing the mess of cum, lube, and slick along the cleft. For a second he considered ordering Tommo to his knees to clean it properly with his mouth, but he decided against it. That could wait for another day. He wanted to leave the boy like this, used, leaking, and broken.
Rhett stepped back and started pulling on his clothes, shirt first, then his boxers and school trousers. He glanced over at Tommo, who was still bent over the bench, breathing shakily, cum still leaking down the back of his thighs.
Before heading for the door, Rhett reached into his own locker, pulled out Tommo’s missing school trousers, and tossed them carelessly across the room. They landed in a heap at Tommo’s feet.
“Meet me here again after school tomorrow,” Rhett said flatly. “And no fucking bullshit, faggot, or you’ll regret it. Understand?”
Tommo slowly pushed himself upright on trembling legs. His face was flushed, eyes glassy, ass still leaking Rhett’s load. He nodded quickly, too ashamed and exhausted to speak.
“Good.”
Rhett finished dressing, pulling his shoes on without another word, grabbed his bag, and headed for the door. He didn’t look back.
The locker room door clicked shut behind him, leaving Tommo completely alone.
Tommo stood there naked in the harsh fluorescent light, one hand still cupped uselessly over his soft, leaking little dick. Cum continued to trickle slowly from his stretched hole, warm and sticky as it ran down his legs. The ache inside him was deep and throbbing, a constant reminder of how roughly he’d just been used. His ass cheek burned where Rhett had slapped it. The red handprint would probably bruise.
Shame crashed over him in heavy waves. What the fuck did I just do? I let him fuck me again. I begged for it. I called my own hole a pussy for him. Self-loathing twisted in his gut so sharply it made him feel sick. He had dreamed for years of being close to Rhett like this, but never like this, never reduced to a leaking, whimpering hole bent over a bench after practice. The worst part was the small, traitorous spark of satisfaction still flickering beneath the humiliation. His body had wanted it. Had opened up and milked Rhett’s cock like it was made for it.
He finally lowered his hand from his crotch, staring down at the pathetic string of pre-cum connecting his soft dick to his palm. Pathetic. Useless. Exactly what Rhett had called it.
Tommo wiped himself as best he could with some paper towels from the dispenser, then shoved his ruined red singlet into his bag. He pulled on his school trousers with shaking fingers, the fabric feeling rough against his tender, leaking hole. The cum still slowly seeping out made the seat of his underwear damp and uncomfortable almost immediately.
The locker room felt colder and emptier than ever as he finally slipped out, legs sore, ass aching, mind spinning with fear, shame, and the terrifying knowledge that tomorrow after school he would be back here again.
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