Over the next few weeks a new pattern settled between them, one that looked almost normal from the outside.
To the rest of the team and their friends, Rhett and Tommo were still best mates. They sat together at lunch, joked around in the corridors, and paired up for drills in wrestling practice like always. Rhett could be a little ruder than normal now, throwing out sharper comments or calling Tommo a “little bitch” when he missed a move, but it never crossed the line into anything obvious. The lads noticed something felt slightly off, a new edge in Rhett’s voice or the way Tommo sometimes went quiet, but no one suspected the truth. They were still tight. Still the same duo they had always been.
Tommo worked hard to keep it that way. He forced himself to laugh at the right moments, to shove Rhett’s shoulder like nothing had changed, and to act like the boy-next-door jock everyone expected him to be. Slowly he got better at it. The mask became easier to wear, even if it felt heavier every day.
Behind closed doors, though, everything was different.
After the locker room fuck, Rhett had texted him that same evening with simple, blunt instructions: come round after school tomorrow. No excuses. Serious consequences if he didn’t show. Tommo had stared at the message for a long time, stomach in knots, remembering the way Rhett had pinned and humiliated him in front of the whole team. He knew Rhett was serious. So he went.
That wasn’t the only reason, though.
Deep down Tommo knew everything Rhett had growled while balls-deep in his ass was true. He really was a fag. He really did love the sensation of his buddy’s thick cock buried in his guts, rutting and pounding him until he could barely think. If Rhett had just been a little kinder, a bit more affectionate, Tommo would have given himself over completely, body and soul.
Instead they developed a new routine.
Most weekdays they would head straight back to Rhett’s house after the final bell. They would slip down into the basement training room where it had all started, and Tommo would service him. Sometimes that meant dropping to his knees and sucking Rhett off while the bigger boy leaned back against the wall, sometimes it was just a quick handjob. Rhett would often pull out his phone and watch straight porn, the sound of girls moaning filling the room while Tommo worked between his legs. Other times Rhett would finger him roughly, two or three thick digits stretching him open while he talked dirty, reminding Tommo exactly what he was now. On the rare quiet afternoons Rhett would simply sit back and insult him for twenty minutes straight, calling him every filthy name that came to mind.
They very rarely fucked on those after-school sessions. There simply wasn’t enough time before Rhett’s parents got home from work. The risk was too high.
Weekends were different.
After Saturday morning practice they would go to whichever house was empty. Rhett would push Tommo down onto the mats or the couch and eat him out for long, greedy minutes, still completely obsessed with the taste and smell of that sweet, honeyed hole. He would keep going until Tommo’s legs were shaking and his whimpers filled the room. Only then would he fuck him.
Sometimes Rhett pounded him hard and fast, hips snapping like a machine. Sometimes he fucked him slow and grinding, deep rolls that kept him buried to the balls for long stretches. No matter how he did it, though, it was never about making Tommo feel good. It was always about Rhett’s own pleasure. Tommo was never left in any doubt about that. Rhett liked to remind him constantly: he was just a hole for Rhett’s pleasure. As a fag he had been born to get fucked by real men like him.
One particular Saturday stood out.
They had both had a rough training session. Rhett especially was in a foul mood. He had been sloppy on the mats, missed a few easy takedowns, and the coach had called him out in front of everyone. By the time they left the school gym, Rhett’s jaw was tight and his eyes were dark with frustration.
They went straight to Rhett’s house. His parents were out for the day, so the place was empty. The moment they stepped inside, Rhett didn’t even bother with small talk. He headed down to the basement, Tommo following silently behind him like an obedient shadow.
Rhett flopped down heavily on the battered old couch, legs spread wide. Without a word he shoved his shorts and boxers down just enough to free his thick cock. It was already half-hard, heavy against his thigh. He gave it a couple of lazy strokes and looked at Tommo with flat expectation.
Tommo dropped to his knees between Rhett’s legs without being told. He leaned forward, took the warm head into his mouth, and started sucking. The familiar salty-musky taste filled his tongue immediately. Rhett leaned his head back against the couch, one hand resting on the back of Tommo’s head, guiding him slowly up and down. Tommo worked him with quiet dedication, tongue swirling around the head, taking him deeper each time until his nose was buried in dark blond pubes and his throat was working around the thick shaft.
Rhett’s cock swelled fully in his mouth, growing even thicker and harder. For a few minutes the only sounds in the basement were the wet slurps of Tommo’s mouth and Rhett’s low, occasional grunts.
Then Rhett suddenly stood up, pulling his cock free with a wet pop. “On the couch,” he ordered, voice rough. “Face down.”
Tommo obeyed quickly. He climbed onto the couch and lay on his stomach, cheek pressed against the worn fabric. Rhett grabbed the waistband of Tommo’s shorts and yanked them down roughly to mid-thigh, exposing the smooth, round cheeks. He dropped to his knees behind him, gripped those fat globes with both big hands, and spread them wide.
Rhett buried his face between Tommo’s cheeks without hesitation. His tongue was hot and greedy, licking broad and flat from taint all the way up over the tight pink hole. He groaned deeply at the taste, that clean sweat mixed with the sweet, honeyed slick that was already starting to seep out. Tommo whimpered into the cushion as Rhett’s tongue speared inside him, stiff and insistent, fucking in and out with wet, filthy strokes. Rhett ate him like a man starved, nose pressed tight against his skin, lips sucking at the rim while his tongue worked deeper. The more he licked, the wetter Tommo got. That familiar honeyed slick began to leak freely, coating Rhett’s tongue and chin.
Rhett kept going until Tommo’s hole was puffy, fluttering, and dripping exactly the way he liked it. Only then did he pull back, lips shiny and swollen. He reached for the bottle of lube they now kept down here, poured a thick stream over his rock-hard cock, and stroked himself a few times until every veined inch glistened.
He climbed on top of Tommo, thick chest pressing down against the smaller boy’s back, heavy weight pinning him completely to the couch. Rhett lined up the fat, blunt head against the slick hole and pushed in with one brutal thrust.
Tommo cried out sharply as the thick cock speared him open. Rhett didn’t give him any time to adjust. He started fucking him hard, really hard. His hips slammed forward with punishing force, driving his cock balls-deep on every stroke. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the basement, loud and rhythmic. Rhett’s bad training session had left him angry, and he took every bit of that frustration out on Tommo’s boy cunt.
Each thrust was deep and violent, the heavy weight of Rhett’s body crushing Tommo into the cushions. Rhett’s thick chest stayed glued to Tommo’s back, sweat-slick skin sliding together as he rutted like an animal. His cock pounded Tommo’s prostate relentlessly, the brutal pace making Tommo’s whole body jolt forward with every savage snap of Rhett’s hips.
“Take it, fag,” Rhett growled against his ear, voice low and mean. “This is what your cunt is for. Just a hole for me to wreck when I’ve had a shit day.”
Tommo could only whimper and moan into the couch, hands clutching at the cushions. The stretch burned, the force of the pounding stole his breath, but underneath the pain the relentless hammering against his prostate sent waves of sharp, unwanted pleasure shooting through him. His own cock leaked uselessly against the fabric beneath him, trapped and untouched.
Rhett fucked him even harder, hips pistoning faster, the wet squelch of lube and slick echoing with every brutal plunge. He was using Tommo completely, chasing his own release with selfish, angry strokes. The couch creaked under them from the sheer power of his thrusts.
Rhett’s breathing grew ragged. He slammed in one final time, grinding deep, and came with a guttural groan. Thick ropes of cum flooded Tommo’s guts, pulse after heavy pulse, filling him until it started to leak out around the thick shaft still buried inside him.
Rhett stayed on top of him for a long moment, chest heaving against Tommo’s back, cock twitching with the last weak spurts. Then he pulled out slowly, watching with dark satisfaction as a thick gush of his load bubbled out of Tommo’s wrecked, gaping hole and ran down the cleft.
He gave Tommo’s ass a hard, possessive slap and stood up, already pulling his shorts back into place.
“Clean yourself up,” he said flatly. “We’re done.”
Sessions like this meant Tommo could never really forget what this was. It was never about making Tommo feel good. It was always about Rhett’s own pleasure. Tommo was never left in any doubt about that. Rhett liked to remind him constantly: he was just a hole for Rhett’s pleasure. As a fag he had been born to get fucked by real men like him.
The truth was more complicated.
For all that Rhett was pushing this, Tommo also enjoyed it. Sometimes it hurt. Sometimes it was deeply degrading. But a lot of the time it felt incredible. That big dick smashing repeatedly against his prostate sent white-hot sparks through his whole body. He liked the taste of Rhett’s cock on his tongue. He liked being pinned down by his bigger, stronger former friend. He liked the heavy weight, the musky smell, the way Rhett took exactly what he wanted. Tommo wanted it bad.
There were still things he didn’t like.
Sometimes Rhett would bend him over the couch, head down and ass up, then cover his face with a pillow so he could barely breathe. Sometimes he would slap Tommo’s smaller dick hard with his own thick shaft, the sharp sting making Tommo flinch. Most of the time Rhett wouldn’t even allow Tommo’s cock to be uncovered at all. He certainly never let him touch himself while being fucked. The mere idea of it made Rhett feel sick.
Still, Tommo told himself it was worth it. Getting his pussy pounded on the regular was better than nothing. He had accepted what he was now.
Sadly things were about to change for the worse, and this new routine was going to be rudely interrupted.
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