Thursday came too fast and too slow at the same time.
The days between Saturday night at the police station and Thursday evening crawled by in a haze of shame and anticipation. I went to school. I came home. I jerked off thinking about Marcus's thick cock stretching me open, about Captain Hendricks's massive shaft choking me, about Derek's rough hands bruising my hips, about my father's voice groaning my name as he came.
I was so fucked up.
Dad had been in a good mood all week. The team had been practicing hard, running drills with military precision, and he was confident about the away game. Confident they'd win. Confident his boys would make him proud.
He had no idea one of his boys was going to spend the night getting fucked by his teammates.
The away game was in Millbrook, a town about ninety miles north. Small, rural, the kind of place where high school football was religion and men's rugby was a close second. The team would play at seven, then most of them would hit the local bar to celebrate or commiserate depending on the outcome. Dad had booked rooms at the Millbrook Motor Lodge for anyone who wanted to stay over rather than make the drive back late at night.
Marcus had texted me Tuesday afternoon. Just three words: "You're staying over."
Not a question. A command.
I'd texted back: "Yes, sir."
Now it was Thursday evening, and I was in the passenger seat of Dad's truck, my duffel bag in the back, my stomach in knots. The team had taken a bus, but Dad always drove separately so he could leave when he wanted. Usually I rode with him. It was one of the few times we spent alone together, and usually he'd talk about strategy or critique my performance as towel boy or lecture me about something I'd done wrong.
Today he was quiet.
I kept stealing glances at him as he drove. His hands on the steering wheel, thick fingers with calluses from years of rugby and manual labor. His forearms, covered in dark hair, muscles flexing as he shifted gears. His thighs, powerful and solid in his khaki pants.
I thought about Tuesday. About watching him in the shower. About the way his cock had looked, massive and hard, water streaming down the thick shaft. About the way he'd stroked himself, his hand moving in long firm strokes, his head tilted back in pleasure.
About the way he'd said my name when he came.
My cock was getting hard in my jeans, and I shifted uncomfortably, trying to adjust myself without Dad noticing.
"You okay?" Dad's voice cut through my thoughts.
I jumped. "Yeah. Fine."
"You've been quiet all week." His eyes stayed on the road, but I could feel the weight of his attention. "Something going on?"
"No, sir. Just... tired. School's been busy."
"Uh-huh." He didn't sound convinced. "You sure that's all?"
"Yes, sir."
We drove in silence for another few miles. Then Dad spoke again, his voice lower, more serious.
"Chance, if something was wrong... if someone was bothering you, or if you were in some kind of trouble... you'd tell me, right?"
My heart stopped. Did he know? Had Marcus said something? Had Derek?
"Of course, Dad."
"Because you know I'd protect you. No matter what. You're my son. That comes first."
The words should have been comforting. Should have made me feel safe.
Instead, they made me want to cry.
Because if he knew what I'd been doing, who I'd been doing it with, what I'd let them do to me... he wouldn't protect me. He'd disown me. He'd look at me with disgust and disappointment and tell me I was exactly what he'd always feared I was.
Weak. Feminine. Less than a man.
A faggot.
"I know, Dad," I said quietly. "Thank you."
He reached over and squeezed my shoulder, his hand heavy and warm. "Good. Just remember that."
We pulled into the Millbrook High School parking lot forty-five minutes later. The team bus was already there, guys unloading equipment and heading toward the locker room. I could see Marcus among them, his massive frame unmistakable even from a distance. He glanced toward Dad's truck, and even though I couldn't see his eyes clearly, I felt the weight of his gaze.
Felt the promise in it.
The game was brutal.
Riverside dominated from the opening whistle. Dad had them fired up, playing with a precision and aggression that left Millbrook scrambling. Marcus was a force of nature on the field, his size and strength overwhelming their defense. Derek played like a man possessed, throwing his body into every tackle, every ruck, like he was trying to punish himself through physical violence.
By halftime, Riverside was up by twenty points. By the final whistle, they'd won decisively, forty-two to eighteen.
The team was ecstatic. Shouting, chest-bumping, slapping each other's asses in that way straight guys did without thinking about it. Dad was grinning, actually grinning, clapping guys on the back and praising their performance.
I collected towels and water bottles, staying on the periphery, trying to be invisible.
Marcus found me anyway.
"Good game, huh?" His voice was casual, friendly, the voice he used when other people were around.
"Yes, sir. You guys played great."
"Your dad's in a good mood. Means the boys are gonna celebrate hard tonight." His hand landed on my shoulder, squeezing just a little too hard to be friendly. "You staying at the motel?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good." His thumb pressed into the muscle of my shoulder, finding a pressure point that made me wince. "Room twelve. Be there at ten. Don't be late."
He walked away before I could respond, leaving me standing there with an armful of dirty towels and a growing sense of dread.
The team showered at the school, then most of them headed to O'Malley's, the local bar that had apparently agreed to host the victory celebration. Dad went with them, telling me to get settled at the motel and that he'd be back later.
I checked into my room—room fourteen, right next to room twelve—and sat on the bed, staring at the wall.
It was eight-thirty. I had ninety minutes.
I should run. Should get in Dad's truck and drive home and never look back.
But I didn't.
Instead, I showered. Shaved. Made sure I was clean inside and out, using the small bottle of lube I'd hidden in my duffel bag. Put on clean clothes—jeans and a t-shirt, nothing special.
And waited.
At nine-forty-five, there was a knock on my door.
I opened it to find Marcus standing there, a large duffel bag in his hand.
"Come with me," he said.
I followed him to room twelve. He unlocked the door and ushered me inside, then locked it behind us.
The room was identical to mine—two double beds, a small TV, a bathroom, generic motel furniture. Marcus set the duffel bag on one of the beds and unzipped it.
"Strip," he ordered.
I pulled off my clothes with shaking hands, standing naked in the middle of the motel room while Marcus watched with those dark, calculating eyes.
"Good boy." He reached into the duffel and pulled out fabric. "Put these on."
I stared at what he was holding.
A cheerleader outfit.
Not a real one—this was clearly from a costume shop or an adult store. The skirt was short, pleated, in Riverside's colors of blue and gold. The top was a crop top that would barely cover my chest. And there were pom-poms.
"Marcus, I can't—"
"You can. And you will." His voice dropped to that dangerous quiet. "Unless you want me to call your daddy right now and tell him where you've been. Who you've been with. What you've been doing."
I took the outfit with trembling hands.
The top was tight, clinging to my slim frame, emphasizing how small and delicate I was. The skirt barely covered my ass, and when I moved, it rode up, exposing the lacy white panties Marcus had also given me. The panties were women's underwear, thin and delicate, with lace trim that felt obscene against my skin.
"Perfect," Marcus said, circling me slowly. "Absolutely perfect. You look like exactly what you are—a pretty little slut ready to service real men."
He reached into the duffel again and pulled out a mask. Not a full face mask—just one that covered my eyes and the bridge of my nose, like something from a masquerade ball. It was black, simple, anonymous.
"Put it on."
I did. The elastic band settled around my head, and suddenly I couldn't see as well, my peripheral vision blocked.
"Here's what's going to happen," Marcus said, his voice low and commanding. "I'm going to put you on the bed. You're going to wait there in the dark. When I bring someone in, you're going to keep your head down. You're not going to speak. You're not going to look up. You're going to do exactly what you're told. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"If you make a sound, if you look up, if you do anything I haven't told you to do, I will make sure your father sees the videos I have of you. I will make sure everyone in Riverside knows what his precious son really is. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good boy." He grabbed my chin, tilting my face up to look at him. "You're going to make me very proud tonight, Chance. You're going to show me just how much of a slut you really are."
He positioned me on my knees in front of the bed, facing the door. The lights were off, and when he closed the door, I was plunged into complete darkness.
I knelt there, my heart pounding, my cock already getting hard despite my fear. The lace panties were tight against my shaft, and I could feel precum starting to leak, dampening the delicate fabric.
I heard the motel room door unlock. Heard voices—Marcus and someone else. A man's voice, deep and familiar, but I couldn't place it through the door.
"—brought you a little reward," Marcus was saying. "For that performance on the field. You earned it."
"Marcus, what the fuck are you talking about?" The other man's voice was closer now.
"Trust me. You're going to love this."
Then the door opened, and light spilled in. I kept my head down like Marcus had ordered, staring at the headboard, my hands clasped in my lap.
"Holy shit." The man's voice was thick with surprise and arousal. "Is that—"
"A cheerleader," Marcus finished. "A very eager, very willing cheerleader who's here to celebrate your victory. And since you're the captain, you get first dibs. Like always."
Coach.
My blood ran cold.
Dad.
The man stepped into the room, and I could see his shoes—work boots, scuffed and worn. The same boots Dad wore to every practice, every game.
Oh God. Oh God, no.
"Marcus, this is—" Dad's voice was uncertain, conflicted. "I don't know about this."
"Come on, Coach. When's the last time you got your dick sucked by someone who actually wanted to do it? Someone young and eager and desperate to please you?"
There was a long pause. I could hear Dad breathing, could feel the weight of his gaze on me even though I couldn't see his face.
"The mask stays on?" Dad asked.
"The mask stays on. And she doesn't talk. Just does what she's told."
She. Marcus was letting Dad think I was a girl.
"Fuck," Dad breathed. "Okay. Okay, yeah."
The motel door closed, leaving us alone in the room. I heard Dad's belt buckle jingling, heard the rasp of his zipper.
"Look at you," Dad said, his voice rough. "On your knees like a good little slut. You know what you're here for?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"Then get to work."
His hand tangled in my hair, pulling my head up. I kept my eyes down, staring at his crotch as he pulled out his cock.
It was just as massive as I remembered from Tuesday. Eight inches soft, thick and heavy, uncut with that beautiful foreskin covering most of the head. His balls hung low and full, covered in dark hair that was graying at the edges.
My father's cock.
I was about to suck my father's cock.
"Open your mouth," Dad ordered.
I opened my mouth, and he pushed inside.
The taste was overwhelming—salt and musk and sweat and something uniquely him, something I'd never tasted before but that felt familiar in a way that made my stomach twist. His cock was so thick I could barely get my lips around it, and he wasn't even fully hard yet.
"That's it," Dad groaned, his hand tightening in my hair. "Suck that cock. Show me what that pretty mouth can do."
I sucked as best I could, my tongue swirling around the head, my lips stretched obscenely wide. His cock was getting harder now, swelling in my mouth, and I could feel it hitting the back of my throat.
"Fuck, you're good at this," Dad grunted. "How many cocks have you sucked, huh? How many men have used this mouth?"
I couldn't answer with his cock in my mouth, but I moaned, and that seemed to satisfy him.
His hips started moving, fucking my face with shallow thrusts. His balls swung forward with each movement, slapping against my chin, and I could smell him—that masculine scent of sweat and arousal that made my own cock throb in the lace panties.
"Gonna fuck you," Dad said suddenly, pulling his cock from my mouth. "Gonna bend you over and fuck that tight little pussy."
Pussy. He still thought I was a girl.
His hands grabbed my shoulders, spinning me around and pushing me forward. My hands braced against the headboard, my ass in the air, the short cheerleader skirt riding up to expose the lace panties.
"Fuck, look at that ass," Dad groaned, mattress dipping under his weight as he climbed up. His hands grabbed my hips, squeezing hard enough to bruise. "Perfect little ass just begging to be fucked."
His fingers hooked into the waistband of the panties and yanked them down to my knees. I heard him spit, felt the wetness hit my hole, and then his cock was pressing against my entrance.
"Wait—" I started, forgetting Marcus's order not to speak.
Dad's hand came down on my ass, a sharp slap that made me yelp. "Shut up. Sluts don't talk. They just take what they're given."
He pushed inside.
The stretch was intense, overwhelming, even after everything I'd been through in the past two weeks. Dad's cock was so thick, so long, filling me in ways that made me see stars. He didn't give me time to adjust, didn't care that I was gasping and whimpering. Just kept pushing until he was buried to the hilt, his balls pressed against mine.
"Fuck yes," Dad groaned. "Tightest pussy I've ever had. Better than my wife ever was."
He started fucking me hard and fast, his hips slamming against my ass, his cock driving deep with every thrust. The entire room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, my muffled moans, his grunts of pleasure and the squeak of the mattress.
"Take it," Dad growled, his hands gripping my hips so hard I knew I'd have bruises. "Take my cock like the slut you are. This is what you're good for. This is all you're good for."
His words should have hurt. Should have made me feel degraded and worthless.
But they just made me harder.
My cock was dripping precum, making a mess on the sheets in front of me, and I was so close to coming just from the feeling of my father's cock inside me, from the degradation and the wrongness and the overwhelming pleasure of it all.
"Gonna cum," Dad grunted. "Gonna fill this pussy up. Gonna breed you like the whore you are."
"Please," I whimpered, forgetting again that I wasn't supposed to speak.
Dad's hand came down on my ass again, harder this time. "I said shut up!"
His other hand grabbed the back of my neck, pushing my face down against the stale pillow, holding me in place. His full weight came down on top of me, crushing me, his chest pressed against my back, his hips still pistoning into me with brutal force even as his knees squeezed my legs together and tightened my hole around him.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Could only feel the overwhelming weight of him, the massive cock splitting me open, the heat of his body against mine.
"Take it," Dad snarled in my ear, his breath hot against my neck. "Take all of it. Take my cum like a good little cumslut."
His cock swelled inside me, getting impossibly thicker, and then he was coming. I could feel each pulse, each rope of cum flooding my insides, so much of it that it started leaking out around his shaft, running down my thighs.
Dad kept thrusting, kept cumming, until finally he collapsed on top of me, his full weight crushing me into the mattress. I couldn't breathe, couldn't move, could only feel his cock still buried inside me, still pulsing with the aftershocks of his orgasm.
After what felt like an eternity, he pulled out. I felt his cum gush out of me, running down my legs, dripping onto the sheets.
"Fuck," Dad breathed, his voice satisfied as he climbed off the mattress. "That was incredible. Best fuck I've had in years."
He pulled up his pants, buckled his belt. I stayed bent over the counter, my legs shaking, my father's cum leaking out of me.
"You stay here," Dad ordered. "Don't move. Don't make a sound."
He opened the motel door, and I heard him talking to Marcus without bothering to close the door.
"That was fucking amazing, Marcus. I don't know where you found her, but damn."
"Glad you enjoyed it, Coach." Marcus's voice was amused. "She's here for the team. Thought the boys deserved a reward for that performance tonight."
"They definitely do." Dad laughed, and the sound made my stomach twist. "Let them have their fun. She can handle it."
"You sure? You don't want to keep her to yourself?"
"Nah. I got what I needed. Let the boys have their turn."
I heard the motel room door open and close. Dad was gone.
And I was still here.
Still sprawled on the bed, my father's cum dripping down my thighs, wearing a cheerleader outfit and a mask.
The motel door opened again. Marcus stepped inside, his phone in his hand, recording.
"Well, well," he said, his voice thick with satisfaction. "That was quite a show, Chance. Your own daddy just fucked you and didn't even know it."
I couldn't speak. Couldn't process what had just happened. I finally pushed myself up, turning to stare at him.
"And now," Marcus continued, "the rest of the team is going to have their turn. Your daddy just gave them permission. Told them you could handle it."
"Marcus, please—"
"Please what?" He grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. "Please stop? Please let you go? You know that's not going to happen. You're ours now, Chance. You're the team's cumslut. And you're going to service every single man who walks through that door."
He released my hair and stepped back. "Stay on your knees. Keep your head down. Don't speak unless you're spoken to. And remember—if you fuck this up, if you make me look bad, your daddy sees everything. The videos of you with me. With Derek. With Captain Hendricks. With him."
The motel door closed, leaving me alone in the darkness again.
I could hear voices outside. Multiple voices. Men laughing, talking, the sound of beer bottles opening.
The team was here.
And I was about to service all of them.
Then the door opened.
"Holy shit," a voice said. Tom Brennan, the plumber. "Marcus, you weren't kidding."
"Told you," Marcus said. "She's all yours. Do whatever you want."
Tom stepped into the bathroom, and the door closed behind him.
I kept my head down, staring at the floor, my father's cum still leaking out of me.
This was happening.
This was really happening.
And there was nothing I could do to stop it... Even if I wanted to.
Author Note: Thanks for the feedback; feel free to keep it coming. Sorry it took so long, wanted to get a couple more chapters pounded out before I posted, and work got the best of me. I've got a couple more chapters prepared and ready, but not sure if I should go for a regular schedule (weekly? twice weekly?) or just drop daily as I write out a series of chapters. Also have other works I'm planning on publishing here. At the suggestion of some of the people that emailed me, I set up a way to tip: ko-fi.com/velvetmafioso
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