The Village
by Lil Guy
31 May 2023 3839 readers Score 9.7 (73 votes) PDF Mobi ePub Txt
Reader discretion is adviced, this story contain graphic content depicting violence and rape which may not be suitable to all readers. This is a fictional story and do not portray real events or real persons.
The Village 4
Author’s Note: I get a lot of feedback and appreciation for my positive and happy stories. In this series I’ll attack some darker subjects. Not all stories will be positive, and not all endings will be happy. This chapter is a little darker than usual… read at your own risk and let me know your thoughts.
Taylor’s Perspective
Between the fat cock lodged deep down my throat, and the hands pulling my longish dusty blonde hair so tight it felt like it was going to leave my head, things were getting a little rough. But that was no surprise, he warned me upfront he might get a little rough in fact he paid me an extra hundred bucks for it. My eyes were watering and slobber was seeping out the sides of my mouth as he forced himself deeper. With two handfuls of my hair, he steadied my head and started to face fuck me hard. My nose was smashing into his pelvis and his full, low hanging nuts were slapping against my chin with each mighty thrust. I didn’t even know the name of the older daddy pummeling my face but that didn’t really matter. All that mattered was the wad of cash sitting on the nightstand waiting for me when he was done. That’s why I was there.
I’d been turning tricks since I was about sixteen and this one was pretty easy. The guy was visiting Wilmington for business and staying at a Hotel on Wrightsville Beach over the weekend, saw my ad on a website, and hit me up. After a little back and forth of him telling me what he wanted and me telling him what it would cost, I borrowed Darius’s car and met the man at his ocean front hotel. Darius was one of the guys I was staying with, him and his partner Tommy were good guys and part of The Village… my Sponsors. They gave me a place to stay after I was raped, robbed, and had the crap beaten out of me in Atlantic City.
I had a shitty childhood, If I’m being totally honest, I didn’t really even have a childhood at all. My dad was a violent drunk, and one night when I was eleven years old, he came home drunk and ready to fight… as usual. My mother had a miserable existence and was tired of the abuse. She had had enough. Our bags were already packed when dad came home and she told him we were leaving. They got into a fight, a huge fucking fight, worse than any other (and some of their fights were epic). After about fifteen minutes of yelling and screaming, my mom called him a ‘useless fucking drunk’ and turned to walk out the door with me right behind her. He went into a fit of rage… I mean an insane rage! I had seen him mad before but not like that (you know, now that I think about it, I had only seen him mad. He was a miserable human being). He looked around and saw a full bottle of whiskey sitting on the old, worn kitchen table next to a couple of empties he had polished off earlier that week. He grabbed the heavy bottle, wielded it above his head then brought it down hard on the back of her skull. I tried to go to her rescue and stop him from hurting her more, but he threw me hard against the wall. I got up and started to stumble towards my mother again, but I didn’t get very far before he grabbed me again and threw me against the wall a second time knocking me out. While I was out, he hit her in the skull several more times with the whiskey bottle, bludgeoning her to death. She bled out while I lay unconscious Just a few feet away. When I came too, I was in a hospital, my mother was dead, and my father had fled and was at large. My mother was murdered right in front of me, I’m thankful that I was unconscious for most of it, but I saw enough… enough to give my nightmares for the rest of my life and kill my spirit to live. I can’t describe the horror, and frankly I don’t want to… I relive it in my head every fucking day as it is.
The next couple of years were a blur, after a lengthy manhunt, my dad was caught and sentenced to life in prison, the trial was very public and I was a pariah. My grandmother took me in even though the poor woman was a mess after all that had happened. Long story shirt, she couldn’t accept the murder of her only child and eventually lost touch with reality and died of a “self-inflicted coma.” In other words, she killed herself with liquor and pills. I was the lucky one who came home from school to find her dead. So, there I was, thirteen, completely alone, in foster care, and traumatized beyond description. I didn’t talk much and when I did my words were mean and angry, I was miserable and made everyone around me miserable too. I was labeled a troublemaker and shuffled from foster home to foster home until I aged out of the system. Nobody wanted me, and frankly, I couldn’t fucking blame them. I heard one of my “foster moms” tell her husband I was “unlovable.” I didn’t exactly make myself easy to love… maybe I didn’t wanna be loved, I don’t know. The day I turned eighteen I was on my own and ill-prepared to handle life. With just a few weeks left before high school graduation, I decided to just disappear and start over. I was a shitty student and it was questionable if I was going to graduate anyway so I felt I had nothing to lose and everything to gain.
I left the Philadelphia suburbs and ended up in Atlantic City. I was homeless, hustling, and turning tricks for cash. You’d be amazed by the number of guys on the DL who’d pay good money to fuck a sandy blond twink. My looks served me well… with longish sandy blond hair, blue eyes, and a baby beard I had been compared to a young Jesus more than once. My body was naturally toned and dusted with hair to match the color of my mane. I was surviving and doing okay… until I wasn’t. I hooked up with the wrong trick.
I was just hanging out on the beach near the boardwalk like I did most evenings. It was a little cool out and I was fully dressed, lying down with my arms behind my head and my head propped up by the backpack that held my few worldly possessions. This older guy (they were all older guys), maybe forty-ish, came over, sat down on the sand next to me, and struck up a conversation. He was pleasant enough, had a good body, and a calming smile. As we talked, he found an opportunity to put his hand subtly on my thigh. After a few minutes he started moving his hand up and down my thigh and then started to tell me how much he wanted to fuck my little twink ass. His hand eventually made it up my shorts and gave my groin a squeeze. “I’ll pay” he said in a sultry voice as he looked down at the sand.
“Everyone pays” I responded then told him my price. He stood up, held out his hand and pulled me to my feet. I grabbed my heavy backpack and wordlessly followed him down the beach to his hotel. When we got to his room, he suggested I take a shower. It was obvious I hadn’t had one for a while and was a bit ripe. I sat on the toilet and did my best to clean myself out before jumping in the shower. The hotel was shabby and the shower was kind of grungy but the warm water felt great as it sprayed the street funk off my young, supple body. When I was clean, I wrapped a towel around my waist and walked into the bedroom. The guy was already naked and standing in the middle of the room.
“God damn you’re hot” he muttered under his breath. I cleaned up nice and I knew it. I smiled back it him. That was the last smile I would have on my face for a while. The guy grabbed me roughly and slammed me face first onto the bed as he ripped off the towel. I tried in vain to protest. “Shut the fuck up faggot” he grunted into my ear as he shoved my face hard into the rough, smelly bedspread. “I’m gonna fuck the shit outta you and you’re gonna take it you little fucking whore.” And he did. I’ll spare you the gory details, but he raped me. He raped me hard, and he raped me brutally. I may have consented to sex, but this wasn’t sex. It was rape. Period. Sex was consensual and pleasurable; this was just a painful outlet for some stranger’s sadism. At one point he had me on my back and was fucking me with a giant, and I mean giant dildo while he knelt at my side. He had one hand working the weapon in and out of me destroying my hole, while his other hand was on my neck choking me. I couldn’t fucking breathe and was squirming under him and pulling at his strong arm trying to get his hand off my neck. He finally pulled it off, made a fist, and used his it to punch me in the face. “I told you to fucking take it faggot. Is that too fucking hard for you to understand? Fucking take it!” The rest of the night was more of the same. When he was done (after what seemed like an eternity), he literally kicked me out and into the hallway with his foot. I was naked and my clothes were thrown at me as the door slammed. I pounded on the door begging him to let me in to get my backpack. He called security. I have no idea what he told them but they didn’t give a fuck about my side of the story and escorted me out a side door and threw me into an alley. My backpack with everything I had, including about $700 in cash was in his room. I stood there in that alley with nothing but the clothes on my back, I didn’t even have shoes. My wallet with my driver’s license and about eight bucks’ cash was still in my pocket, but that was it… the rest was gone. No one in that hotel would listen to a bloodied little street urchin like me, besides I didn’t even know what floor the guy was on much less the room number. Defeated, I found a dumpster a few feet away, curled up in a ball, and cried myself to sleep.
A cop found me in the middle of the night and woke me up. When he saw my battered face and the dried blood on my dirty clothes, he took me to the local hospital. He believed my story and followed up with the hotel, but his surface investigation hit nothing but dead ends. One of the male nurses at the hospital was sympathetic. He took special care of me while I was there and talked to me a lot. He asked a lot of questions, I was guarded with my answers but eventually broke into tears and told him enough for him to surmise I was gay, homeless, and had literally nothing and nobody. He made sure I was able to spend a couple of nights in the safety of the hospital. On my last morning there a social worker came by my room. I don’t know all the intricate details, but calls were made and the social worker somehow connected me with The Village. After I was cleaned up, the social worker (whose name I never learned) brought me some clean clothes and drove me to North Carolina where I’d be safe… and that’s how I came to live with my Sponsors Tommy and Darius. They fed me, put a roof over my head, and The Village found me a job. For the first fucking time in my life, I had a hope for a future. Finally.
I never thought I deserved the life I got and decided to get the life I thought I deserved.
The Village was helping me do that. I was saving my money (my counselor Seth saw to that) and hoped to get a permanent job and a place of my own soon, but damn everything is so expensive! The candle factory I was working at paid okay, but I needed more so I took out an ad on a rent boy type website. I was a little gun shy after Atlantic City, but the site let me vet these guys pretty well so I felt a little more in control. My pictures were hot and highlighted my best ASSet; I never showed my face. If anyone from The Village caught me, they could cut me off… the rules were few but clear, and one of the biggest was no engaging in illegal activity while in the program. But I knew my way around the law. I didn’t get paid up front, so it wasn’t really soliciting… right? Me and this daddy were just engaging in consensual sex (there was no rule against that, we were all adults), and maybe he gave me a few bucks as a thank you afterwards… nothing illegal about that. Plus, the pics in my ad were vague so they’d have a tough time proving it was me. I was sure I could talk my way out of it if I were to get caught, I’d done that my whole life. I’m a survivor.
When the nameless daddy finished face fucking me, he pushed me on my back. Even though he was a little rough, he kept checking with me to make sure I was okay. I didn’t feel threatened. He spent a little time licking my hole before he pulled out the lube (the expensive shit) to slicken my ass and open me. He expertly massaged my ass ring with his slick fingers as he looked into my eyes. I was enjoying the sensations, what’s the saying; “Choose a job you love and you will never have to work a day in your life”? I think Confucius said it. I don’t know, but at that moment the quote made total sense to me.
When he had me opened, he lined himself up and fucked me. I mean fucked me. He had warned me before we met that he liked it rough… this kind of rough I could handle. He fucked me with quick, hard thrusts, I felt beads of sweat dripping from his body onto mine and could smell the combination of his personal funk and man sex filling the luxurious hotel room. It was so fucking hot. I laid there basking in the pleasure of his wrapped tool pumping in and out of me, slightly bruising my pelvis with each thrust. I may be sexually active, but I wasn’t stupid. I was on PrEP and insisted on condoms… they almost always tried to talk me out of that, but PrEP didn’t protect me from everything. He fucked me hard, and after several minutes he pulled out, ripped off the condom, straddled my body and jacked off until he shot his load on my face. “WOO!” The man exclaimed as he rolled off me and laid by my side. “I want you to feed me your load he said. He just laid there while I straddled his chest with my cock pointed at his mouth jacking off. He didn’t offer to help by licking my nuts or sucking my cock, he just wanted my load and he was paying me well to produce it. I finally came and he put his mouth over the head of my cock and swallowed every drop. He kept licking, sucking, and cleaning me even after I went soft. My head was so sensitive and I winced with every lick… I think that turned him on even more. Once we were both done and he had gotten what he wanted he said, “there’s something for you on the nightstand.” I picked it up and subtly counted. There were three, one hundred dollar bills. We had agreed on two fifty but he obviously thought he got his money’s worth. We talked as I dressed, he told me he comes to town often and would like to look me up again. I agreed, knowing the guy probably had a wife at home and a couple of kids my age or older. It didn’t matter, it was business. In one hour, I made as much as I did for a half week’s work at the candle factory.
I got in Darius’s car and drove back to the apartment three hundred dollars closer to independence.
Seth’s Perspective
Holy shit! Zach looked amazing in his brighter than navy blue suit as he straightened his copper power tie getting ready to report for his first day of work. I came up behind him and put my arms around him with my chin on his shoulder while we made eye contact in the full-length mirror. “You look damn good Attorney Hall” I said. I was dressed in a nice pair of black dress pants with a white polo and a khaki sport coat.
“You Look pretty damn good yourself Executive Director Westin-Hall” he retorted. I was ready to start my first day of work in the new office. I had a busy day ahead of me with meeting the community, counselling clients, and reviewing resumes; we were looking to hire a social worker to help us compile and manage resources and keep on top of our cases and the paperwork. That would free me up for counselling, finding and managing funding, and connecting with the communities we served. I had already submitted a couple of grant applications and locked down some low hanging fruit (pun intended) like corporate sponsorships from The Resort (a 5-star gay resort that many of the people in my life were affiliated with) and a few other businesses our friends were connected with. I had a Zoom check-in with a couple of the board members at 9:00, I had Colton scheduled for our in-person counselling session at one, and Taylor at 4:00. I planned on spending my morning going business to business and getting to know our neighbors. Garnering community support had become a top priority after yesterday’s visit from the good church folk down the street.
We went down to the kitchen for breakfast, that’s when I realized that Petunia had disappeared. Brody had let her out earlier to play with Zoey and Jimmy in the pasture, she was making herself at home on BroMax Farm. We pulled together a quickie breakfast and the five of us staying at the house ate together. We talked about our plans for the day and ended the conversation with everyone wishing Zach good luck at his new job, and me good luck at my new office. I reminded Colton of our session in the afternoon before Zach and I kissed goodbye, got in our separate cars and headed to our new offices.
Other than finding the pamphlet for the church down the street hanging on the doorknob of our offices, the morning went well. My board check-in was uneventful (thank god). Although I knew all the board members well (some were friends, and a couple of them were even related to me), they wouldn’t hesitate to remove me if they thought it was in the best interest of The Village… that point was understood before I accepted the position, in fact I was the one who insisted on it. I’m here to do good and need to be held to a high standard. Anyway, after the meeting I went to the other offices and stores around our new headquarters and was welcomed with opened arms for the most part. There were several boutiques and other retail businesses located in the storefronts on the street level, I found several small offices that were home to Dr.’s lawyers, real estate agents, insurance agents, and a few other nonprofits on the floors above. I was greeted with interest and several questions as I introduced myself; I did my best to answer everything and invited our neighbors to the upcoming dedication ceremony. It was clear that we had several allies in the local business community. I even got a couple of cash and in-kind donations, and made several connections for future jobs for our clients. On the flipside I also got an earful about the church that had visited our offices the day before. The second I mentioned that our clientele was LGBTQIA most people were quick to warn me about them, especially the gay shop owners. The church didn’t have a lot of fans in the local business community.
Back at our new headquarters my first in-person session with Colton went great. He was the quintessential dream client. He appreciated everything and took full advantage of the opportunities in front of him. We set goals for our clients; they had to have so much money in the bank, they had to create a personal budget for when they were on their own, they needed to look for a job and a permanent home, and they were required to write a plan for the future with a couple of obtainable goals (some were as simple as “get a job that pays the bills”). We also charged small rent for the studio apartments upstairs so that they got used to paying bills. We had decided to give any rent back to the clients when they moved out (assuming they took care of the place), but we didn’t tell them that. Checking progress on these things were part of our required sessions. Colton was on top of all of all of it! Our sessions weren’t your typical therapy sessions, they were a combination of therapy and life coaching. The only thing that worried me about Colton was his deep yearning for a relationship with the family that discarded him; based on what he had told me it was clear he was setting himself up for heartache. I went through what he was dealing with when I was younger, I wanted a relationship with my parents so fucking bad it hurt, but after several one-sided attempts, I just gave up. The big difference between me and Colton was I had my brothers and sisters to get me through it… he had no one. He had a younger sister, but he had no contact with her or anyone else from home. The only one from his former life who even knew his whereabouts was his former boss from the restaurant, the man that took the initiative to connect Colton with us. Considering all he had gone through Colton was doing great.
Taylor on the other hand was a mess. The guy had been through unfathomable hell especially for someone of his age. His father murdered his mother with him in the room when he was just eleven, then he went to live with his grandmother who killed herself… he found her body. By thirteen the kid had seen horrors that none of us should ever see in a lifetime. At only nineteen he was guarded and jaded. I felt for the guy, I liked the guy, but I didn’t trust the guy as far as I could throw him (feel free to ask my husband, he’ll tell you I throw like a girl). Colton lied… wait that’s not fair, it was more like he avoided the truth. He was a master manipulator. One thing I learned from my mentor and first internship advisor Dr. Aarons was that liars were experts at manipulating words to avoid the truth, and that was Taylor. I was in regular touch with all Sponsors, including Darius and Tommy. We placed Taylor with them because Darius worked from home and was around a lot, and they had no one else in their home. They could give him extra attention. During my last conversation with them, Tommy told me that Taylor had left the house a few times late at night saying he was meeting friends but his story had a lot of holes in it. Darius told me that he was convinced Taylor had snuck out of the house while they were asleep at least once, and probably more. I kept an eye on each client’s bank accounts to ensure they were saving for the future and had a cushion when they left us. Taylor had saved every single penny from his paychecks from BroMax and a little more. He didn’t touch a single penny but he still had nice clothes, new shoes, and a cell phone. He had money coming in from somewhere. I had my suspicions.
During our session I decided to probe. “You’re doing a great job saving” I said. “You haven’t touched a single penny of your paycheck; it even looks like you’ve saved more than you make.”
He threw me a weak smile and a weak excuse, “yeah, Tommy and Darius pay for everything and give me spending money every once in a while, to help me out” he said trying to throw my off track, but I knew that wasn’t true.
“Taylor, I know that’s not true. Where are you getting the money from?” I asked. He was silent so I went in for the kill. “Are you turning tricks?” It was a bold question, but my end goal was his wellbeing so I took the risk.
“Seth,” he said with a feigned sincerity in his eyes… he was good at feigning sincerity. “I know the rules.” Another thing I had learned from Dr. Aarons is that when confronting a master liar, make sure they answer your questions. Taylor didn’t.
“You sure do” I retorted, “but you didn’t answer my question. Are you turning tricks?” the fake sincerity left his eyes when I called his bluff. He wasn’t sure how to answer… he knew better than to lie to me, however, he knew the truth could cost him his place in the program… the rules were clear.
Taylor thought for a while, then surprised me by telling the truth. “Yes” he said then looked down. “I’ve met a couple of guys and they…”
“Taylor” I cut him off, my voice was fraught with disappointment and concern. Shit! The guy almost got killed turning tricks before he came here. “What the hell were you thinking? You know that if you bring guys into your apartment while you’re living upstairs you put everyone here in jeopardy?”
“I would never do that Seth” he retorted, I wasn’t sure if he was lying or not. I had to remind myself that my job was to listen, question, and guide… not to judge. But I couldn’t help it, I feared he was putting himself in danger. He sensed the judgment in my expression, “Seth, it was just a couple of guys. I met them at their hotels and I knew they were safe… I wanted the extra money so I can stand on my own two feet faster. I finally have hope and I don’t want to fail.” He said with real sincerity this time. His heart was in the right place, but damn, he was taking a dangerous risk. I did my damnedest not to judge but to get him to think through the consequences. The room was silent for a couple of minutes. “So, what does this mean for me? Will I get kicked out of the program?” He asked, his voice shaking a little now.
“That’s up to the board, not me.” Our clients all understood that anything we discussed in our sessions could be discussed with other staff and board members of The Village and signed a waiver to acknowledge that understanding. We had a protocol for things like this. I had to alert the board and make a recommendation, they would likely honor it, but I wanted Taylor to worry… I wanted him to think… I wanted him to make smart choices and be safe. I wanted them all to be safe.
To be continued…