Backstabbing
The next morning, Tommy woke up restless, his mind foggy, his cock painfully hard. He remembered Belial’s voice—deep, hypnotic, otherworldly. Was it real, or just a dream? Only time would tell.
He dragged himself to class as usual, but his focus was shot. His physiology professor—broad-shouldered, salt-and-pepper beard, that deep, commanding voice—made his pulse race. Authority. Even the male classmates during breaks stirred something in him: their scents, their rough laughter, the way their bodies moved. His desires were spiraling, guilt gnawing at him. Belial’s words echoed in his skull: "You won’t be able to hide who you are—from yourself or others."
For the first time ever, he walked out of class early.
Meanwhile, Riccardo and Marco woke up refreshed.
Riccardo had a secret Tommy couldn’t even imagine.
For over a year, he’d been secretly seeing Francesca—Tommy’s girlfriend. She’d met Riccardo during one of her visits to their place, and what Tommy couldn’t give her, Riccardo could. A real man. Straight. Assertive. The kind who took what he wanted. Francesca craved that. She cared for Tommy, but their relationship had turned brotherly. The sex was fine, but passionless. She knew Tommy fucked her out of duty, not desire. Riccardo’s 9-inch cock and raw masculinity, though? That left her satisfied.
That morning, Riccardo had breakfast at 10:30 AM with Marco, who was skipping his biology lecture. Marco studied biology but wasn’t in the mood for class today. Alone in the apartment, Riccardo leaned in.
"We need to show Tommy his place," he said, stirring his coffee. "I know it sounds harsh, but he’s a submissive little faggot. He won’t admit it to himself, but he’d be happier if he embraced it. Look, I’ve been fucking Francesca for over a year. We’re good together. I’m done hiding. Tonight, we tell him the truth—about us, and about him."
Marco nearly choked on his latte. "Are you fucking serious? The poor guy was a mess last night! You wanna traumatize him? That’s too much—" His words trailed off as his own 8-inch cock twitched. Not because he was attracted to Tommy—he was straight—but the idea of dominating him, of putting him in his place, sent a thrill down his spine.
Riccardo cut him off. "Listen, I care about him too. But keeping this from him is worse. I’m stabbing him in the back by fucking his girl, and I’m not living my life with Francesca the way I want. And Tommy? He’s never gonna accept being a submissive fag unless we make him. He’d be a fabulous slut—successful in the gay world. But left alone? He’ll end up with the wrong people. We’re his friends. Yeah, okay, I like the idea of breaking him a little—maybe I’ve got a sadistic streak—but I still care. I don’t wanna ruin the friendship. It’s risky, but if we play it right, it’ll help all of us. We get a grateful little house slave, and I get to live my life with Francesca. Win-win."
Marco hesitated. Then, slowly: "…Okay. You’re right. We’d be hypocrites if we kept pretending. I trust you. I’ll call him around noon, ask him to help me study. He’ll say yes—he never says no when someone needs him."
Francesca, who like Tommy was in med school, was in class when Riccardo’s call came in. She slipped out, annoyed. "I’m in lecture! What’s so urgent?!"
Riccardo’s voice was smooth, teasing. "Baby, tonight I wanna fuck you right here on our couch—first thing Tommy sees when he walks in. No more hiding. We all know Tommy’s gay. Heard him admit it last night, crying in his room. Time to rip off the band-aid. He deserves to be free. And we deserve to live our truth."
Francesca’s stomach twisted, but her pussy throbbed. "You’re insane! You wanna destroy him?! I care about him—"
"And I care about you," Riccardo interrupted. "We’re killing him by sneaking around. Tonight, we end it. You’re in, right? 6:30 PM. Our place."
Francesca exhaled, torn between guilt and arousal. "…Fine. You’re crazy, but… okay. I trust you."
At the same time, Marco called Tommy.
"Hey, man—need your help," Marco said, keeping his voice casual. "Signal transduction cascades are kicking my ass. I know you’re in class, but skip one lecture, come to the library with me. You’ll ace the exam anyway. We’ll grab dinner after—Francesca’s coming too. Riccardo’s setting up a group thing at our place tonight."
Tommy smiled. "Yeah, sure. I’ll text Francesca and meet you at the library."
By coincidence, Tommy and Francesca left class at the same time.
"You too?" Tommy asked, seeing her on the phone.
"Riccardo called," she said, forcing a smile. "Group dinner tonight. Sounds good!" She kissed his cheek and left.
Tommy headed to the library.
The afternoon passed quietly.
At 6:30 PM sharp, Francesca arrived at the apartment. Riccardo was waiting. He pulled her into his arms, voice dark with lust. "Fuck, I’ve been wanting to rail you right here on this couch—first thing Tommy sees when he walks in. My cock buried in you while you moan for me."
Francesca didn’t argue. She just grabbed his bulge.
At 7:00 PM, Tommy and Marco walked in. They hung up their jackets, kicked off their shoes, and headed to the living room—
—where Riccardo was fucking Francesca on the couch.
Tommy froze. Petrified.
Francesca’s face flickered with guilt for a second, but she couldn’t stifle her moans.
Riccardo pulled out, standing up with his 9-inch cock still hard, glistening. "Hey, Tommy! Sorry for the lack of discretion. We figured it was time for a coming out—ours and yours. Francesca and I? Been fucking for a year. And we all know you’re gay. Heard you whispering it last night, tears and all. You’re a book with a neon sign, buddy."
Tommy’s face burned. He wanted to deny it—but Riccardo was right. His eyes were glued to that cock.
Marco stepped forward, his own 8-inch erection tenting his pants. "Come on, man. I know it’s a shock, but deep down? You’re relieved. You’re free now."
Tommy’s voice cracked. "How could you—? I thought you loved me!"
Francesca approached, gentle. "Tommy… I’m sorry. I do love you. Just not in love. You don’t love me either—you fuck me out of obligation. But Riccardo? He sees me. And now we’re seeing you."
Riccardo took over. "Alright, Phase Two. You’re obviously a submissive little slut who gets off on serving. Last night proved it. So—kneel. Right now. Strip. Let’s see that pathetic cock of yours. Bet it’s hard already."
Tommy’s mind screamed no—but his body obeyed. He knelt, trembling as he pulled down his pants. His cock was hard.
Riccardo smirked. "Damn. Nice dick—almost as big as mine. Pity it’s useless."
Tommy felt exposed. Humiliated. And free.
Francesca’s voice softened. "Now, Tommy… jerk off. Give yourself your first orgasm as a free man… I mean… free faggot."
Marco added, stroking his own cock, "Come looking at your Masters’ real dicks. Come knowing you’re our pathetic little slut. And when you finish, thank us for letting you."
Tommy’s hand moved almost on its own. The words spilled out as he came: "Thank you, Masters… Mistress… for letting me come… I’m your submissive faggot… I need to serve…"
Belial’s grin flashed in his mind—as if he were there too.
Then the horror hit. The guilt. "Oh God, what have you done to me?! I’m ruined… possessed… a freak…"
For once, the three dropped their dominant acts. Francesca was the first to speak. "Tommy… you’re not wrong. You’re beautiful like this. My pussy’s soaked watching you let go for the first time. Pathetic? Maybe. But real. And sexy as hell. I still care about you—just in a new way."
Riccardo added, "Look, I’m not into you like that. But breaking you? Watching you embrace your truth? Hot. Doesn’t mean I don’t give a shit about you. You’ve always served us—cooking, cleaning, helping. Now you’re just doing it honestly. Win-win."
Marco ruffled his hair. "Now lick up your cum. Good sluts don’t waste."
Tommy obeyed. Marco patted his head. "Good boy."
Riccardo clapped his hands. "Alright, pizza time! You’ve earned a break, slave. Tonight, we cook."
They ordered pizza. Tommy, still shell-shocked, curled up on the couch between them as they watched Netflix.
Francesca murmured, "You’re ours now. Our little faggot. Our puppy. But you’re still our friend."
Marco added, stroking his hair, "And we’re gonna give you all the humiliation that you need to become a perfect faggot slave… but we’re also gonna protect you." Riccardo chimed in saying “yeah… you may be a fag… but you’re still Tommy, never forget that… we love you, little slut”.
Tommy’s body relaxed. The knot in his stomach unraveled, and for the first time, he felt accepted—truly seen. He exhaled and he whispered, "I’m going to Hell for this… might as well enjoy it."
They all laughed.
Later, as Tommy dozed off, exhausted, Riccardo, Marco, and Francesca exchanged glances—equal parts tenderness and mischief.
"Well… that went better than expected."
