Date: Wed, 20 Jul 2005 01:23:30 +0200
From: Stray Kiwi <straykiwi@hotmail.com>
Subject: Rugby Thug

This story involves male-to-male non-consensual sexual activity.

If you are under 18 or are not interested in this topic, please do not
continue.

Oh, and if you want to lift this story for use on another site please ask me
. . . and ask me nicely . . .

Stray

straykiwi@hotmail.com

___________________________________________________________________

Rugby Thug

Neil'd spewed forth from some tin-pot rural high school and within two
weeks was running the school; well, at least he was running the fifth
form. He easily out-muscled every other muscle-head thug and his cocky
bravado guaranteed him a strong following. His dirty-blond hair, strong
jaw, thick corded neck, thick lips and crooked nose gave him the sort of
ruggedly handsome looks that had most of the girls - and a few boys -
dripping at the thought of him.

Including me.

He'd even managed to impress his way into the school's top rugby team. This
was an elite bunch of twenty testosterone-riddled morons who liked to throw
a ball around a muddy paddock in the middle of winter while trampling over
each other in spiked boots. They were allowed the privilege of wearing a
bright red uniform jersey - as apposed to the drab grey of the rest of us
plebs.

Neil, naturally, was the only fifth former in the entire history of the
school to be granted entrance into this hallowed sanctum. Such privileged
esteem was - until he came along - reserved for the senior sixth and
seventh formers.

He was a revelation! An outstanding sportsman! The most desirable creature
on God's earth . . .

And I hated everything about him.

Before he'd arrived I'd been moderately popular. I was strong academically
and artistically; I took leading roles in school productions, wrote for the
school newspaper and - almost as a `balance' - was a champion long-distance
runner. I freely associated with all sorts of people from all the `in'
groups. I had a wide circle of friends and I was having a blast!

As soon as Neil arrived, he labelled me a `poofter' and that was it.

His popularity was such that everyone blindly accepted his impression of me
and thus I was instantly ostracised.

Nobody wanted to associate with a Poofter.

I was out.

A figure of derision.

Ridiculed.

Dammit! Why label me with the epithet `Poofter' when I didn't know for
myself what that really meant?

Sure, I liked to sneak glances at Neil's dick in the changing rooms at the
end of PE. That magnificent coiled slab of manhood encased in white briefs.
Yeah, he'd strut around the place showing off his humpy, muscled body, his
fat, long schlong of a dick, and bragging about how he'd have three-or-four
girls every day at his previous school. How they'd beg to be fucked by him.
Laughing about how often he could cum.

"Yeah!

"Fuck!

"Ten times once!

"Fuckin' bitch she was!

"Squeeeeeeezzzed her fuckin' twat `til she milked me dry!"

The others in the changing room roared with laughter - eager to hear more
of his horny bullshit stories.

"Aaangh, nuthin' like that around here. Not this school. Bitches want it -
but they won't fuckin' give it . . . Not like Hanlen here!"

He pointed at me, calmly buttoning my shirt, and trying desperately not to
get excited by his leering, lecherous talk.

"Ha!

"Yeah, fuckers! If you're really horny, Hanlen'll give it up - but you'd
have to be fuckin' desperate!"

Ha-fucking-ha.

To make matters worse, I had to suffer the indignity of sitting directly in
front of this bullying, boasting muscle-head in four hour-long technical
drawing classes every week. He sat next to one of his thuggish underlings -
a muscular idiot named David Cleary - and I was forced to put up with
Neil's constant boastful barrage of how many girls he had screwed at his
previous school.

"Fuck! There was this one girl with a cunt so big you could put your head
in there and have a sleep!"

Cleary would giggle away at this bullshit, encouraging Neil even more.

"Yeah, I could screw her any fuckin' time I wanted - that bitch loved
having my dick slamming away inside her sloppy hole. I done her every lunch
hour for two weeks but, fuck it! it gets boring grinding away at the same
old hole all the time . . . Shit! Now I've got a hard-on . . ."

"Yeah?" giggled Cleary.

"Yeah . . . Shame to have to waste it. Should have some twat slut in every
class who'll look after big fat problems like this. Can't concentrate with
a fuckin' hard-on . . . Yeah - have some bitch who'll crawl under your desk
and suck you off whenever you fuckin' need it. Fuck! that'd be choice . . .
But there ain't no bitches around here who'll give up nothing. Except
faggots like Hanlen. Bet that little poofter would love to swing off the
end of my dick. Big fuckin' dick . . . Bet his tight little arsehole is
just twitching at the thought of me fucking him senseless. Fuckin' queer
bastard.  Look at him - sittin' there - pretendin' not to listen. Filthy
little faggot queer."

This sort of unprompted carry-on would really piss me off. He had no basis
for calling me a faggot, a poofter, queer. Yet somehow he'd managed to see
into the darkest recesses of my being.

Because he was right.

I longed to have physical - sexual - contact with other males.

But the oppressive atmosphere of the school turned that sort of burning,
natural desire into something dark and evil. Therefore, I never admitted my
sexual needs.

Not even to myself.

A bell sounded to mark the end of the class and the start of the lunch
hour.  A general hubbub of noise started - students packing away gear,
storing projects, last minute instructions from the teacher, the scraping
of chairs and the clamour for the door.

Outside in the hallway, amidst a confusion of swarming student bodies, a
strong hand gripped my wrist and yanked my hand behind my back.

"Still got that hard-on," growled an all-too familiar voice. "Know of any
pussy?"

Nobody noticed - or, at least, nobody cared to notice - one uniform-clad
student being manhandled by another into the small upper level boys toilet.
They were too intent on heading downstairs to retrieve lunch bags from
lockers, to swarm to the cafeteria . . .

The speed at which Neil propelled me into that room took me completely by
surprise. Cleary stood at the door - holding it open for us like some
grinning doorkeeper of hell. As he shut the door, Neil slammed me against a
wall, my arm twisted painfully behind my back.

"Let me make this clear," he spat into my ear, "I don't like filthy fuckin'
homos. You're all warped, twisted little shits, but - you could be useful."

"Fuck off . . ." I muttered against the pain of his hold on me.

"Oh, I'll be fucking all right," he growled, "but not `off'!"

At that moment the door to the bathroom opened and I heard people enter the
room.

"Fucking hell, Neil!" one of them exclaimed. "I didn't think you really
meant it!"

"Shut the fuck up," he replied. "I always mean what I say. You get the
rope, Inia?"

"Right here," Inia grunted.

Inia Whatarau was a quiet, unassuming Maori guy who was killing time until
he could legally leave school. He was the last person I would have thought
of to be involved in this sort of shit.

"Then let's get at it," Neil commanded.

A hand was shoved against my neck, pinning me to the wall as more hands
grabbed my arms; the rough rope cut into my flesh as my forearms were bound
together. A wad of fabric was stuffed into my mouth, more fabric wound
around head, covering my eyes. Duct tape held everything firmly, tightly in
place.

The small room was filled the with sound of breathing, of curses as I tried
to lash out against the violation, of chuckles and giggles, and of my own
throaty cries for help. I was desperate. I had no idea how many people were
in that room assisting Neil in this vile act, witnessing my rape.

I was lifted clear of the ground and carried a short distance before being
forced to kneel and lean forward. I felt the top of my chest come into
sudden contact with something hard, solid, cold: the air was different,
hollow . . . I was held firmly in place as more rope crossed tightly over
my shoulders, my head. The realization of what these bastards had done to
me occurred when I heard a sudden roaring rush and my face was drenched in
an onslaught of rushing water.

They had tied me down to the toilet, my face in the bowl, my arms firmly
tied behind my back.

The roaring of the water ceased but was replaced by the roaring of their
laughter - vicious, cruel, harsh.

"Fuckin' little faggot . . . bet he's just lovin' this!"

"Been dreeeeamin' about it!"

"Fuckin' little queer cunt!"

"What about it pussy boy? Had enough? Think we should let you go now?"

I screamed into my gag, Yes! For Christ's sake, let me go!

"But I still got me a fuckin' big ol' hard-on . . . You boys see any pussy
around here?"

"Only one pussy I can see, Neil . . ."

"Where? I can't see any pussy? You better show me me that pussy fuckin'
fast."

"It's right here . . . ."

I felt a pressure on my backside, then heard a ripping sound as someone
sliced the back of my pants and then ripped them open, exposing my naked
ass to everyone there.

"Yeah . . . Now that's a pussy!"

Someone pulled my butt-cheeks apart. I'd never felt this exposed before,
this used - or abused.

"Pretty pink pussy. Tight and sweet. . ."

I heard a wad of phlegm being hoiked up - and felt it land right on my
asshole.

"Yeah, this pussy's even drippin' at the thought of being pried open by my
fat log. Waddya reckon, pussy? Want me to rip you open? Wanna get fucked by
fat dick? Lotta girls get scared by the size of my dick - but they soon get
used to it . . . Think you're enough of a faggot to take it?  Huh?"

I said nothing. I wasn't exactly in a position to argue with him. Ropes cut
into my arms, my shoulders and head, feet or hands held my legs apart and
my exposed asshole was dripping with spit. Mentally I attempted to block
off everything that was happening - I tried to escape into my own mind: but
the harsh reality kept me there.

"Get it ready, Grant," Neil barked.

I tensed at the thought of what was about to happen - and was shocked by
the unexpected gentleness of something stroking my asshole. Light, gentle,
fluid, massaging strokes. "Grant" was licking my asshole - a sexual act I
had never even considered. I felt disgusted, invaded - and fuckin' turned
on!

"He's tight," purred an unknown voice(Grant? Who the hell was Grant?). "I
don't think he's been fucked before."

"That right, pussy? You still a faggot virgin? Fuck! You're gonna love
this!"

The stroking action at my asshole continued but the pressure increased,
getting deeper, swooping into my hole.

"Relax," purred the voice again, "Lean against the bowl, let that take your
weight, and push your asshole out, like you're taking a shit: it'll be
easier that way, less painful."

"Yeah, listen to your faggot buddy, he knows how to take dick. You're gonna
get fucked, pussy-boy!"

"Relax, push out . . ."

I tried to obey the voice and it seemed to help. I felt his fingers go
deeper into my hole - damn! It felt good! - stretching me open gently. But
all too soon I sensed a movement behind me as people swapped places. The
gentle, massaging fingers and tongue were replaced by something hard, blunt
headed, pressing at my asshole.

"This is it, faggot! You're finally gonna get dick up yer ass! My dick!
You're gonna get fucked, pussy boy! Fucked haaaaaaaard!!!"

I screamed into my gag at the burning, searing pain! It felt like a
goddamned knife had sliced its way up my ass and into my guts. Very muscle
in my body screamed with tension as I tried to clamp down against this
monster intrusion.

"Yeah! Take my fuck! You got all my fuckin' dick inside you, faggot! All
eleven fuckin' inches in one go! Yeah! Fuck!"

A voice near my ear whispered, "Relax - the good feelings are there too.
Concentrate on opening your hole. Push out . . ."

I tried to relax, tried to open my hole - but I couldn't ignore the intense
pain.

The monster in my asshole started to pull out, slowly, smoothly.

"Fuckin' tight hole! Tightest fuckin' pussy cunt I've ever drilled! You
boys are gonna love this one! YEAH!"

Just as I thought he was going to ease out me, he slammed his dick fully
into me again.

"FUCK! YEAH!"

Something happened inside me - inside my ass, my gut, my head. The pain was
still there but something else occurred - something good.

Neil started to pump me. He drew his massive dick out slowly, slowly, until
only the head remained inside me and then - whoooph! - slammed it back
inside me. Over and over he did this - a relentless, deliberate rhythm.

I knew it was wrong. Obscene. Violent. Vile.

But I starting groaning. Moaning with pleasure. Pleasure! This bastard was
raping me, using my body against my will in the foulest way possible - and
all I wanted was more.

I started babbling incoherently into my gag. Fuck me! Yeah! I'm taking dick
up my asshole and I love it! Keep fucking me! Don't stop! Please! Harder!
More!

Neil's thrusts grew more intense, faster, deeper. I heard his breathing
become less even, ragged.

"Fuckin' little faggot. . .  takin' dick up your ass. . . Oh, fuck! Fuck!"

He grabbed my hips and thrust deep, hard way into my guts and held it
there.

"FUCK! YEAH! YEEEEEAAAAAH!!!"

He remained perfectly still, his monster dick still deeply imbedded in my
asshole. I heard the others whooping with delight.

"Fuckin' A!"

"Yeah! Plant your cum up that little poofter, Neil!"

Eventually, Neil withdrew his dick - slowly, almost gently.

"Fuck! Look at that mess! Inia, your turn. I've loosened him up for you so
be careful you don't fuckin' fall out. You others can probably cut him
loose - he ain't goin' nowhere. Teach him how to use that faggot throat of
his - but keep the blindfold on for now. Grant! Get over here and clean up
my dick. Let's get into action, boys!"


********************************************************

When the bell rang to mark the end of the lunch break, I was left alone in
the boysroom. Every muscle in my body ached. I felt bruised and battered -
both inside and out. And I felt thoroughly satisfied.

Gingerly, I tore the blindfold from my head and blinked into the dim light
as I lay slumped, naked, against the wall.

The door opened and, before I could move to hide myself, a head appeared
around the doorway.

"I thought you might need your PE gear."

He threw a pair of shorts and a t-shirt at me.

"Now, get going, Hanlen. You've got a full-on session in the gym this
period!"

And with that the PE teacher, Mr Grant, quietly closed the door and left me
to get changed. . . .


Stray 2003 straykiwi@hotmail.com