Date: Sun, 10 Oct 2004 00:54:19 EDT
From: ArtHill579@aol.com
Subject: "Carried Away" Part 12

Disclaimer: This story is basically a fantasy involving humiliation, mild
violence, and sexual activity between young men. If you find such material
offensive or in violation of the laws of your state/country, please don't
read any further. Remember to practice safe sex: this story is a fantasy in
which STDs don't exist!

(c) Art M. Hill ArtHill579@aol.com All rights reserved (2004).
If you enjoy this story, please email me.

Please support Nifty Archives.

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

"Damn!" I thought to myself. Bob had just told me he was double-dating with
a buddy by the name of Greg Foster. Next thing I find out is that he's Chris
Foster's older brother (Duh!). I would say that things were starting to get
more complicated than I thought possible. It doesn't take much of a brain to
realize that if I found out who Chris' brother was, he could find out who mine
was. If Chris was around when Greg and Bob got there with their dates and his
brother introduced his friend as `Bob Stanton' . . . well, let's just say there
was no telling what Chris might say or do. Whatever it was, I was sure it
would be bad news for me.

After turning down Bob's invitation, I was like a caged animal. I had to get
out. Well, I did say I was going to Allen's house, so I decided to call him.
Allen wasn't home at the moment, according to his mom, who promised to let him
know that I called when he got back. I decided to go out for a ride, and ended
up stopping at the video store. I didn't see much that I was interested in,
but still picked up a couple of action flicks (one of which I had already
seen). When I got back into the car, I rolled down the windows to enjoy the cool,
late afternoon air.

As I was driving home, a motorcycle pulled along side me when I was stopped
at a traffic light. The biker, crowding my lane, turned to look at me. His
visor was tinted so I couldn't see his face. Was it Nick, or maybe one of his
buddies from the bar? As the biker continued to stare, I began to perspire and
looked straight ahead. He gunned his engine, as if trying to get my attention.
But just then the light turned green, and he pulled quickly ahead of me and
disappeared down the road.

When I got home with the videos I was still preoccupied with the biker. Who
was it? The cycle had looked kind of like Nick's, but I couldn't be sure. Was
I getting paranoid or what?

As soon as I closed the door, mom told me that Allen had returned my call.
Then I ran into Bob as I was going up to my room. He was on his way out to pick
up his date. "Last chance to come with us, Davey. I'm sure that between Greg
and me we can fix you up with a decent chick. How about it?"

"Ah, maybe another time, Bob," I said. "Allen just called and I'll probably
be going over there for a while after dinner."

Bob looked strangely at me for a minute. Then he shrugged and said. "Suit
yourself."

I didn't have much of an appetite when supper came around. Between my
thoughts about Bob going over to Chris' house and the mysterious cyclist I had seen
earlier, my stomach was not in very good shape. Mom noticed.

"Hey, I made one of your favorites, lasagna. We usually have to fight you to
get any of it ourselves," she teased. It was true: I usually ate about half
the pan, but tonight lasagna just wasn't the main thing on my mind. I nibbled at
it half-heartedly and then pushed the plate away.

I excused myself, announcing that I was going to return Allen's call, and
that I would probably go over there for a while.

"Ya know, Davey," dad interrupted, "I like Allen a lot, he's a great kid,
but a never hear you talk about anyone else. Do you have any other friends that
you hang out with?"

My anger flared up. I was about to say that I was an adult and that it was no
one else's damn business who I hung out with. But I decided to bite my
tongue. "Sure I do dad. It's just that Allen and I share a lot of the same
interests and we're close buddies. Is that okay with you?"

Apparently dad heard the edge in my voice and decided to back off. I was more
convinced than ever that the quicker I could get out of my parents house, the
better.

As I was leaving, mom said: "Speaking of friends, I forgot to tell you: a
Christopher Foster called for you right before Allen did."

"Chris Foster?" I asked. "What did he want?"

"I'm not sure," mom said, a bit confused by my reaction. "He left his
number and said to call him."

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

"Hey Davey-boy" said Chris when I called him. "Sorry you didn't feel well
yesterday. I had to call up Nick Moran for a ride into school. By the way,"
Chris added, "he sends his regards. I could clearly hear the sarcasm in his voice.

"That's good, Chris," I said, relieved that he wasn't pissed off at me. "
What can I do for you?"

"Got a favor to ask." It sounded more like an order than a request. "I need
to borrow your car tonight. I'm gonna hang out at the mall with some of the
guys to see if we can score with any chicks, and I need a pair of wheels that
are half-way decent.

(It was a school night, but I'm sure that, most of the time, football and
girls were the main things on Chris' mind. Actually, I kind of envied him: it didn
't seem like his folks put any restrictions on him. Besides, anyone so damn
good-looking probably had very little trouble `scoring with chicks'.)

"But what about your pick-up truck?" I said. "Didn't you get it fixed yet?"

"Nope," he said, "And I ain't got time to argue with you. I wanna get movin'
 in half an hour, so get your tail over here now!"

"Chris, I can't lend you my car, my insurance won't cover it if you get into
an accident." I said, not really being truthful, but trying to keep
everything cool.

"Fuck that," he said, getting an edge to his voice. "Get over here now or
that cold shower you got in the locker room the other day is gonna feel like a
spring rain."

I didn't knew the guy was so literary, but I got the point. When I thought
about the whole football team at school ganging up on me again, I caved. Then I
thought about how I would get home after I dropped the car at Foster's place.
I doubted very much if he would drive me back home, so I threw my bike in the
trunk. Then I was off, silently cursing the mess my cock had gotten me into.

Speaking of my cock, it began to act up on the way over to Chris' house. I
also felt that familiar knot in my stomach that signaled I was being directed by
my gonads. Chris was increasing his domination over me by ordering me not
only to be his chauffeur, but actually to lend him my most valuable (at least for
now) possession. When I thought about it like that, my cock got rock hard. I
could feel it dripping pre-cum in my briefs. He was, no doubt, starting to
enslave me, playing not only on my fear but also my desire. I think he knew well
that I had the hots for him and took full advantage of it.

About half way over to the Fosters' I had a thought that caused my cock to
wilt. What if Bob was still there? True, he had left a good hour earlier, but
what if he and Greg decided to relax and have a beer before they left for their
dates? Well, it was too late to think about that now. Hopefully, I could slip
in and out real quick, grab my bike and take off.

When I got to Chris' I took the bike out of the car, leaned it against the
side of the house, and then walked up to the front door, dreading who might open
it. I sighed in relief when Chris stood there grinning. I heard voices coming
from the other room and one of them sounded like Bob's.

"Here you go, Chris," I said. "When are you gonna be back?"

"Don't know, dude," he said. "But don't worry, I'll give you the keys when
I see you in class. By the way, ya wanna meet my big brother Greg? He and
some other dude are gonna double-date. They'll probably come back here later and
fuck the bitches."

"Ah, that's okay, Chris," I said, trying to maintain a steady voice. "Maybe
some other time."

"Shit, Stanton," Chris said, "you're always such a pussy." With that he
grabbed the keys and slammed the door in my face.

Because of my fear of seeing Bob, I never mentioned to Chris the fact that,
with him using my car, I had no way to get to school the next day. I laughed
unexpectedly when I thought that I might be hitchhiking to school myself. I
figured, though, that if I started out early, I could take my bike and be there in
time for first period.

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

Talk about irony. The next day was rainy and cold (like the first time I
picked up Chris). Even though I wore my waterproof jacket, I was soaked by the
time I reached the campus. When I passed by the entrance to Chris' house, I was
tempted to stop by and see if my car was there, but I didn't want to get any
wetter than I already was. I had almost arrived at school when Chris drove by in
my car with no sign of stopping. He even honked the horn and almost ran me
off the road as he sped by. That cocky bastard!

I waited all day to get my car keys back from Chris. Finally after last
period he draped a well-muscled arm around me and said: "Okay, dude, here's the
keys, let's roll."

The first thing I noticed when we got to the car was a very noticeable dent
in the bumper. "What happened to the car, Chris?!" I said in shock.

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about . . . oh, you mean the
dent. Well, I'll tell you. There was a whole bunch of us that got together and
some dude had some beer. We all got buzzed, and when I backed out of my parking
space I hit this damn car parked behind me. Shit, was I pissed off."

"Damn, Chris," I said, "I've kept my car in good condition for almost three
years. You take it for one night and you give it back to me with this big
dent."

"What's the big deal, man, you got insurance don't ya?"

"That's not the point, Chris," I said, starting to boil inside. "If you
borrow something from someone you take care of it."

"Careful, Stanton," he shot back. "You're starting to piss me off."

"I don't give a damn!" I said, my anger rising for the first time at the way
Chris had been treating me. (Yeah, he was good-looking and I was attracted to
him, but hey: I liked my car too!) "I want you to pay for the damage."

"Oh, you want me to pay for the damage, do you pussy? You just try and make
me," he threatened.

That was it. I jumped at him, trying to tackle him. I forgot that he was used
to being tackled! He stepped easily out of my way and suddenly I was flying
through the air at nothing. As I sailed past him he brought up his knee hard
and fast, catching me right in the gut. I landed flat on my face clutching my
aching stomach.

"That's what you get when you come after me, cunt. Now get up, I'm not
finished with you!"

I rolled over on my back, struggled to my feet, and charged him again. The
results were not much different than before. This time he didn't even move, and
when I hit him it was like hitting a brick wall. He put me in a headlock,
wrestled me to the ground, and sat on my back. Then he grabbed my arm, twisted it,
and pushed it up toward my shoulder blade. Damn did that hurt!

 "Now you listen to me, motherfucker! From now on you're gonna do exactly
what I say, whenever I say it. Your gonna lend me your car, your gonna write my
term papers for class, and, if I say so, you're gonna give me and my buddies
all the blow jobs we want. You got that?"

"No!" I said, struggling to break loose, my anger about the car momentarily
taking away my fear of Chris' superior strength. I bucked upward and Chris
fell off me, landing hard on his ass. I could hear the surprised "Oof!" he made.

He quickly recovered himself, however, and crashed back down on top of me.

 "You fuckin' little punk!" he shouted He grabbed my arm again and put even
more pressure on it until I was sure it would break

"Okay, okay," I said almost crying from the pain. "I promise to do whatever
you say. Please Chris let me go, UHHHHHH, you're gonna break my arm!" The
pressure eased slightly without stopping all together.

"You better fuckin' mean what you say. The next time I'll break your arm for
sure." He grabbed a fistfull of my hair, lifting my head off the ground.
"Understand?"

"Yeah, Chris, I understand," I grunted, sighing with relief as he let go of
my arm. It had almost gone numb.

"Good," said Chris, whose mood seemed to change almost immediately as he let
go of my hair. "Now take me home . . . Wait," he chuckled, "I guess I better
drive. I don't think your arm will be working too well for awhile."

But Chris had sat on my back a moment too long. As the pain eased, I began to
feel his crotch lodged against my spine, his tight ass pressed against my
lower back, and his muscular legs squeezed tight against my sides, which he had
done for leverage while he was twisting my arm. Now I felt the warmth radiating
from his hard body, planted on top of me, and my cock began to inflate, even
though it was crushed under me on the ground. Chris began to lift himself off
me, and I found myself almost disappointed. Now I had to try and cover my cock
so he didn't realize that his contact with me had turned me on. If he saw me
like that he'd probably break both my arms.

Luckily his attention was distracted for a moment by a couple of good looking
chicks who smiled at him as they walked by. They ignored me even though I was
lying on the ground, but that was okay since it gave me a chance to adjust my
cock as I struggled to my feet.

"Shit, I gotta get me a piece of that," he said to no one in particular.

When I got into the car I was hit immediately by the smell of beer and
smokes. The ashtray was overflowing. Several crushed beer cans littered the
passenger side. God knows what went on in my car last night. I would find out soon
enough. When we got back to Chris' place he hopped out. With hardly a pause he
said: "Oh, by the way, Stanton, make an extra set of keys and give them to me. I
wanna have my own set when I need to use the car."

I was tempted to argue with him again, but my arm was still aching and I didn'
t want him to start in on me again. "Okay," I said, "I'll take care of it."

"You better," was all that Chris said as he walked up the steps to his house
and slammed the door behind him.

It had just sunk in that Chris spoke about getting a set of keys to `the car'
 rather than to `your car' . . .

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

When I got home I decided to take a good look at my car to see if there was
any other damage. In the light of the garage I could now see on the car
exterior not only the dent in the bumper but a long, thin scratch on the driver's
side that hadn't been there before. It looked like somebody had `keyed' the left
hand side of the car. When I opened the back door and looked inside it was
worse than I imagined. There I was hit not only with the smell of cigarette
smoke and beer, but with the pungent smell of sex. The floor of the back seat was
littered with beer cans, some of which had spilled, leaving sticky marks all
over the carpet. Three used condoms were also on the floor, adding to the mess.
I was also shocked to see cigarette burns on the upholstery of the back seat.
Some asshole had also crushed out several cigarette butts on the floor. It's
a wonder it hadn't caught fire. As it was, the car was a disaster.

Once again my anger flared up, but almost immediately my cock started to
flare up too, as I looked at the condoms. I was consumed by an overwhelming desire
to take the used rubbers and bring them to my room, not knowing at the moment
what I was going to do with them. I felt ashamed by such a perverted desire,
and I debated throwing them immediately in the garbage along with the empty
beer cans. But in the end I took them, looking guiltily around to make sure nobod
y was watching. I decided to get up early the next day and try to get the
stains out of the carpet in the car. As for the burns, I would try to get some
tape or something, and try to match the color of the upholstery as close as
possible.

Mom and dad were watching the news when I came in. I quickly said `hello'
and then made for my room. I don't think they would've been too happy if they
saw me carrying used condoms. I was trying to hide them under my jacket.

When I got to my room I carefully tied off the condoms so that their contents
would not drip out. Then I went to the bathroom to take a shower, the whole
time thinking about the condoms lying on my night table. When I was finished
washing up, I hopped into bed and turned on the TV. As I was watching I tried to
ignore the condoms just inches from my face, but the effort was futile. I
could smell them--probably the dried pussy juice coating the outside--and my
thoughts turned to what it might be like to suck them and even drain out their
contents. The next moment I almost heaved at the thought, but decided I wanted to
try it. My cock started hopping around and I almost orgasmed.

I almost tore off my tee, picked up the three condoms and lined them up on my
bare chest. They looked liked three little cocks pointed directly at my face.
I could see that the rubbers were stretched out and that the tips were an
off-white, which became almost transparent near the base. I slowly opened the
center one while draping the other two over my nipples. This caused my cock once
again to get rock hard and start to drool pre-cum. I though about Chris and
his buddies fucking away in my car and wondered which rubber was his. Sure, I
had tasted their sperm before, but this was a whole different kind of experience
that I found incredibly arousing, maybe because I could take my time and let
my fantasies about those hunky football players go absolutely wild.

I held the condom over my head and slowly lowered it toward my open mouth. I
allowed it to touch my tongue and than began to lick it. That was all it took.
Without even touching my cock, I felt this incredible rush and started to
shoot so hard that my body seemed to bend almost in two. I blasted and blasted
until I fell back on the bed, totally wiped out.

(to be continued)