Date: Mon, 16 Aug 2004 00:23:34 EDT
From: ArtHill579@aol.com
Subject: "High School Blues" Part 25

Disclaimer: This story is basically a fantasy involving humiliation, mild
violence, and sexual activity between teenage boys. If you find such material
offensive or in violation of the laws of your state/country, please don't read
any further.

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

High School Blues 25: betrayed...

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

Well, it looked like I had been duped again, this time by someone I really
trusted and respected--Terry! He had brought me out into the woods on the excuse
of doing some hiking, when all the time he knew that he and his two buddies
were gonna get head from me. Not only that, but he must have already known about
the bathroom incident when Chris and Dave shot their cum all over my face
with other dudes watching. At that moment all my will to resist went out of me,
and I resigned myself to sucking off these three jocks. Of course, again my
cock was on the rise because part of me was really looking forward to what was
going to happen. The best looking and most popular guys in school were gonna to
shoot their sperm down my throat or on my face--guys that I had increasingly
lusted after. But I had to put up a pretense of resistance and outrage...

"I can't believe this, Terry," I shouted. "How could you do this to me. I
thought you were my friend?" (This part was absolutely true.)

I thought I detected just a shade of guilt on Terry's handsome face, but then
it hardened and he began to pull down his zipper in imitation of the others.

"Shut up, fag," Chris said, "unless you want another beating. I heard about
what Shawn Kelly did to you, and I outweigh him by at least 25 pounds. You don'
t want to cross me. So take off your shirt and get yourself ready for us."

Take off my shirt!! That meant that they would see the tats. Nobody was
supposed to know about that except Mike and his crowd. What was I going to do? "Um,
Chris, I don't have to take off my shirt. I don't mind if it get's messed up
with cum. It's okay."

"Well, it's not okay with me. I want to see that skinny chest of yours when I
'm shooting my cum all over you. What I want is a bigger target."

The tears were close to my eyes. In a way I didn't care if Chris and Dave saw
the tattoos, but I didn't want Terry to see them. Even though he had just
betrayed me, I didn't want him to know how low I had sunk.

"Let's go, faggot," demanded Chris, "you got nothing to hide. Mike and
Jimmy told me all about the tats they put on you. I wanna see them before I sperm
you."

"What are you talking about?" Terry asked, looking honestly puzzled. "Joey'
s got tats?"

Yeah, dude," said Chris, "Mike Cunningham had a little party last week and
old `Joey' here was the guest of honor. They got some guy who works with
tattoos to brand him front and back. He just about begged for it from what I hear.
Got himself stoned on booze and weed; then he threw a boner when he was gettin'
 the tats. Wait till ya see what they did. I'm dyin' to see it myself...
NOW, faggot," he ordered.

Slowly I pulled my shirt off, blushing more and more as I did it.

"Holy shit!" yelled Chris, when my chest was fully unveiled. "Damn! I can't
believe it! Those guys are geniuses. `Cocksucker' and `Faggot', will ya
look at that Dave!"

But Dave could no longer answer. He was laughing so hard that he was almost
doubled over.

"Hey, fag, turn around. I hear that the best tat is over your ass!"

Slowly I turned around to new peels of laughter. Chris was now reduced to the
same condition as Dave: almost in convulsions from laughing so hard. `Fuck Me'
 screamed Chris. "Look at the color: shit brown. And that red cock pointin'
right at his hole. It's perfect, it's so damn perfect!...Hey, Dave, ya ready
to ride that fucker?"

"Hell no," said Dave with a look of disgust on his face. "I'm no fag, and I'
m not gettin' near that filthy pussy ass of his unless it's to plant my boot
on it and give him a damn swift kick."

I looked at Terry. He looked shocked as well as guilty. Then his face became
grim, almost as if he was angry with me that I let those punks brand me and
expose me to such ridicule. "Okay, fag," Terry said, almost to get it over
with. "I'm first. Get down on your fuckin' knees where you belong and open up
that cocksucker mouth of yours."

Terry roughly rammed his big fat cock into my mouth, pushing right down into
my throat. By now I had learned to deep throat and could have taken him if I
had been prepared. But he rammed in so fast I began to choke and gag.

"Yeah, that's it, cocksucker," Terry said, almost in a whisper, "Choke on
that cock, you spineless wimp. How the hell can you even hold up your head when
you let some punks do that to you. And to think that Bob and I felt sorry for
you and wanted to help you."

Was I hearing right? Why was Terry chewing me out. He and Bob initiated me to
cocksucking; and Bob initiated me to the `joys' of fucking. Terry tricked me
up here to give head to him and his buds, and now it was MY fault because I
was a `spineless wimp'! I was so confused. Who could I trust? I couldn't even
trust myself. My cock was at it again. At the sight of these hunky guys, all
of them ready to dump their hot loads down my throat, I was getting a royal
hardon again. The urge to be dominated and abused by jocks, and, yes, to suck
their cocks, seemed to override everything else. I was getting to be a cock slut
and a glutton for punishment. My tats told the truth.

With that thought in mind, I gave myself over to servicing the big, throbbing
cock buried in my throat. Soon I had Terry moaning softly and coming very
close to losing it. Terry grabbed my head and fucked my mouth harder and harder,
calling me names, as well as complimenting my technique. Before long his cock
let go with a huge load. I made a tight seal around the base of his cock and
swallowed his whole load. He seemed impressed. "Hey, dude," he said, "that was
one of the best blowjobs I've ever had," and then turning to Chris and Dave:
"I told ya he was a quick learner. Try `im out."

"You're damn right," Chris said as he approached me with a look that was
both contemptuous and lustful. He towered over me with my face at the level of
his swollen crotch. "Come on, Dave," he said, "let's double team `im. He
should love that."

"Sure thing," said Dave, "it'll be awesome to see him blowin' two pipes at
once." Everybody laughed.

They stood side by side and had me pull down their zippers. Soon I was facing
two hard cocks, both of which were already leaking precum, both of their
owners demanding attention. I took the two big cocks in my hands and felt a sexual
shudder run through me like an electric charge. I started by jacking both of
them off, getting their cocks and my hands slick with precum. Then I started
alternately licking the precum off each cock and then working my way up and
down each shaft, trying to give equal time to both. Apparently I was doing a good
job as I heard moans of approval from both the jocks. Soon, however, they
became impatient with the stroking and licking and wanted me to take their cocks
into my warm mouth.

This time I was prepared, and was able to give each of them the full
treatment. I wanted to bring them off as quickly as possible, but I could tell that
they wanted it to last. So it became a test of wills. Obviously they knew what I
was trying to do, since they would frequently push the top of my head and pop
their cocks out of my mouth to get a breather and prolong the blowjob. When
they reinserted their cocks I sucked that much harder and massaged their fuck
poles with my tongue, sucking in my cheeks for maximum contact. And so the game
continued. Soon, however, I could tell that they were ready to cum. They no
longer yanked their cocks out of my mouth, but allowed me to give them all that
I had as I switched from one to the other.

 "You go first Chris," said Dave, "I'll go next."

I didn't hear any objections from Chris as he drove his cock deep into my
throat and held it there. Then he moaned, cursed, and let loose a flood of cum.
Once again he saved the last few spurts for my face, hitting me on the lips,
cheeks and forehead. He then demanded that I take his cock back into his mouth
for cleaning, and continued to enjoy the warmth of my mouth until Dave
interrupted him with his own urgent desire.

"Let's go, Chris," Dave complained, "I can't hold this shit forever. I'm
ready to spurt in the cocksucker's mouth."

Chris moved aside and Dave took his place. It was almost a repeat
performance, although Dave came much faster. Maybe watching Terry and Chris slime me had
really turned him on. Anyway, with a loud shout, he shot directly down my
throat. "Fuck, you queer cocksucker. Take that cum, take it all. Eat my sperm and
have my baby!" Everybody laughed at that one.

When the three of them were finished I was panting, and covered with sperm.
Dave had brought a camera and insisted on taking photos of me covered with cum,
sporting a boner and the embarrassing tats all over my body. "Boy," he said,
"I bet I could get some money selling these to a porn site. I know somebody
who just might be interested."

Again I knew that it was useless pleading. The thought of my picture on an
internet porn site was not at all a happy one, but my damn cock seemed to like
it. "Look at his cock," said Dave, "he likes the idea of being on a porn site.
Maybe he'll be the next big porn star, who knows? And if you are, man, I hope
you'll be grateful to me for getting your career started." More laughter.

"Hey, I don't know about you," said Chris, " but I need another brew. All
the liquid has been drained out of me thanks to Crawford here."

"Sounds good to me," Terry and Dave both said almost in unison.

While the guys sat around, shot the bull, drank, and smoked they acted like I
didn't exist. I sat off by myself drinking a Coke, and wondering if the day
was over or if they had something else planned.

Every once in awhile Terry shot a look in my direction, but I couldn't read
it. Weird, it seemed to be a look of sympathy and of contempt at the same time.

After about an hour of drinking and smoking weed, Chris said he had an idea
for a new game. Immediately I tensed, figuring (rightly) that the game somehow
involved me. Sure enough Chris, who really wasn't too bright, wanted to play
the old spit in the mouth game, where the unfortunate victim was forced to keep
his mouth open while the others practiced their aim by shooting their spit
and trying to get it into the wimp's mouth. The victim (and wimp), of course,
was yours truly.

The thought of what they were about to do was repulsive, and at first I
refused to open my mouth. Chris shot me a murderous look: "You're not going to
spoil our game, now are you fag?" he said.

"Listen, guys," I pleaded, "I sucked you off and I've done everything you
want."

"Well, now we want to practice shooting in your scummy mouth, so you better
be ready for it or you won't have to open up--you'll be missing half your teeth.
" Chris then balled his big hands and advanced toward me threateningly.

Knowing that I had not chance against this brawny football player, I quickly
knelt on the ground with my mouth wide open while Terry, Chris, and Dave
formed a line.

"Hey dudes," said Chris, "how about a little wager: the one who can get the
most wads into the fags mouth wins the pot--ten bucks each. Everyone agreed. As
if he were doing me a big favor Chris called out to me: "Okay, fag, you can
swallow the wads every third round; in the meantime hold them in your
cocksucking mouth. The guys played the first three rounds by standing only five feet
away from me. Needless to say they almost always hit their target and my mouth
was full of disgusting spit and lumpy wads hawked up from my tormentors'
throats. "Now let's take a look at the fag's mouth," said Chris, "to make sure he
followed orders. If he didn't, he'll have a lot more than spit to worry about.
"

As the three approached I opened my mouth wide so they could see the
accumulated spit. Chris, like a little kid, looked and smiled. "Look at the faggot's
mouth," he shouted gleefully. "It looks like a urinal, all foamy and slimy.
Way to go guys," he said as they all high-fived one another. Dave was keeping
score with a pencil and ripped piece of paper he had in his backpack. After
each third round the "contestants" moved back another five feet.

Well, of course, they started to miss as they progressively moved back, and I
started getting less spit in my mouth and more on my face, bare chest, and in
my hair. Soon I was a gooey mess. The guys seemed to find it funnier when
they missed and slimed up my face than when they got a bulls-eye. I could tell
that Terry was less than enthusiastic about the game, prompting Chris to say, "Bo
y, Mahoney, I'm glad you're better on the soccer field than you are at
spitting. Otherwise you'd be sitting on the bench all season!"

 Finally at twenty feet they gave up. For one thing they were practically out
of spit. For another at that distance they weren't hitting me at all. When
the hits were tallied, Dave was the winner. Stands to reason, I thought. He was
a star basket ball player as well as a member of the football team.

After the spit game, all of them wanted to get their cocks sucked again.
Chris and Dave face-fucked me, ordering me to lie on the ground while they
straddled my chest and pounded my mouth with their hard cocks. They had insisted that
I didn't wipe the spit off my face which by now it was dry and crusty. They
both orgasmed and shot big loads, flooding my mouth with their hot cum. Chris,
as usual, pulled out after the first few spurts and creamed my face with the
balance. Man could he shoot--six or seven good squirts. It was almost like
taking a cum bath. Through it all, of course, my cock was rock hard, a fact that
was not lost by my tormentors.

"The faggot is at it again," said Dave. "Looks like he can never get enough."

"Hey ya know what?" said Chris. "I was just thinking. I'd really like to go
a few rounds with Crawford here over at Mike's house. I wanna see what he's
really made of and whether he gets a hardon while I'm pounding his stomach
into jello. How about that fag?"

I didn't know what to say. It sounded like I was signing my own death
warrant! At that point Terry intervened to save me. "Hey look at the guy," he said
to Chris. "It won't be any contest right now. He's still all bashed up from
Shawn. Let's wait awhile until he's healed up. Then we'll see whose the champ."

"Well, okay," Chris grumbled. "I guess you're right. The fag is gonna have
enough of a handicap. It won't be as fun poundin' somebody whose already set
up to hit the mat."

In spite of everything that had happened I was grateful to Terry for saving
me from another painful humiliation--at least for the moment!

A little while later our "hike" broke up. Chris and Dave both said they had
dates that evening and had to get cleaned up. Terry also wanted to get home
since he and Bob had their regular exercise routine later on. We walked back
down to the car in complete silence. Several times I wanted to say something to
Terry, but couldn't find the words. The walk as well as the ride home seemed to
take forever, with neither of us speaking. At least Terry turned on the radio
to break the silence.

When Terry stopped in front of my house to let me out I turned to him and
said: "Thanks for saving me from getting into a boxing match with Chris. I don't
think I could take it right now." Terry just stared at me as I got out of the
car. I watched him as he drove away.

(to be continued)