Date: Fri, 14 Jun 2013 18:18:43 -0600
From: Jay Dee <juliet.delta88 (at) gmail (dot) com>
Subject: Home part 8

Disclaimer: I own all the rights to this original work and give license to
the Nifty archive. Copyright 2013. All characters are fictional, any
similarities to living people are entirely coincidental.

If you haven't already, please consider donating to Nifty, this is a
wonderful project. Comments, critiques: juliet.delta88 (at) gmail (dot)
com. -thanks

***

Home – Part 8

I was afraid of dribbling semen out of my ass and onto the fat man's
carpet, where I spent the night naked and uncovered, so I slept on my
stomach. Apparently, at some point, my sleeping body started humping the
floor, rubbing my undying hard-on into the carpet tile, a scratchy swath of
dirty fabric. The foreskin under my dick was visibly burned and there was a
wet spot on the floor.

My body ached in places I didn't know existed. I could feel a weary
soreness tug at my guts, the bearded man trained me to use my cunt muscles
and now it's causing me a new kind of pain I have never before felt. My
cunt. Fuck. I mean my asshole, holy shit. I realize now that I dreamt
horribly that I was lying on my stomach and my asshole was a wide crevice,
exposed to the size of a basketball. I reach around to my hole, to reassure
myself. It's not a gaping nightmare, but my fingers are instantly slick
with cold, dead cum. My hole is a mess.

The room is empty. The bed is made. The clock says it's just after noon. I
slept for 12 hours. On the bed is my bag, and my clothes in a messy pile. I
realize now that I haven't seen my things since Friday night, after I
undressed and locked myself to this bed. He must have hidden them. On top
of my shirt is the key to the collar around my neck. The cell phone is also
there, blinking. I check the phone before unlocking myself.

"next weekend. all weekend."

My dick instantly gets hard, stretching my foreskin enough to inflame the
carpet burn.

I have been naked for almost 48 hours, mostly locked and leashed to this
bed. During that time, I have drunk piss, I've been ass fucked by so many
men that I can't remember how many. One guy spit on me. I stink an ungodly
stench of piss, semen, shit and sweat. It hurts to do so, but I am actively
squeezing my asshole to keep in the loads of semen. I am starving. First I
have to shower. I rush to the bathroom , but the door is locked. I knock
gently, but both the echo from behind and the darkness framing edges of the
door tell me that it's empty. He's not here, but he still locked the
bathroom door?

"Fat motherfucker."

In a rush, I head for the kitchen. I'm going to have to piss in the
sink. And yet, I realize there is an unspoken command. My clothes, the key,
the phone and the locked door. He wants me gone. I hate this man. And I'm
starting to see that he hates me. But, inside, in my mind I know I will not
disobey. I have no choice. I get dressed and leave, deciding instead to pee
in the bushes behind the hotel.

"Didn't expect you back this early." When I get home, my dad was mowing the
lawn. He was refueling the machine when I approached. It was weird when I
first stepped out of the fat man's room. The sunshine, the air. It was
almost as if I had forgotten that I belonged in the light, clothed. People
could see me, my face and I could see them. That feeling was intensified
when my dad talked to me. I belonged here, more than anywhere else. My
family, my father, mother, sister. And yet, my weekend haunts me as I
approach my father, the man who almost 18 years ago, carried me into this
house and probably shed a tear at the thought of what kind of man his only
son would someday become.

A cockslave. He'd shed another tear if he knew I had become a cockslave for
a fat, bald and ugly man who is at least five years older than my father
himself.

"Yeah," I say to my father. "I just wanted to be at home, I guess."

As he filled up the mower from the plastic gas container, he asked
something about the guys. I begin to answer, but my words evaporate as I
trace with my eyes his hairy legs, solid muscular stumps that pour out of
his khaki shorts and plant into the ground at his bare feet, soles
grass-stained green. In those shorts, at the apex of his thick, masculine
legs, is the bulge. He's not wearing any unde ... What the fuck?

"Fine," I say, catching myself. I realize now that my most traumatizing
moments have defined my psyche. I have been naked, molested and
hate-fucked. Now, my entire life is defined by sex. Not even sex, by
cock. By men. Jesus, even my father. "We had a good time. Played a lot of
ball."

More small talk. Our first game is in two weeks, he reminds me. His cock is
hanging to the left. He advises that I work on my defense, I can't just
rely on my speed and shooting skills. His feet are sweaty, and need to be
cleaned, I could ...

"Son?" I snap to attention. I apologize. He says again, there is something
wrong with the choke on the mower. Yes. I will start the machine as he
holds down the choke button. Jesus, my mind is a mess. I get into position
behind the machine and my dad kneels down to push the button a few
times. The sun is beating down and his skin is glistening. There is an
elongated patch of moisture darkening his t-shirt at the center of his
muscular back. He looks directly at me and sniffs. Oh shit. He sniffs
again.

He makes a guttural sound. "You guys didn't spend much time showering this
weekend," he says, half-joking. I laugh, but my heart sinks. Oh dad. You
are smelling my asshole. It's filled with the cold dying sperm from a bunch
of men I never saw. I'm sorry. He focuses back on the choke, but pauses
again. "Seriously. Did you guys get into something?"

No, I say. I just didn't get time to shower before I left. He continues to
sniff, faster. It's like, he recognizes something and I can see his brain
working, trying to pinpoint the scent. I rush and pull the starting cable
with all the strength I can muster. Thankfully, the machine roars to
life. I hand the kill switch to my dad and point upstairs and mouth the
word "shower." Over the motor, he yells with a smile, "Hurry!"

Sorry dad.

***

It's hard to masturbate with the carpet burn on my dick. One of the
blessings of being uncircumcised, I can pull the skin back as far as it
reaches and massage my cock head. I unload four orgasms in the shower, then
two more on my bed afterward.

The week exists through a filter. I see everything differently, I see
everything in scales of fuck. I see a guy and try to picture his dick and
imagine his fuck style. I see girls and picture how a man would fuck her,
how his muscular ass cheeks would tense with every thrust he threw into
her. I can see that Principal Smith was probably hot 30 years ago, not that
I wouldn't want to see his wrinkled, naked package today if he'd let
me. Even Mrs. Windell, my calculus teacher, she is the most overweight
faculty member at school. She's at least 60. But she has kids and that
means a man has fucked her. She has had dick, and I envy that. This, this
is how I see everything, through dick-colored glasses.

The week passes frustratingly slow. I keep the fat man's phone on me, but
I'm pretty sure I won't hear from him until Friday. On the other hand, I
have not stopped thinking about Coach. My basketball coach was somehow
friends with the fat man. He was the last man to fuck me Saturday night
with his unbearably thick cock. While I was still blindfolded, gave me my
first kiss. It was magic. But he nudged me with his running shoe and told
the fat man that I was too disgusting to sleep on the bed when he found out
who I was. Coach knows my secret, but I don't think he'll tell. He knows
I'm only 17, he knows I'm a student at the high school and not an
employee. He doesn't know that I want his fat cock inside me forever.

At practice, we ignore each other. He never calls me out, not even when I
made a bad pass during scrimmage and he had every right to read me an
act. I overthrew it on purpose. I want him to yell at me. I want him to
order me. But we never so much as look at each other the entire week.

Other than that, I try to resume a normal life. I must admit, there is a
part of me, deep within, that holds more than a sliver of guilt over what
the men do to me. I have lost a part of myself that I now realize I might
never get back. In an effort to do that, I ingratiate myself with my
friends. I tell them there isn't much going on in my life. My buddy, and
teammate, Jim, suspects something more is going on. He was with me at the
mall the day the fat man called me home in the men's room. And he covered
for me over the weekend when I told my parents I was staying at his
place. He has agreed to do the same this coming weekend. Thankfully, he
doesn't push for more information, partly to respect my privacy, partly
because he is too enamored by Stacy, his girlfriend.

Stacy must know about my weekend secret, or that a secret exists. But she,
too, is too preoccupied to push me for info. I watch them in the cafeteria,
she sits on his lap, they feed each other fruit. They smile. I envy my
friends, their connection and the fact that it's so public. I flash to a
picture of me imitating those acts in my world. What if I had a tall, lean
stud sitting on my lap during lunches, and we walked down the halls
spooning each other, and we made out at my locker in between classes. We
wouldn't last long in this small town. Jim once joked that he's going to
propose to Stacy during our graduation. He's just going to drop down on one
knee after they both get their diplomas, right in front of everyone. I'm
starting to believe that he is going to go through with it. And the crowd
would love it. They'd make loving sounds and applaud young love. My mystery
stud and I, we would get lynched.

I mourn my loss of love and build my resolve to meet my master on Friday.

Friday. I don't bother telling coach that I'm going to miss practice, I'm
sure he knows. I follow my orders and go straight to the fat man's room
after school. There, I strip and put all of my things in the large duffel
back that is waiting for me at the door. Naked, I get on my knees, facing
the door, and wait. It's a bright fall afternoon, but the drawn thick
curtains cast the room in almost complete darkness. An hour passes, and I
want to get up to stretch my legs, instead I follow my specific orders to
kneel here, right in front of the door, waiting to greet Him and His master
dick. Suddenly, my heart jumps as I hear the door knob twist. I bow my head
to the floor. My eyes are closed, and I expect some type of touch,
hopefully to lift my head so my lips can meet his flaccid cockflesh.

Instead, I hear footsteps rush beside me. Then I feel harsh fabric on my
back.

"Put this on," He says.

It's his cumrag of a t-shirt. He used this as a gag to keep me quiet when
he was training me to take his massive cock. He used it as a blindfold last
week when he invited random men to help further train his cockslave. The
shirt is splotched with brown protein stains. It stinks of yeast, rotted
sugar and oddly a cheap bleach scent. I have to pull apart the fabric,
which is pasted together at certain points. It makes a static, almost
plastic sound as the months of dried semen breaks up.

"Put it on," his voice is harsh.

The shirt feels inhuman, cruel, against my skin. It's huge, I could fit two
more guys of my size in this thing. I can almost feel the dried semen that
clings to my hair as I slip my head through the collar. The shirt hangs
down to my thighs. If I stand fully erect, my cock head hangs down low
enough to see under the shirt.

"Let's go," he says.

I pause and wait for him to throw me something else. Some shorts. Fuck,
even a towel. Then I realize he has no intention of doing so. He senses
this. And orders me out the door. I want to argue. I want to rebel. I look
at the front door, the floor, and ... fuck. The duffel bag with my
clothes. It's gone.

"I can get the collar and leash and lead you out of here," he says,
matter-of-factly. I obey. I hunch my back as much as I can and walk out
onto the cement walkway. We're on the second floor of this hotel, which is
really more of an apartment complex. I try not to hold the bottom of the
shirt against my thighs, which would make it too obvious that I am naked
under this. Then, I get to the stairs around the corner. And fuck. On the
bottom three steps are two boys playing cars. I walk down, carefully, in my
bare feet. Each step I take, I also tighten my hold on the bottom of the
shirt, holding it close, hoping to hide my cock and balls. I hate to admit,
but I am partially erect. The boys stare at me as I walk down the final 10
or so steps. As soon as my back is to them, I hear high-pitched giggling.

The man takes me to a pick-up truck, shining black. My heart skips as I
approach and see someone sitting inside. He is much younger than the fat
man. He is lean and has wide friendly eyes framed by his kempt bushy brown
beard. He smiles when I approach the passenger door.

"Hey Dump!" He laughs hard and looks to the fat man. "What the fuck is she
wearing?"

The fat man chuckles. "Trust me, you don't want to know."

The bearded man orders me to take off the shirt. I hesitate and look around
the parking lot.

"Hey!" he says. "A man just gave you an order!"

I remove the shirt.

He opens the door, and reaches down to unfasten his seatbelt. He is
deliberately taking his time as I stand here, bare-ass naked in the hotel
parking lot.  The fat man is already in the truck, starting the
ignition. Then I realize that the bearded man has no intention of
moving. Instead, he lifts up his butt just enough to pull down his pants to
his ankles. He pushes the entire seat back as far as it will go. With a
smile on his face, he looks directly into my eyes. I climb into the floor
of the cabin, at the bearded man's feet. It's cramped and his knee slams
into my jaw when he pulls shut the door. I dig into the musty pubic hair to
find his cock and get to work.

I focus on his cock and balls for the entire hour-and-a-half drive. He
never acknowledges me, never touches me, he doesn't even really get
hard. Instead he talks to the fat man about contracting work, sports and
the news. It becomes clear, based on their conversation that the bearded
man is a local employee at the fat man's contracting firm. The fat man is a
relatively new addition to the bearded man's circle of friends.

It's dusk when we finally park. We are in the woods. At the fat man's
cabin. The air is soft and sweet. The bearded man orders me out of the
truck. The air is instantly frigid on my naked body. The men immediately
start to unload boxes from the truck bed and into the cabin. I have no
instructions, so I follow suit and grab a box. It's a case of beer. Holy
shit, they have a lot of beer. Food. And bows. There are three of them,
they look high-end, titanium compound bows each colored just a different
shade of camouflage. That's when I know, we are deep in the mountains. The
only legal hunting this time of year is bow hunting and that's strictly in
bear country.

The boxes are unpacked in no time. The fat man orders me to kneel in the
main commons room of the cabin. Other than that, the men both never say a
word to the naked teenager.  Not even when they finally settle down on the
couches next to me. Each, with a beer in his hand, sit right in front of
me.

"So," said the bearded man. "How do you want to do this?"

The fat man takes a deep swallow from his can and immediately tries to
stifle a gassy burp. "Like a band aid, I guess." He then unfastens his
pants buckle and pulls down his pants to his ankles.

"Home."

I leap into action. The bearded man laughs at my quick response. "Home?
That's a good one." He pauses a contemplation. "Would it do that if I gave
that order?"

"She better not," the fat man answered. Jesus, with all these
pronouns. "She only has one home. Right?"

Proudly, I look the ugly fat man in the eyes. "Yes sir."

It doesn't take long for the master cock to become fully erect, massive,
godlike. I love this cock.

He orders me to ride it, but first he sits on the floor. My heart leaps in
anticipation. I leave behind an extra glob of spit on the cockhead as I get
up to turn around. The cock presses against my asshole and enters
smoothly. I exhale, trying to contain the pain, absorb it into my soul. And
with no trouble, my butt cheeks are pressed directly against the fat pillow
under his pubic hairs. His warm, firm, massive belly is pushed directly
into my back. I use my knees to elevate my ass so I can more effectively
ride the full foot of cock. I stifle my whimpers, but the bearded man still
shakes his head in disgust.

Then the sound of crunching earth, engines. Another vehicle has
arrived. The bearded man looks out the window. "Showtime," he says. It's
not until one of the engines stop that I hear the second one. Two vehicles
have arrived simultaneously.  I can feel my pulse in my throat. I can
almost sense what they have planned, but I'm too scared to guess exactly
what it is.

The bearded man races to the kitchen and comes back with two six packs of
beer. He heads to the front door to greet the visitors.

"What's up, fellas?" I can hear him, his voice betraying nothing of what's
happening just inside that door. I hear a voice call the bearded man
"Jared." That same voice continues "So, Danny says you guys have some treat
waiting for us." Danny, that's coach's name.

I can hear beer cans splash open.

Jared's voice: "Yeah. You guys remember Vegas, a couple years ago?"

There is laughter. "You didn't get another hooker, did you? That was ..."

Jared interrupts. "... A disaster. I know, we really fucked her up. But she
was just in it for the money, that was our first mistake. You guys have to
be patient and trust me. This is so much better. But you have to hear us
out first."

I wish the fat man would blindfold me. I want him to cover my face. I can't
stand this. The screen door squeaks open and I hear a herd of heavy boots
clunking over the porch and inside. My knees are shaking so bad they start
to buckle, which is a bad move considering any slip in my balance would
impale me on the master cock. Please, cover my face. I can't do this. I am
panicking completely, and yet I have not lost any rhythm as I ride the
giant cock in my asshole. I have made no move to get up. My face is boiling
hot. My head is spinning. This is it.

Instinctively, I try cover my face, but at the first sign of movement, the
fat man grabs my wrists and pulls my arms behind me. First there is loud,
forced, laughter. That's followed immediately by at least four of the men
yelling, "What the fuck is this?"

I can't look away. The fat man is pulling back my arms so far, I lean
forward, toward the men. Squealing under my breath, I scan the entire
group. There are six men who walk into the room. Coach is with them, but he
is in the back, the last to enter. Jared has to force the men to come into
the room, most stopped in their tracks as soon as they saw the teenaged boy
riding a 46-year-old man's gigantic dick. The men are dressed for a hunting
weekend, they might as well be posing for an outdoors catalog. They were
all wearing dirty jeans, hiking boots and most of them had on some
variation of long sleeved plaid shirts unbuttoned and open chested. There
wasn't a clean chin in the group, each man had at least thick, dark beard
stubble, if not a full beard. Two of the men were completely bald, and
those were the two with the biggest beards. One of the bald men was
fat. The shortest man seemed to be about 5-feet-five-inches, he also had a
beard and thick-framed glasses. The tallest man was huge, he was also
burly, shaped like a football and carried a belly. The last man was tall,
scruffy and broad shouldered. He could have been the bounty paper towel
guy.

My dick was aching at the sight. Each of the men looked upon me with
disgust.

"Who the fuck is this, guy," asked the Bounty man, his voice betraying fear
and rage.

The short guy followed up immediately. "He's just a boy."

"Guys," Jared shouted, fighting for attention. "This is not a boy. It's
definitely not a man." He took a swig from his beer. "This is 100 percent,
pure faggot."

The men answered with disbelief. They protested the use of that word, the
use of me.

"No, it's not gay," Jared said. "Listen to me. This is not a gay man. A gay
man is still a man. A faggot serves men, gay, straight, fat, old. Trust me
on this. We tested it last weekend and this is a pure faggot."

The protests had quieted, but not completely. Every word he said stung me,
in my heart, my brain, everything that makes me a human, it hurt hearing
what Jared, the bearded man, thought of me. I was ashamed. He was telling
the truth, and it hurt me to realize it. Coming to terms with what I am: It
stings.

"This isn't a `he' or a `him.' It's just, a faggot."

Sorry, dad.

A couple of the men had calmed down and started sucking on their cans. The
short man, shook his head, as if he tried to wake himself up.

"Wait. You have sex with him ... it?"

"No. Not sex," Jared said. "We fuck it. Sex is what men have with our wives
and girlfriends or even our boyfriends. That is mutual. We have to respect
them." He paused and let the men absorb what was going on. "Carl, when is
the last time you had sex with your wife?

The tallest man answered meekly, at least two weeks ago, he says.

"And what kind of sex was it?" Jared asked. Carl shrugged.

"I know we all love women," Jared said. "We love our wives. We make love to
them like men should, right? But we have to wait. They have to be in the
mood. We have to clean ourselves up. We have to use condoms and
chemicals. We have to be hygienic. Shit! Even when we tried paying for it!
That hooker in Vegas still had a bunch of bullshit rules for us."

He definitely has everyone's attention.

"Aren't there times when you just want to FUCK?" Jared punched the air in
front of him. "When you want to just rip something apart with your dick?"
He grabbed his crotch. "Don't you ever want to drop a fucked up load into
something and walk away leaving it a crying, cummed up mess?"

I'm not positive, but I think I see the Bounty man and both bald men
slightly nod their heads.

Jared walks over to me and grabs my face. Surprisingly, he lightly caresses
my cheek. I can see now, he is quite baby-faced under the dark beard. His
eyes are almond-shaped and shine with kindness. "Don't you ever want to
take something smooth and perfect ..." Suddenly he grabs my hair and yanks
so hard I can hear dozens of strands break and uproot. He slams my face
into his crotch, the force was so abrupt that my wrists slipped out of the
fat man's grip, although to some degree of pain in my shoulders. "... and
FUCKING RAPE IT?"

My head is spinning. I can't see anything but Jared's stomach and the hair
from his belly that is sneaking out, just over his jeans. But I can hear
several of the men snicker.

"That's what faggots are for!" Jared was enthusiastic, yelling,
preaching. "They have evolved to serve that need in men."  He drinks more
beer. "The faggot is born to serve men. We don't have to wait for it to be
in the mood. We don't have to give a fuck if it feels love. It only loves
cock. This faggot here, it is just two holes meant to host cock. It has a
pussy where its mouth should be and a cunt where its ass should be. And
either of these holes will take your cock whenever in the hell you want to
give it."

By the looks on the faces, I could tell that no one was going to leave the
cabin. Although, I'm not sure all of them were sold on Jared's "gift."

"Faggot," he says to me. "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

I didn't know what to say. I didn't know the answer, I have no aspirations
beyond this moment right now.

"Sir, I want to be ..." both my mind, my mouth are running on autopilot,
"... your ..." I struggle to find something, but the words are pouring out
of my mouth on their own, reflex, pure instinct. "... your underwear, sir."
The truth.

The room erupts in deep, masculine laughter that hurts me just as much as
excites me.

Jared looks at me surprised, puzzled, disgusted. Laughing, he asks, "What
the fuck does that mean, Dump?"

The fat man's dick is splitting me open, He now has both of his arms hooked
around my shoulders and pulling me down onto the throne of His cock with
full force. I whimper a faggot's cry.

"I ... I want to soak up every drop that comes out of your beautiful dick,
sir. I want your cock stain."

From a quick gaze, I can see most of the men react to my revelation with
shock, maybe disappointment, mostly disgust. What the fuck was I saying?
That wasn't true. I want to play basketball. I want to be a writer. I have
a family that I love, I someday want my own family that I'll love even
more. But I look around the room at the eight men who are watching me ride
the monster cock. No one has left. No one has ordered me off the monster
cock. No one has beat me. On some level, they have accepted what I am doing
and I find solace in that. The tallest man, Carl, is grabbing his crotch,
adjusting for comfort. The movement catches my eye immediately and I am
fixated. My soul is targeted on his crotch and I know I want it. I don't
care what size it is. I don't care if he has showered. I want it in me, I
want what's inside. I never want to be without it.

I do. I want to be his underwear.

I build up my strength. I make a major leap of faith and I speak out of
turn. "Please, sir." I'm still looking directly at Carl, the tall man who
grabbed his crotch. Jared follows my gaze to the man and smiles when he
sees the target of my pleading. Carl looks startled. He immediately looks
at his comrades, guilt-ridden, and lightly steps back.

I am not trying to manipulate my voice, but it comes out high-pitched,
desperate. As if I were days into the desert, begging for the last ever
drop of water. "Please sir. Please." My voice sounds like I'm on the verge
of uncontrollable sobbing.

Jared places an arm around the man and lightly nudges him forward. "It's
just a pussy," he says. "It was created for this, for us."

The man approaches gingerly and stops directly in front of me. I unlatch
his belt, unbutton his jeans and take down his zipper as quickly as I can,
panicked, starving. There is a yellow stain on the front of his white
jockey shorts and I immediately press my face against it and inhale life. I
pull down the band and a thick shrub of pubic hair pops out, my heart skips
a beat. I reach down and grab the mostly flaccid cock. It seems about four
inches, circumcised. It is almost entirely buried in his unkempt pubes and
there is a strong fishy odor of stale piss that I inhale like life
support. "Thank you, sir," I whisper directly to the cock and take it in my
mouth.

I can immediately feel it stiffen in my mouth. This act brings me no
physical pleasure, not like getting fucked. But in my heart and my soul, I
can feel the sunshine warming the entire world. I feel baptized. I don't
even notice that I am moaning deep until I hear a voice from the
room. "Jesus, he really loves that."

"It," says Jared harshly. "Remember, it's just two holes. And they both
belong to men. To us."

Fully erect, the cock is just big enough to enter my throat, it creates a
deep, satisfying swallowing sound every time his musty balls hit my
chin. My lips slurp over the edges of his cockhead as he pulls out. One
hand lies limp at his side, the other is holding his beer can close to his
face. He has no interest in touching me, which is disappointing. I reach
around and pull on his buttcheeks, trying to create a forceful fuck
rhythm. His breathing is ragged. Eventually, he takes over thrusting his
hips into my mouth to the point where his pelvis smashes my face. I moan
even louder. Behind me, the fat man starts making his own sounds, deeper
breathing and light groaning.

"You see?" says Jared. "Unlike a woman, or a real gay man, the faggot is
always ready to serve. It will never turn you down. It will never ask you
to cuddle afterwards. What it does have is a man's libido, which makes it
willing to take the most brutal fucking you wouldn't dare give your women."

The fat man is groaning louder. The sound is like a wakeup call. I remember
all over again, the promise I made to Him. I cannot swallow another man's
seed. Just in time, the tall man starts moaning and I can feel the cock in
my mouth begin to spasm. It's happening. With no time to plan a strategy, I
pull off the cock and rub it against my face. A thick, heavy blob spurts
out, directly in my eye. Another follows and covers one of my nostrils. The
third spurt seems to warm the rest of my face. I am completely plastered in
cum.

I look back to the fat man, my way of showing him my cum-caked face,
silently proving to him that I have kept my promise. With that, he thrusts
hard and deep into my asshole ... my cunt that it instantly makes me yelp
and tear up. His massive cock shoots into my guts then continues to
convulse and pump his seed into me, impregnating me with pride.

He pushes me off of his dick. For a second, I'm not sure what to do. I
suddenly feel exposed and scared until He saves me with that word.

"Home," he says, frustrated that he has to remind me. Shit. I have to clean
His cock.

Without pause, I kneel before him and suck the master dick clean. Behind
me, there is a baritone chorus of disgust. The voices of men groaning at
the faggot. "That was just in its asshole," I don't recognize the
voice. But I do recognize Jared's, which admonishes: "Its cunt." There is
another voice. "Jesus, look at the cunt, it's leaking a pint of jizz."

Oh shit.

"Feed yourself," says the fat man in a sinister whisper. Immediately, I am
filled with regret. But my duty is simple. It's clear. The cum on my face
is cooling into a glaze. The larger globs have dropped down to my chest,
although, my left eye feels sealed shut. I start to lean my face to the
floor, targeting the semen that dripped out of my cunt before the fat man
speaks again. "Start with what's inside."

I move slowly, and lie on my back. I lift my legs, so my asshole is pointed
toward the fat man. He grabs one of my ankles and forcefully spins me so
the men can see directly into my cunt hole. They have no idea what is going
on. I work my cunt muscles, the same muscles I use to shit. My cum-stained
cunt is winking at the men and I can see the confusion and shock on their
faces. Simultaneously, I feel a glob of semen seep out of the hole and the
eyebrows of the men rise in shock.  A few of them release groans of
disgust. One of them asks, "What the fuck is it doing?"

I bunch together the four fingers of my right hand and press them against
my cunt crack, just below my hole. I shit out another glob of cum, a big
one, then I comb my fingers over the hole, carefully gathering all of the
precious semen. For the first time since we kissed last week, I look Coach
directly in his eyes. With nothing else to lose, I take my fingers from my
ass and hungrily lick off the semen, thoroughly sucking between each finger
and licking every crack of my knuckles. Greedily, I moan with pleasure,
eating my cunt sludge. The room completely erupts in horrified laughter and
groans. The sound of men is thunderous, it shakes my chest cavity. I sense
complete disgust from them. The fat man and Jared both laugh,
accomplished. I shit out another load and feed myself, and the chaotic
groans seem to evolve to hatred. The men call me a faggot. This time, at
last, realizing what it truly means.

The men, that is, except for coach. I stare into his eyes throughout the
ordeal. He doesn't yell, he doesn't groan. He is stone faced. I can't tell
if he is angry, or if he is mourning.

When my cunt is clean, I turn over, lifting my hole high, and slurp up the
cold semen on the floor.

"The faggot, fellas," says Jared, turning the attention back to him. "We
are here all weekend. Both holes will be here and exposed the entire time."

A few of the men laugh. Some of them cheer. Naked on my hands and knees, my
body shivers from fear and excitement. My dick is so hard, my foreskin
actually hurts.