Date: Fri, 19 Jun 2015 17:27:57 -0700
From: Kyle Weaver <krazytop@gmail.com>
Subject: Taste of Power 10

Disclaimer: This contains some pretty intense scenes, including domination,
WS, bdsm, etc.  Erotica is not a how-to manual.  I find, if you don't know
something, the best thing to do is just ask.  ;)


Part X


"Stop rolling around, punk."

Everything has a glazed look as I pry my eyes open.  I try to sit up--but
I'm stuck.  Zane cuffs my wrists to the bed frame above my head.

"What the hell?" I ask, shaking my arms.

Zane puts his pointer and middle fingers to my lips.  "Shhh."

I shut my mouth and gaze at him.

"I'm going to cut your hair."

He flips on an electric razor and shears off a clump, mowing a row along my
scalp that stings fresh.  He does it again and again; with each new strip,
I hear the buzzing noise jump in pitch as the machine roves past my ear.

Zane straddles me; he manhandles my head, sloping it as he sees fit so he
can reach the back parts.  As he does, his filled-out jockstrap quivers
inches from my lips.  The smell of Zane's junk has grown familiar.  I
breathe in slowly.

He tilts my head back so that I'm looking up into his deep green eyes.
"Are you getting turned on?"

"Yessir."

Zane chuckles.  "I just wanted to cut your hair.  I wasn't trying to get
you in full-on faggot mode."

I lean forward and smack my lips against the outline of his shaft.  Zane
indulges me, dry-humping my face as he finishes his job, keeping me off
balance.

"You wanna suck my cock?"

"Yessir."

"Too bad.  It's not about what you want.  Not anymore," Zane says.  He
flips off the razor and tosses it to the side.  "It's about what I want
now."

"Don't you want to feed me?"  I run my tongue around my lips.

These days, worrying about feeling dirty strikes me as a waste of time.

"I wanna hear you BEG," Zane says.

Zane starts brushing the rogue hairs off the bed; they make me itchy, and I
have an impulse to scratch...

"Please Zane."

He slaps me.

"Please let me suck you."

He slaps me again.

"PLEASE ZANE!"

The next slap stings.

Misguided pride serves no one.

"Please Zane—please fuck my cunt-face."

"You are mine now," Zane says, gripping me by the head.  The thin hairs
prickle.  "Get that straight.  Your body is mine."

I lick the fabric, stealing a glance up at him.

Zane frees his junk and seizes my head with both hands.

I fold my top lip under my teeth; I stick out my tongue; I make the passage
soft for him.

Then, Zane forces his cock deep inside.

"You are a good boy when you are half-asleep," Zane muses, gyrating in and
out.  "Maybe you should stay that way."

I suck on his cock, my eyes half-closed, as he runs his hands through my
bristly hair, his eyes glimmering.

"Listen to me.  Chris and Calvin aren't your friends.  They never were.  I
don't want you to play along with their bullshit anymore.  If they talk to
you—tell them all the crap that a part of you always wished you had told
them.  You got that?"

I nod around his cock, slurping.

Then he strokes my hair and forces his cock deeper inside.


---


I put on my ear guards and headgear early—I'm not supposed to wear this
earring, and I don't want the others to see my hair.

But Zane tells me not to take the earring out, lest the piercing close and
he has to pierce my ear again.

I slide into my singlet.  Don't want to look too conspicuous, half-dressed
out.

Maybe I didn't get enough sleep, or was too dazed by what I went through
with Zane, but it is difficult to wake up.  I slap my cheek, trying to get
the blood flowing.

The varsity team cleans up: Chris, Zane, Eduardo, and most of the others
win their matches easily.

The junior varsity team is a bit shakier.  Calvin wins his match, while
Hiro loses his, and by the time it is my turn, the JV team is counting on
me to carry the majority of our matches.

I don't get nervous though.  Not even with Zane's earring hidden illegally
away, nor the secret haircut that makes me look like a felon.

In fact, they seem to help me.

Veiled within me is a kind of energy that Zane had fed me.

His gravity has somehow let out the fierceness inside me.  I can't make
sense of it, but I sure as hell can surf the wave.

As though in a trance, I shrug off my opponent's advances, and then, in a
flash, I have him on the ground.  My old play style has vanished.

One!

I play like...

Two!

Hiro and Calvin cheer.

Three!

The judge pounds the mat; I let go of my opponent, who sidled off,
defeated; Hiro and Calvin roar.

Then they pin me down far more effectively than my opponent could.

For a moment, my bubble is gone.  I am one of the guys, no different than
anyone else.  I close my eyelids.

When I open them, out of the corner of my eye, I see Zane nodding at me in
approval, and I remember.

Regardless of what I am on the surface, I am not a guy just like anyone
else.

My hair prickles; my ear pangs with soreness.

I am marked.  The truth, past the surface, is that no matter how hard I
work, and however masculine I look, it is all in the service of Zane.

He is one of the guys.

And I am his faggot.


---


Zane gives me my set of clothes to wear after the match: we trade
jockstraps, so that I have his sullied one, along with his work-out shorts.
He also forks over the grungy wife-beater I had sucked on while he fucked
me.

Finally, he hands me a shark-tooth necklace I had never seen, and a beanie
I could use to cover up the earring and haircut till I was ready.

Minutes later, Hiro's jaw drops as I walk by him to get on the bus.

I head to the back row of the bus as Zane instructed, and sit by the
window.  He follows not long after.  "You look like a total hard-ass," he
whispers, his wet lip grazing my ear.

My butt tightens as he speaks, and I feel myself blush.

Calvin clears his throat.  I look into his blue eyes, searching them for
shock, but if he is surprised by my makeover, he hides it well.

"Hey big guy," he says.  "Don't you want to sit up front with me?  We could
play more games."

"I'm sick of your games," I say.

"C'mon—don't sit next to this tool."

"I've grown quite fond of Zane.  I feel I can count on him.  He isn't
flaky."

"What are you on about?"

"You know what this is about.  It's about how you expect to be nice for a
couple weeks and make up for abandoning me for years.  It's about your
bullshit, Calvin.  Why should I trust you?  You might have done a better
job than some assholes, but I'm tired of settling for that.  I want NOTHING
less than what I deserve."

Calvin shakes his head.  "Act like a fool and you'll be sure to get it."
He turns away and walks toward the front of the bus, bumping shoulders with
Eduardo as they budge past one another.

Eduardo whistles at me.  "Damn, cundango, looking good."

I smirk, pulling out my game-boy and switching on Mokimon Indigo.

Chris avoids my eyes, slumping into the seat next to Calvin towards the
front end of the bus.

Everything is rearranging, like clouds shifting before the storm.

Who doesn't like a bit of rain?


---


When we get back to the school parking lot and I get my bag from the
storage compartment of the bus, Zane nods to his truck and I make my way to
the passenger seat.

I've never been in his truck before.

It is neon-green, with splotches of mud and webs of rust.

Zane hops into the driver's seat and smirks at me.  "Call your parents.
Tell them we have a group project to do."

"Yessir."

I make the call, my mind still catching up with my reflexes.

"Yes mom...I won't stay out too late...I promise."

When I hang up, Zane chuckles.  "A bad-ass like you, being a good boy for
your momma, respecting that curfew, and all...it's hard to understand."

"I'm well-behaved," I murmur.

"We'll see."

As soon as we are inside his house, Zane pulls off his shirt, unzips his
jeans, and slams me back against the front door.  He leans in and bites my
bottom lip.  I lean forward to do the same to him, but he grabs my head and
holds it at bay.

"Nah ah," he says.  His jeans ride down to his knees as he bucks at me
playfully.  I see his jockstrap peeking out.  "You have to ask permission."

"Can I kiss you, Zane?"

"Not on the lips."

With both hands, he pushes down on my head, and I sink to my knees, my face
dragging against his pectorals and abdominals.

"You can kiss my balls, punk."

I push the pouch to the side and his junk swings out.  I plant a soft kiss
between his big balls, then lick them slowly.  When I kiss the head of his
shaft, I feel a crack against my cheek as Zane backhands me.

"Please Zane—can I suck your cock?"

"You have to earn it."  Zane kicks off his shoes and steps out of his
jeans.  "Strip down for me, faggot."

I tug off my shoes and place them next to one another by the wall.  Then I
stuff one sock in each of them, as though they are drooling fabric.  I drag
the work-out shorts down my legs and crawl out.  When I reach for the
jockstrap I'm wearing, Zane kicks my hands away.

"Leave that on for now.  It'll catch your faggot load if you blow."

I pull off the grimy wife-beater.  Then, as I reach for the beanie, Zane
brushes my hand with his foot again.

"The beanie and the necklace can stay."

"Yessir."

It's difficult to understand what's happening to me.

Here I am, in nothing but a jockstrap, a shark-tooth necklace, a beanie,
and a yin-yang earring, with a trashy haircut to boot.  I'm on my hands and
knees between the legs of a miscreant, who is dragging his uncut, leaking
cock across my face.

Speckles of light glimmer in his green eyes as I gaze into them.

"Lie down on your stomach," he snarls.

I spread out flat.

"Now shove your ass up."

I push up toward him.

"NO—just your ass.  Not your head or your back.  Shove your ass up at
me."  Zane steps on my head with one foot, pressing it into the carpet.

With my head trapped, I will my stomach to stay as flat as possible against
the carpet as I arch my ass into the air.

"Good," Zane says, gripping one ass cheek roughly.  "We'll call this the
faggot pussy position."

"Don't you think that's a bit degrading?" I mumble.

Zane presses his foot harder into my face.  "Keep your whiny bullshit to
yourself.  You should be thanking me.  You are the lucky one, Travis."  He
releases his foot from my face, then pushes me to the side so that I
crumple in a heap.  "Let's see how fast you learn.  Get in the FAGGOT PUSSY
position."

I scramble onto my stomach, keeping it flat as I poke my ass up into the
air.  It's hard to catch my breath.  I tremble, holding pose.  Cool air
flows over my jock-clad butt.

He clenches one of my ass cheeks in each hand, sinking down behind me.
Then, I feel warm, wet, soft strength sweeping along my crack.

"Ooo," I whimper.

"You like getting your ass eaten out like a cunt, don't you?"

"Yessir."

I feel his tongue dragging against me again, prodding at my hole.

"Fuck."

"It's cuz you want my cock inside you."

"Yessir."

He grips my hips for leverage and I feel the bulb of his cock at the cusp.

Carpet fuzz drags against my lips as I open my mouth.

Then, the tip of his cock plops inside.

It snakes in easier than before.  The subtle corkscrew twist makes me close
my eyes and adjust with a grunt.

Then, he slides all the way inside, and I let out a low, extended moan.

"This is what you live for, isn't it faggot?"

"Yes master."

He slides out, and I prepare for the rhythm that's sure to come.

But then, he surprises me—and pulls all the way out with a plunk.

"Master?" I ask, a wave of panic setting in.  "Aren't you going to fuck
me?"

"That would be a reward.  You need to be punished."

"Please, Zane.  How can you do this to me?"  I push my ass up higher.  "You
made me your pussy punk bitch.  You made me want it."

"And now I'm gonna make you earn it."

I suppress a scream.

"This is emotional abuse," I say softly.

Zane slaps me across the face.  "You've been a tease to me before; don't
get on some high horse about the pain of dealing with a sex tease now.  But
this isn't about revenge.  This is about all of your BULLSHIT whining.  Do
I care if I am degrading?  Do I care about abuse?  Let me tell you
something.  Every time you work out, you rip your muscles a bit, and that's
what gives them room to grow.  Hard work gives you muscles and calluses and
attitude and that's what protects you from the real world, not whining
until you get a pity party."  Zane stands up and walks around me until I'm
between his legs again.  "Do I look like I'm going to throw you a pity
party?"

I look at his shoes, and earn a slap across the face.

"Look at me when I tell you to!  And answer the goddam question!"

"No Zane," I say, swallowing, as a tear streams down my cheek.  I look up
into his sharp green eyes.  "Please don't play this game with me.  You know
I want it, Zane.  Please—PLEASE--fuck me."

Zane clutches the beanie on my head and the short hairs prickle underneath.
"You want my cock plunging into your FAGGOT ass?"

I nod.

"Then do everything I say."

"Yessir," I croak.

"Don't move," he says.

I stay still in the faggot pussy position as Zane collects a pen and paper
from his backpack.  He clicks the ink into the head of the pen and begins
to write.

About a minute later, he walks over to me and drops the list.  The draft
flips it a few times, until it lands a few feet away.

"Go get it," Zane says.

I move to stand up, and Zane pushes me back down.

"I didn't say to stand up."

I crawl over and read the list.  It's a series of tasks, alternating
between mundane and erotic.

"Get started."

I do the dishes; Zane makes me suck on his toes one by one.

I put in the laundry, sorting through Zane's wrestling gear and weekly
wreckage; I massage his stiff thighs and quadriceps till they soften like
clay.

I clean the bathroom; Zane sits on my face as I lap at his asshole.

I fill out Zane's history workbook; he drags my head over his abdominals
and pectorals, tracing out his tattoos and the sweat that runs through
them.

I wash Zane's truck; he makes me lick his biceps and smothers me in his
pits.

I vacuum the floors; Zane gets me to nibble his neck.

I take out the trash; Zane has me lie face-down on the master bed, waiting.

"Off with the jock-strap now," Zane says.  "I don't care if you cream my
dad's bed."

I push it down my legs, kicking it off.

Zane's cell phone rings, and he makes a raspberry noise before he answers.

"Hey, what's up buddy?"

There is a pause as Zane listens.  He grabs my wrists and casually cuffs
them together behind my back, so that they are resting on the hill of my
ass.

"No, I can't hang out now, Chris.  I'm working on an art project."  He
pauses.  "How should I know where Travis is?  How would you even know if he
was home?  You `checked'?  Maybe he just didn't answer....Fine.  I'll look
around AGAIN."

Zane sighs again, covering up the receiver and turning to me.  "Did you
lock the door after you took out the trash?  I'm afraid this goofball might
come over searching for you, and I don't want to deal with him right now."

I nod, and my heartbeat races.

The truth is—I DIDN'T lock the door when I took out the trash.

Was I looking to get punished again?

What had gotten into me?

"Good faggot," Zane whispers, shoving the red jock I had been wearing into
my mouth.  He turns his attention back to the phone.  "Maybe, Chris, but
he's nowhere to be found.  Stop interrogating me.  We can play Big Bang
Brothers later, okay?"

I hear the phone click off.  Zane uses the black jockstrap he had been
wearing to secure the red jockstrap, looping it in a band--like a
halo--around my head.  He adjusts the fabric so that the crotch area is
digging into my nostrils.  I'm overwhelmed with the smell of Zane's crotch
sweat, piss, and hints of dried cum.  I suck down on my jock strap and
taste hints of my old flavor mixed with Zane's draw out of it.

"Glad to get rid of that asshole.  I like it better when it is just you and
me—don't you?"

I close my eyes.

"Fuck yeah, faggot," Zane growls.  "You like being trapped in my jock don't
you?  Being where my cock was?  You know that's where you belong."

My response is muffled by the jock.

He pins me against the bed, then runs his hand under the beanie, through my
hair, and to my ear.  He holds his earring between his fingers, smirking.

"How does it feel?  First you had my jockstrap on you, then you had my
earring in you—do you like mimicking me--cuz I am your hero--your
star--your obsession?"

I whine.

"FAGGOT PUSSY POSITION!"

I arch my ass toward him, trying to keep the rest of my body as flat as
possible.

Zane pushes my face coarsely into the bed.  He spreads my ass with his
palms and tongues my hole without hesitation.  I suck hard on the
jockstrap, tasting old cum and sweat.  I can't think straight with Zane's
crotch smell claiming my face.  My eyes droop; the haze is upon me.

Zane kisses up my back, burrowing under my beanie to suck on the earring;
I'm wearing nothing else but the dangling shark-tooth necklace.  Zane holds
my ass apart—and plunges his fat cock inside me.

"Furggg," I moan.  Within moments, I push my ass back into it.

Zane laughs.  I hear him pull something up from next to the bed.

"Branding you with that earring got me thinking—holes can close up.
They can heal.  But what if I wanted to mark you with something—a bit
more permanent?  How would you feel about that?"

I look back over my shoulder.  Zane is holding a tattoo artist's needle.

My eyes bug out and I whimper into the jock.

"Are you excited?" Zane asks.

I squeal.  I'm flailing; I'm writhing; I flex all my muscles; I clench my
ass.

Zane plunges his cock in deep, pinning my struggling body down to the bed.
"Take it faggot," he whispers in my ear.  His teeth find the earring again,
and he bites down around it.

I whimper once more, shivering.  He presses the needle to my back, switches
the device on, and I cry out, wrenching, pushing my ass up into the air and
wiggling my back, but Zane thrusts again and again and again, humping me
into submission.

"Fuck yeah," Zane growls.  I feel the needle blighting my skin, tracing
pain and darkness into me, sharp at the bottom of the shape, and curved at
the top.  He mirrors his motion on the other side; the shape is symmetrical
about the center; I can't quite place what it is.

I shake, but there is nowhere I can go with a cock balls-deep in my ass and
a needle drilling my skin.

I whimper into the jock strap, biting down and closing my eyes as a tear
strains out.

When my eyelids lift, my vision is hazy—I feel a dream lingering upon
me.

Fuzzy tapered hair at his temples, surging downward into sideburns and
upward into earthy, curving brown tufts; wide golden-brown eyes, flashing
like rising sunlight; the big mouth, usually bent in a crooked smile, but
now just ajar—wet lips and wet tongue shimmering as they move; tight
shirt and jeans, with a leather belt.

Chris.

He's not just a dream—he is real.


---


"What the fuck is going on here?" Chris asks.

He walks across the room and hacks Zane at the forearm.  The tattoo needle
flies out of his hand and unplugs from the wall, drilling a bit of ink into
the carpet before it dies.  Chris snatches the jock out of my mouth and
then pulls both off my head.

"Travis!" he mutters, looking down.

Zane swings a fist at Chris's gut.  "Get the FUCK out of my house!"

Chris flexes and snarls, batting Zane's arm away and clenching his fists.
They glare at each other.

"Fine," he croaks.  "But Travis comes with me," Chris says.

Zane laughs.  "Travis doesn't want to go with you.  Travis likes what I do
to him.  Isn't that right?"

I nod slowly.  The crotch of Chris's jeans are inches away.  I tear my gaze
away and look up at his face.

A pang of pain crosses Chris's eyes.  "You've brainwashed him!"

Zane laughs.  "Say that you love me," he growls.

"I love you, Zane," I whimper.  He flexes his cock inside my ass and I
moan.

"Bullshit," Chris growls.

"Face the facts, Chris," Zane says.  "This faggot has cum from having my
cock inside him...three times I think?  How many times did he cum when you
were inside him.  Zero?  You are just a fantasy to him—he liked the idea
of you, not the actuality.  Because when it comes down to it, you are a
conforming, brain-dead coward that never said you wanted him until your ego
was at stake.  If you know what is best for you, you should just go away."

Chris frowns, his face contorted with rage.  "You are a manipulative
bastard!  It's because of YOU that I rejected him in the first place!  YOU
were the one that said it would make me a faggot--threaten my honor--make
me a laughingstock!  So if that's the case, why do you get to make him your
bitch?  I get that you think you are above the law, but I never understood
that you thought you were above everyone—your fucking majesty—king of
the white trash—"

"You've lost, Chris.  Don't cry to me about it."

I hate all the fighting.  I want to make it stop.

I want to be active—to put my soul into it.

My heart is racing, but I know what I want.

I lean forward and kiss the crotch of Chris's jeans.

"Un-fucking-believable," Zane growls.  "You lying shit!"  He slaps my ass
so hard that it stings.

Chris grows harder; I feel his big cock flexing against his jeans, pushing
on my lips.  Chris's breath is uneven, and rising.

Chris unbuttons his jeans, undoes the zipper, and pulls out his cock.

I suck his cockhead into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the bulbous
head.

Zane's voice grows malicious.  "Travis, you--you two-faced whore!"

Zane spreads my ass out with his hands and drills his cock in so hard that
it hurts.  Chris pulls off his shirt and reveals his sweaty, muscular
chest.  My dick starts leaking at the sight of him.  I moan around Chris's
seeping head, the force of Zane's pounding lurches me forward; half of
Chris's delicious cock impales my face, muffling me.  Chris's hand digs
under my beanie, petting me, as he tries to push in more.

It's like Zane said.  Competition and sex are--in a way--the same thing.
They certainly flow into one another, and feed off one another.

Nothing consumes a struggle like a good fuck.

"You are one to talk," Chris growls.

Zane slaps my ass.  "I'm not a whore—I'm just open-minded."

Chris pulls on my cheek softly, making me open wider in order to get deeper
inside me.  I push my ass back against Zane and his cock and abs throttle
me harder.

They channel their anger into their thrusts—I can feel it—as they
pound me from both ends.

Chris smirks, his eyes glimmering.  "Is open-minded the new word for
hypocritical?"

I close my eyes and suck on Chris's cock, trying not to drool as Zane
hammers my senses inside-out.

"Two sides to the same coin," Zane says.

Zane is merciless as he pounds my ass—over and over I murmur and suck
down on Chris's big cock.

"You are our little coin, aren't you?" Zane asks, gripping the necklace and
yanking, choking me and causing me to arch my back up.  I press my face
into the skin of Chris's crotch.  "I get tail while Chris gets head."

 I gag as Chris's meat fills me balls-deep.  He is tense, hanging on the
edge; I slurp over and over, savoring the precum and the anticipation.
Once my throat is open, Chris feeds me his whole cock again and again.  I
moan, my eyes fluttering as the intensity of my tempted, stretched, filled,
warm holes overwhelms me.

"You think of Travis as an object," Chris says.  "Something you can barter
or bet."

Chris's sweaty balls roll over my bottom lip.  Chris pulls my forehead into
his flexing abs.  He holds my head in place and cycles his cock into my
face.  Zane grinds deeper into my ass, twisting his balls and abs into my
skin.

Zane snickers; I feel the ripples running through his body into mine.  "I
own him.  So—yeah—pretty much.  Don't remember you acting too
different."

A bet.  That was the other time they both used my holes on the same
occasion, down in Chris's cellar.  Somehow, paradoxically, when it is both
of them, I get less attention than when it is one of them.  I feel like an
extra--a background noise--an afterthought—in their little game-show.

Chris's hands clamp down on my ears.  He is losing control, snarling as he
mills my face.  Zane claws at my ass, straining my beaten ass into
submission.  I groan slowly, my voice cracking, and push out in both
directions, taking them both to the balls.

Chris strokes my cheek.  "I think I might be tired of playing roulette with
his life."  He looks down at me, and I look up into his golden eyes.
Something about Chris's motions becomes more carnal, more intense and real.
I become the locus of his concentration again.

"You aren't Zane's.  How could you be—if you've been mine all along?"
Chris cradles the back of my head with his palm and wheels his cock hard
into my mouth.  Zane continues to break into my ass until it is almost
numb.

"You are my cocksucker," Chris whispers.

His cock carousels in and out of me, like the dream on the edge of my mind.

"Swallow, bitch," Chris growls.

He buries his cock inside of me and holds my head in place.  I suck on it,
lulling my tongue over it in advance, salivating, fantasizing about his cum
inside me, until, suddenly—the idea reifies.  Hot strands of cum weave
out and knot up my throat.  I drink it all down, one gulp after another.

I nurse his cock as it waivers.  I hold it in my mouth, keeping it warm,
wet, and under a touch of pressure, like an incubator.  He relaxes,
massaging my hair and letting me slurp gently on his cock.

I regain some of the sensation in my ass as Zane batters it harder and
harder.  I close my eyes and moan, stretching out like a cat, preparing for
my body to be used.  In that open position, extra love muscle snakes into
my holes.

I suck eagerly now; Chris's cock doesn't even go soft; it leaks freely.

"Shot off already?" Zane asks with a chuckle.

"I can cum like a machine gun," Chris says. "I ain't done yet."

Zane laughs.  "Personally I don't like automatic weapons.  I'm more of a
revolver kind of guy.  Like to take my time... To lock.  And load.  And
fire."  He pauses here and there as he hammers into my body.

He slaps my ass again and I feel my focus twist to him.  He wraps his arms
around me, like he did at the hotel, and pinches my nipples.  I whimper
around Chris's cock.  Zane's hands find my back; his lips find my ear.

"Make a show for Chris if you wish," he growls.  He bites the earring.
"But on the inside, you are all mine."

I shudder, thinking about how much punishment I have in store.

"Get any closer to me Zane," Chris says, "and I'll slap you across the face
without using any hands."

Zane chuckles.  "I bet you would like that, wouldn't you Chris.  Showing me
who is boss?  I bet that really gets you going."

Zane sucks my ear before he retreats, kneading my ass in circles again and
chiseling deep into my hole.  My scream is muffled by Chris's leaking,
hardening cock.  He takes it out and rubs it across my face, smirking.

"Beg for it," Chris says, his eyes glittering.

"Please Chris," I whimper, my throat sticky and cracking, "Please.  You
know how I feel about you."

"I am sick of this bullcrap romance with Chris," Zane says.

He pulls my ass cheeks wide apart and raids my ass with his fat bludgeon of
a cock.  I wail as he sledgehammers me over and over; he refuses to relent;
he refuses to quit; my hole is his; my hole submits; he owns it; I'm
breathless; I can't—I don't---

"Oh fuck," I whimper.

I cum into the sheets in thick, blinding waves.

With each one, my ass clamps down on Zane's cock, drawing him inside me to
the balls.

His cum swims into my ass in mirror motion; as much hot cum enters my ass
as leaves my dick.

"Four to zero," Zane says.  He collapses onto me, exhaling slowly.

I like the feeling of Zane's body on mine, but Chris doesn't let me relish
it.

He walks over to us, his face wrinkling, and pushes Zane hard.  Zane, who
is still recovering, can't balance; his cock pops out of my ass; he falls
with his limbs entangled on the floor, grunting.  Chris sets his sights on
me, taking Zane's place behind me and lining his cock up with my hole.

"I shoulda never let you go," he growls.

Chris plunges his cock inside.

"Fuck," I whimper, helpless beneath him.  My hole clenches down.

Chris massages my ass as he pushes and pushes.

Light flashes in front of my eyes as Chris liberates the resistance inside
of me.  I open for him and Chris slides another inch or so of his cock into
my hole.

He finds my other ear--the left one--the one without the earring.

"I know you love me," he says.

His tongue is soft as it rolls around inside my ear.  I find myself
contracting my ass muscles, stimulating Chris's cock, as he wraps his
strong, sweaty arms around me and flexes his fire-hot abdominals and
pectorals into me.

Zane staggers to his feet, clutching his floppy cock in his fist.  He drags
it across my face then grazes Chris's cheek with it.

Chris lands an uppercut into Zane's stomach, making him stagger backward.
Zane's breath is short but he is still laughing.

Chris snarls.  "Do that again, and I will show you a new place you can
store that tattoo needle."

Zane smirks, the sharp hues in his eyes glinting.  "I wonder how much our
coin here likes things...flipped around."

Zane pushes his semi-hard cock against my lips.

"Clean off my cock, faggot."

I suck slowly, slurping the cum, sweat, and ass taste down, before letting
it slide out of my mouth with a plop.

Chris traces the tattoo on my back with his hand, then kisses it softly as
his cock burrows deeper.  I can't move my locked arms much, but still, I
find a way to spread my ass cheeks wide for him, and finally, he tunnels
his cock in to the balls.  I moan and close my eyes.

"You like that?" Chris asks.  I tense and soften my ass in approval.  Chris
moans low, his breath raspy.

"I—I'm over the moon," I whisper.

"Better bring you back down to Earth, then," Zane says.  I see the
fracturing light in his sharp green eyes again.  "Suck it down, faggot."

I open my mouth, and Zane jams his cock past my lips again.  I close up
around it, drawing it in.

I feel the fine strand of hot liquid in my throat before realizing what it
is.  My eyes narrow; I emit a sharp squeal through my nose, but I see in
Zane's eyes that there's no negotiating this time.

I gulp over and over, waiting for the gully to end.

"You cumming again, Zane?" Chris asks, gripping me rougher.

Chris starts to plow my ass into abject submission.  My hole stops clamping
down, and just lingers, stretchable, like molding clay on the wheel.

"Not quite," Zane says.

He pulls the necklace tight again; the shark tooth digs into my neck; I
choke and sputter and spit up Zane's cock bit by bit.

As Zane pulls out, I taste the tart, hot piss on my tongue; then, I feel it
stream out from the corner of my lips, the dregs dripping onto the sheets.

"What the fuck?" Chris says, his voice breaking.

"He's my toilet.  Didn't you know?"

"That's...really fucked up," Chris growls.

"Grossing you out?  Maybe you just don't have the stomach to own a piss
faggot."

"Maybe Travis doesn't have the stomach to be one."

"I know that he does," Zane said, gripping the necklace tightly, making me
wretch.

"The fucking hell with it," Chris says.

He seems to lose his cool, ramping up till he is just as rough as Zane ever
was, and possibly deeper inside me.

Harder and harder, Chris shapes me; I try to catch my breath as Zane toys
with the necklace, and my throat cracks with cum and piss; softer and
softer I flex, defeated; less and less of the world is perceptible as I
slip in and out of reality—in and out of myself.

Zane pinches my earring.  "I've branded you, coin.  Don't forget it."

Chris snarls, caressing my back.  "Prove this fucker wrong."

I'm overwhelmed—Chris's cock is so deep inside me I feel like I am being
roasted on a spit; he's lighting me up; my senses are shocked to extremes;
I can't take it; I can't take it; oh my fucking god—

Zane pushes the jock straps back into my nose and I lose it, sucking down
the last drops of piss dripping from Zane and clamping down hard on Chris's
big cock.

I'm cumming again; I'm already stuck to the sheets, but now I am drowning
in a pool of my own sick pleasure; my ass is milking Chris's cock; I feel
his balls against me, drawing up, he's painting a picture inside me; he's
staking his claim; I'm lost in myself again.

They are rough when they pull out; I whine, huddling into myself—empty.


---


"Go home, coin," Zane says.  His expression is etched with cool rage.

I reach for the jock strap and he bats my hand away, slapping my face.

"Did I say you could have clothes?  No clothes, faggot.  No boxers, no
jocks, no briefs—NOTHING."

"But—I'm naked!  Please, I can't—this can't happen!  Please," I say
softly.  I look at Chris.  "Please.  My parents—-what will they think if
they see me like this?"

Chris frowns at me.  "So don't let them see, then.  Wouldn't want to
embarrass yourself."

I look back at Zane, biting my lip.

"Are you fucking retarded?" Zane asks.  "Get the hell out, NOW, before we
beat the shit out of you."

I shake my head, and Zane slaps it, before shoving me onto the floor and
towering over me.

"Get—the fuck—OUT.  Mommy wants you home anyway."

I brush my eyes with the back of my hand, stumbling to my feet, and lurch
to the door.  I'm across his house in a flash; I grab a wash cloth to cover
my crotch; I can't see straight...

I storm away, slamming the front door behind me.  Then I run into the
forest—-naked—-like the frogs and the bugs and the salamanders,
shielded by thin foliage from the encroaching world of man.


---
Feedback always appreciated!  Messages keep me in the mood to write and
edit and brainstorm. Always grateful for kind words and constructive ideas.
Kudos to you. :)

email: krazytop@gmail.com
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