Standard Disclaimer: If you are not at least 18 (or the age of majority in your jurisdiction), exit this window now. I will not be held responsbile for your disobedience. If you continue to read this story, its not my fault if you're parents catch you and ground you for life. The following events occur only in my mind, and I do not condone anything illegal.
I'm a storyteller by birth, and therefore, I tell stories. My aim is to stimulate the mind as well as get the reader off. My personal philosophy when writing stories like this is simple: If I'm not excited by my own stories, then the reader won't be either. Comments are welcome, criticisms are welcome, assholes are not. I deal with too many in my day to day life. Steady, rhythmic slurping filled the locker room showers.
The sound was pornographic and unmistakable to anyone who would have heard it. Had anyone been near enough, they would have immediately recognized the sounds of a wet sloppy blowjob in progress.
Had their eyes borne witness, many would have been shocked. Because in the middle of the communal showers, the naked captain of the basketball team was passionately blowing another male student. This wasn't just any student however. He was submitting himself to what some would describe as his mortal enemy, the person he had tormented from the first day of kindergarten all the way until last year, when he had punched him and left him with a black eye.
"Who's the faggot now?" "I am," the jock replied, barely removing the cock from his glistening lips. "Say it." "I'm a faggot." "You like sucking dick, don't you?" "I love it." "Look at me. Now say it." "I love sucking your cock." As he spoke, his own engorged ebony rod - already throbbing with desire - gave a particuarly large jerk. The team's captain hadn't toucheed himself the entire time. In fact, his hands had been behind his back from the very start.
It was simply the raw sexuality permeating the room that was holding his entire body under a hypnotic rapture. "What are you going to do with my cum, fairy?" "I'm gonna swallow it all." His eyes hadn't left the commanding gaze of the man he was blowing, and his erection gave another large bob.
It was continually jumping to the rhythm of his accelerated heartbeat. "I knew you were a faggot from the moment you called me one. Its called 'projection.' You take your own fears that you can't face, and instead force them on someone else. But look at you now, huh?
Butt naked, on your knees, sucking on my cock like its your last meal. Look at your dick. You haven't touched yourself, but you're dripping all over the place, ready to blow your load. You're getting off on having me in your mouth, aren't you? Just like you were meant to." It was true. The big ten incher dangling between the jock's legs was drooling a steady stream of precum, the clear fluid pooling on the floor. The knob was swollen, shiny, and dark, the slit flaring open and closed.
His testicles, normally heavy and drooping, had risen almost all the way up, eagerly awaiting the moment that they would jettison their heavy load. He was on the brink of orgasm, and even the slightest touch would be enough to set him off.
A drop of water from his wet hair, a featherlight touch, a well-placed breeze - "Don't -" But it was too late. The captain needed his own release, and he needed it now.
One of his large hands shot from behind his back and curled around his throbbing cock, combining physical stimulation with the sexual thrill of running his lips across the stiff flesh of another male's sex organ. But what should have been the most powerful orgasm of the jock's life went horrbily wrong when his meat deflated in his fist. "-do it." The jock tore his mouth from the organ in front of him with a mangled cry. "What the fuck did you do to me?" he screeched.
The sexual need was still there. The burning urge to unload his aching testicles still needed to be satisfied. Yet here he kneeled, still in shock, holding his long but flaccid - and most importantly, numb - dick. "Its not what I did, Jerome. Its what you didn't - and aren't - doing. I told you; faggots don't finish first.
I warned you that if you touched yourself, you would be sorry. "And I want to ask you a question. What were you doing when you got the grand idea to yank one off? Think about it, pussy. You aren't blowing me, and you aren't getting any pleasure. Seems pretty simple to me. Of course, what do I know, I'm just a faggot, huh? So, I guess I'll just pull my pants up and find someone else to finish me off." Jerome stared in horror as the young man started pulling his pants and boxers back up, his spit-covered rod still erect.
Horror that he wasn't going to get to finish, and horror at the realization that he was right. Horror that his cock had no feeling. Horror that somehow, he liked sucking that thick fleshy piece of meat. Horror that he was actually eager to taste the semen.
Horror that he needed that cock to cum in order to find his own release. Horror that now, there was no way that he could say, he was not a faggot. Because faggots got hard sucking dick, didn't they? That's how they got their pleasure. "Wait." Jerome's voice was low and nearly inaudible. Part of him wanted to be heard; part of him wished that he hadn't actually said anything.
His tormentor slowed his pace. "Did you say something?" The reply was slow, and filled with amusement. "Please." The dominant one smirked, confident in his superiority. The request was crystal clear. He almost wanted to make the larger boy say the words, but felt it unnecessary. Jerome had finally fallen. Both of them knew that. "You know what to do," the new master said as he stepped once more in front of his submissive.
Jerome reached up with shaky hands and popped the button on the jeans. The zipper followed, leaving the still-hard eight incher to bulge out the front of the red and black boxers underneath. He pulled both down which allowed the stiff meat to dangle in his face. "You're fucking sick," Jerome muttered as he wrapped his hot mouth around the cock. "Yep. I'm sick." The slurping was frenzied now. Jerome was practically fucking his face onto that cock, twisting his head left and right, pushing his tongue against the sensitive spots, trying to bring the beast down.
He was a machine now, his own need for release driving him to give the best blowjob he could. Brandon couldn't believe it. Before, he had been getting off solely on the power he had over this self-proclaimed 'alpha male,' and his long overdue commuppance. But now, the suction alone was bringing him closer to the edge. Either Jerome had done this before (something he knew had not happened), or he was pulling every trick in the book that he could remember from having his own cock sucked.
That mouth was powerful. It certainly wasn't the best blowjob he'd ever recieved, but it was in the better half, without a doubt. "Put your hands behind your back." The submissive did as commanded, even going as far as to clasp his own wrists to prevent temptation.
"Now look in my eyes." He hesitated. "Do it now, fucker.
Or you'll regret it." Jerome pulled his blank stare from the trimmed crotch and forced his eyes to meet Brandon's. "That's it, cum dump. Let me see your shame. Let me see your humiliation as you work for my load." It was there, painted on the big man's face. He had been an alpha male when he arrived here in every sense. He had the grades. He had the friends. He was the star player on the basketball team with schools tripping over one another to give him a free ride.
He had a silver Acura waiting for him in the parking lot. He had one of the hottest girls on his arm, and sitting on his ten inch monster whenever he wanted. The very same cock that now stiffened between his legs, once again throbbing violently and ready to spew the contents of his ballsack at any moment.
He had fallen so far in hte past thirty minutes. Here he was now, knees aching as he knelt before this scrawny wretch who had somehow manged to best him without laying a finger on him. His lips, tongue, cheeks, and even throat were burning in agony from the repeated violation.
His back, his body, and his mind hurt. But Jerome kept the powerful suction going because he was just that damn close.
He was sitting on the edge of teh best cum of his life, and he knew it. Better than the first blowjob he'd recieved, better than losing his V-Card - hell - better than the first time his cock had pierced Danielle's tight little starfish - "I'm about to cum." Relief flooded through the jock followed by confusion when the warm flesh was ripped from his mouth with a wet, slurpy pop.
"I'm gonna cum in your mouth, Jerome, and you're going to swallow everything, aren't you?" The jock nodded. "Everything you don't eat, you will lick up, right?" Another nod. "While you're eating my jizz, I want you watching my eyes. I want you to see what a real man looks like when he gets his nut." The younger boy stuffed his throbbing eight incher back into the hot mouth provided and began pumping.
His hands were clasped behind Jerome's head as he literally used the suctioning mouth to jerk himself off. Though the head was constantly pounding the back of his throat, Jerome kept his hands behind his back. He couldn't believe it, but he was getting even higher off this merciless mouth rape. His piss slit was now wide open, precum flowing in a steady stream.
His large balls were held tight against his body. Brandon continued to hold Jerome's gaze, and within ten strokes, the first ropes of cum began firing from Brandon's cock. He resisted the urge to force himself balls deep into Jerome's mouth, instead pulling out until only the head was resting on Jerome's tongue. Being deepthroated would make things easy on Jerome. Brandon wanted him to taste his seed. One hand wrapped around his shaft as Brandon literally jerked off into Jerome's mouth. Every throb, every spurt was heaven after forcing himself to wait six days for this one moment of revenge.
And there was no doubt that it was worth it. For his part, Jerome's mind was nearly blank for the first time since the beginning of his ordeal.
The moment that the first shot of semen was fired against the roof of his mouth, Jerome's own cock began blasing rope after rope of his sticky fluid.
His mind focused on three things alone: the mind-numbing, completely electrifying release of his orgasm, which was more than he could have imagined; eye contact with this Master, for he knew that he was the reason for the intensity of this orgasm; and not choking to death on this near-inhuman amount of cum flooding his mouth. Fat ropes were continually being ejected from Brandon's root, and they weren't slowing down. Jerome was swallowing it as fast as he could, but each rope was nearly a mouthful, and it had started spilling almost from the start.
His senses were filled with that cock and its life-giving load. Jerome could see at the bottom of his vision that chocolate rod extending from the groin and extending forth, disappearing under his nose and combining with the sensation of that meat stretching his lips and lying on his tongue, hot and shuddering and pumping out ropes of slimy liquid. He felt the goo slide down his esophagus and into his stomach, and could feel the excess flow freely from the corners of his mouth and down his chin, landing in sticky strings on his chest, stomach, and thighs.
Jerome could smell the two aromas - both slightly chlorinated but very distinct - mingling together and filling his lungs. He could taste the salty, bitter, and slightly tangy flavor of the semen that coated his entire mouth and covered his pink tongue, still dancing lightly over the cock head in his mouth.
He heard the hard, shuddering breaths from both of them as they endured their moments of ecstacy; heard every hard gulp he made as he sent another mouthful of jizz to his stomach. After a good long minute, both orgasms finally died down. Jerome's cock lurched one last time as the one in his mouth gave one final dribble before being pulled away. As the standing youth tucked himself back into his boxers and pulled up his pants, Jerome ran his tongue over his lips to clean up the leftovers.
His cock gave a pleasurable throb as it slowly rose back to full mast, looking for all the world as if he had not experienced an orgasm at all. Jerome scraped, smeared, and finally outright began to slurp up the puddle of mixed jizz from the floor. His rapist turned back at the door and spoke. "One more thing.
If I were you, I wouldn't think of trying to report me to anyone. No one'll believe that a sturdy and capable young man like yourself got taken advantage of by a five foot seven, hundred and thirty pound wet blanket.
So go ahead and save yourself the embarassment -" A particuarly enthusiastic slurp came from Jerome. "Well, more embarassment, I should say." Jerome heard and understood, but was too involved in riding this new sexual high to respond.
He smeared as much of their mutual fluids on his cock and pounded his meat so a second powerful climax, shuddering hard as he collapsed to the floor. Out in the darkened parking lot, Brandon Edwards horsed the engine of his 1978 Chevy Nova.
Morally, what he had done tonight was wrong. Legally, it was rape. But he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he would get away with it. There were no witnesses, and the only other witness would never breathe a word. Not from fear, Brandon knew, but from pride. People like Jerome couldn't show weakness for fear of appearing to be weak.
So he would suffer in silence.
Brandon had considered full advantage of Jerome, but ultimately decided against it. Brandon knew Jerome couldn't have resisted, but after the act was finished, Jerome would have actually had evidence. It would have been too tempting for Brandon to simply force his way into Jerome's rectum and leave behind a sticky deposit leaking from a ripped anus. Chances were that Jerome still wouldn't have told, but Brandon wasn't willing to leave evidence like that up to chance.
Brandon knew that he had changed the course of a life tonight. Jerome Sanders would never again experience the sexual pleasure he had that night, but he would spend the rest of his life on his knees, eating load after load of sperm in the hopes of finding it.
It would kill the big man inside to do it, but he would do so anyway. Jerome would never be happy again, just as he had made Brandon's life hell since the day they had met. No, Brandon had not changed a life tonight. He had ruined one, and he could not force himself to feel any sorrow. 'Revenge isn't always sweet,' he thought as he eased out of the parking lot.
'Sometimes, its salty.'