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. Please practice safe sex: this story is a fantasy in which STDs don't exist!
(c) Art M. Hill ArtHill579@aol.com All rights reserved (2004). If you enjoy this story, please email me.
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**************************************** Misery Loves Company
Mike and Jimmy had tightened their control over me during the rest of the spring semester and through the summer. I can truly say I felt like their slave. I now had to call both of them `Sir' and would be slapped hard across the face if I forgot to show them proper respect. Little by little they were adding to my work load by giving me odd jobs to do as well as being available 24/7 as their own personal cocksucker. I think they knew, however, that they had a good thing going and didn't want to push me too hard . . . at least not yet.
They were especially excited about the video shoots and how much Len liked what I had done (or, should I say, what was done to me!) He had promised that we would start shooting in the fall--something I really wasn't looking forward to. However, Mike and Jimmy just saw the bucks rolling in and kept warning me that I'd better do a good job.
I was still divided in my feelings about all this. Part of me wanted to be free to make my own decisions and to be respected like anyone else. Another part of me, which seemed to grow stronger every day, savored the abuse I received from those hunky teenage jocks, and loved being their punching bag and their sexual receptacle. My attraction to them increased as they all seemed to get more buff by the week.
I had begun to suspect that they were using the exercise equipment that had been stolen from Bob Greenburg. They now had a place for themselves with the latest body building machines, and they used it whenever they could. They laughed as they showed off their bulging new biceps and awesome abs. This was so rad, and to think that it was due in part to a lowly fag. Go figure!
Meanwhile Terry and Bob were more distant than ever. Sometimes I would walk over to the soccer field and watch them practice, making sure I wouldn't be seen by anyone. They looked so graceful on the field that they almost seemed to be weightless--jumping up high to intercept the ball and kick it powerfully in the direction of their opponents' goalie. I wondered if they remembered their promise to work with me to try out for the team next year. When I was there as an observer of our school soccer team I was a different person--not Joe Crawford, the wimp, cocksucker, and slave, but Joe Crawford who wanted to be himself and not always have to be afraid.
Mike and Jimmy were now openly demanding that I do their math and science homework--two subjects they had failed miserably until I came along. Now with my help (and extra work) they were getting solid `B' grades. When it came time for exams in those subjects they simply told me to take carbon paper and copy the answers onto their exam sheets. The teachers in those classes were often so out of it themselves that they never caught on that there was open cheating going on. They were just happy that two of their worst students were apparently taking their studies more seriously and getting better grades. Actually I was happy myself, since I could get into as much trouble as Mike and Jimmy if I was caught helping them cheat.
Mike and Jimmy now treated me more like a little kid to be teased rather than a teenager to be bullied. Jimmy still delighted in slipping his big foot under my butt, wiggling it, and watching me react with lust. Several times he pushed it and made me lose control again, spurting my load all over my briefs and pants. When that happened Jimmy and Mike would quietly high-five each other and laugh under their breath. "Way to go faggot," Jimmy would then say to me.
At least twice a week Mike would tell his buds that I would suck them off behind the gym after school. There would almost always be at least three or four guys besides Mike and Jimmy who would be looking for head. The most regular customers were Phil, Brad, and Tod. Less frequently Carl and Stew would show up. If Shawn showed up he would just look on in contempt, making obscene comments.
We would walk a little ways into the woods, being careful that no one was watching us. I would kneel down and start sucking. I'm sure that my tats and nipple rings were a major turn on for the guys because they would always insist that I strip off my shirt before beginning. Some of them actually rode my nipples as they fucked my mouth.
Sometimes the guys would stow away beer and weed and then our sessions would be prolonged as would my work'. I began to learn each cock by heart--the size, smell, and taste of the jizz. Mike would often play a game where I was blindfolded and slapped in the face with a cock, which I then licked and sucked until I got a load of warm cum down my throat. During that time the guy tried to be totally silent, and I could only touch him with my tongue. Then I had to guess whose cock I had been sucking. If I was right, I would get a round of applause; if I was wrong, I would get three lashes on the ass from the belt of the guy whose cock I had disrespected.' As time went on I got fewer lashes and more applause, a fact that really pleased Mike. "I'm glad," he said to me after one of those sessions, "that you're getting to know my buddies' cocks. That way you can give them the pleasure that they deserve."
When classes got out for the summer Mike told me very clearly that I was to get a full-time summer job. That way by the end of August, with the extra money I was making, they could pay off the remaining balance due on their new dirt bikes and own them free and clear. I was happy to hear that, because my life had changed big time since I had to pay them every week for those precious bikes. I hadn't forgotten the fact that I already had given them several thousand dollars that I was going to use to buy my first car.
"So that means, Sir," I said to Mike, "that when school starts in the fall I won't have to give you the $100 every week since you'll own the bikes."
"We'll see," Mike said. "Let's just take it slow, man. First thing is to get those bikes paid off."
I did work hard that summer. I wanted to fulfill my `obligation' to Mike and Jimmy as soon as possible. Besides working at the grocery store, I got a second job working for a landscaping firm. I was actually making some good bucks, and I was hoping I could make up some of the money that was supposed to be in my bank account, but had gone instead to Mike and Jimmy. The hard physical work also helped me to throw off the tension that had built up during this last year with the constant harassment and bullying at school.
Of course I still had to be available to satisfy the needs of Mike and his buddies. But Mike had a strong will and more discipline than I first realized. He worked systematically for one goal at a time--and his goal now was to pay off those bikes (with my help.) He even denied Shawn the opportunity for a rematch' in the boxing ring until school started again. He didn't want me bruised or hurting when I had to get up early to get to work the next day. He was also thinking about the videos that Len promised he would start shooting very soon. Len had told Mike that he wasn't into bondage so he didn't want hisstars'
to have any cuts or bruises on them!
Mike's character, of course, never really changed. Although he left me pretty much to do my own thing during the week, he often called on a weekend and asked (ordered) me to stay overnight. I knew then that he was organizing one of his `special' parties for his buds with me as part of the entertainment.
At these gatherings I was now his slave. I would arrive early, picking up on the way anything that was needed, like beer or pizza or munchies (my treat). I would also set up before and clean up after the parties. In between, when there were no chicks around, I would service anyone who wanted head. I would sit under a special table covered over with a cloth that read `blow-jobs'. There was a hole in the cloth where I would position my mouth. The guys thought this was an absolute riot, and as the night went on they would stick their cocks through hole and enjoy my warm, sucking mouth more and more often. When their girlfriends were around, the guys would use my mouth to clean the pussy juice from their cocks.
Sometimes a drunk teen would end up pissing instead of cumming. Mike had warned me that I was to drink the piss as well as the cum, and that if any piss dropped on the carpet I would be punished severely. I would finish those evenings with my stomach fairly bloated with cum and piss, but I must admit that slowly I adapted to it, just as Mike had said. I would, no longer feel sick, even if I sucked 15 or 20 loads, which I sometimes did. All of this slutty activity strengthened Mike's hold on me, as he obviously was hoping it would.
Finally summer was over and classes started again. Mike told me the first week that he and Jimmy were now the proud owners of their Honda bikes. "I'm real happy for you, Sir, and glad that I could help you. Now that you have your bikes can you please excuse me from paying you the $100 dollars every week? I've been thinking about getting myself a car."
Mike burst out laughing. "You still don't get it, do you fag. You're my property now, my slave. I branded you, whipped you, and marked you with my cum. Anything you get is mine. Any money you make--including from the vids--you turn over to me or Jimmy, no questions asked. Understand? And if you don't, I'm gonna turn Shawn loose on you and let him work you over for as long as he wants. He already said he wants to put you in the hospital. Do I need to call him, fag? He'll be only too happy to bust you up real bad. And remember those pix too. They could ruin what little reputation you have left at school."
"Yes, Sir," I said in a state of total shock, "I understand. I'm your slave and everything I have is yours."
"Good. Now get down on your knees, kiss my feet, and say it again like you mean it." Jimmy strolled over and Mike quickly filled him in on what was happening.
I was already on my knees. Now, with Mike and Jimmy towering over me, I humbly bent down and began kissing Mike's perpetually dirty sneakers. Then, knowing that Mike wanted me to do it, I crawled in front of Jimmy and did the same. I bent down and repeatedly kissed his grimy boots. As I looked up, both of them had big grins on their faces. "Sirs," I said, "I'm your slave, I'll do whatever you want, whenever you want, and however you want. Everything I have is yours. My only purpose from now on is to serve you and make you happy." (Damn, it sounded like the Pledge of Allegiance, but it seemed to satisfy them.)
"Okay," said Mike, "that's a start. Now we have to see if you really mean it. This year is gonna be hell for you, boy, but I know that part of you wants it real bad, and that's the part we're gonna use to make you serve us completely." Looking down both Mike and Jimmy chuckled when they saw my cock straining to burst out of my pants and a dark sticky spot spreading across my crotch.
"Oh, yeah," Mike said, "you're mine, boy, and you're gonna worship me and my buddies from now on."
I had mentioned that after my humiliation during the video try-out session I had an idea about how to exact at least a small revenge on Mike and company for the way they had been treating me. Actually, the idea had to do with the bad case of poison ivy I got that day in Mike's back yard after getting an eye full of `his' exercise equipment. Now the time to carry out my plan seemed to be right. If things went wrong I might be in for the worst beating of my life, but if they worked out . . .
One afternoon when I knew that Mike and his buddies were going to be late leaving school because of football practice I sneaked over to his house. The poison ivy in the bushes was as lush as ever, and I instinctively backed away from it, remembering my itchy and embarrassing ordeal. I had purposely worn a heavy shirt and pants, which I tucked into a pair of old rubber boots I had. I also brought a heavy pair of gloves from dad's tool kit and a burlap sack. I went directly to the back door that opened into the gym and tried the knob: it was locked. Well, you couldn't be lucky all the time.
I then continued around the house until I came to the cellar window. By rocking it back and forth I was able to open it enough to slip in (this was one time I was glad not to be bulked up!) I dropped to the floor, wondering for a minute if Mike's dad might be home. Just in case, I would have to be as quiet as possible.
I quickly passed through the gym, admiring again the variety and quality of the equipment there and wondering if it really belonged to Mike. Then I unlocked the back door. I opened it slowly so that it wouldn't squeak, and stuck my head cautiously outside. The back yard was empty, the pool sitting serenely on the extreme right. I remembered my wild rides on the dirt bikes with Mike and Jimmy, and how they almost drowned me in the pool. It all seemed like such a long time ago.
I went straight over to the hedges, slipped on my gloves and began to uproot poison ivy vines and slip them into the burlap sack. I hadn't gotten very far when I stopped in my tracks. If my plan succeeded I was sure Mike and his buddies would be checking around the hedges to see if they were disturbed. If they found that someone had been "gardening", my goose was cooked.
Luckily, as I've said before, there were lots of woods behind Mike's house, on the edge of which was the "motocross track". I headed back into the woods, going back far enough where probably no one would think about checking. This turned out to be where I did most of my harvesting. I carefully filled the burlap bag about half way with poison ivy vines, and then returned to the house. Just to make sure, I crept around to the front of the house and was relieved to see no car or motorcycle in the driveway. Then I returned to my work.
I went into the gym room and carefully placed the burlap bag on the floor. Gingerly I took out one of the vines, approaching the Bowflex with it. I rubbed the vine all over the seat, back rest, leg elevators, and hand pulleys of the machine. Then I moved over the weight bench and did the same. I moved around the room, coating each piece of equipment with the potent ivy sap. At first you could see a shiny residue, but this quickly dried and became invisible. I smiled when I thought what would happen when the sap came into contact with sweaty, slippery flesh.
Did I feel guilty about all this? Yeah, I did. That was me, and I didn't think I would ever change in that regard. I didn't want to change. I was not out to really hurt anyone, just to teach them a little lesson and to see them squirm a bit.
I didn't want to press my luck so I quickly locked the back door from the inside. I made sure that there was no trace of ivy leaves or other evidence before leaving. I did have a problem when I was leaving: I forgot that the cellar window was narrow and high enough on the wall that I couldn't reach it. I also knew that if I put up some boxes or a ladder that they would spot them immediately and know somebody had been in there. It was easier to get in than to get out!
Suddenly I heard the sound of several motorcycles in the distance, and instantly panicked. Mike and Jimmy were coming! They would get here and find me. I would be trapped. I'm sure they would be able to beat the truth out of me and than I would be back in the ring with Shawn for sure. They might even stick the burlap bag of poison ivy over my head! The roar of the motorcycles grew louder.
I decided that my only choice was to go upstairs and try to get out through a window or through the back porch. I first tried the porch, but the screen door was locked from the inside and Mike would see that the latch had been left open. Would he suspect something?
The motorcycles sounded like they had just turned onto Mike's street and would be here any minute. In desperation I decided to try an upstairs window. I went into the dining room and got lucky. Since it was almost at ground level I was able to pull up the window and screen and climb out, dropping a few feet onto the grass. The motorcycles pulled into the driveway and I heard voices. It was definitely Mike and Jimmy.
"Man, am I wiped out from practice," I heard Mike say to Jimmy. "Let's get a couple of beers. Then I'm gonna hit the shower. You can use the shower out back if you like," Mike `generously' offered to Jimmy.
"Fuck that," Jimmy piped up. "That's the fag's shower. It ain't got no hot water. Just give me that beer and then I'm gonna split."
The front door opened. I was still struggling to close the window screen, which I had jammed in my panic to escape. I dropped down below the window sill just as Mike and Jimmy walked past the dining room. Luckily they were so focused on beer, or they would have seen the screen window wide open and the curtains blowing in the breeze.
I heard noises coming from the kitchen as Mike rummaged for beer and some munchies.
"What are ya doin' for dinner, man," Jimmy asked.
"Same old, shit," Mike answered. "My old man is never home. Think I'll order a pizza or some burgers. Wanna stay?"
"Sure, why not," Jimmy said.
"Yeah, well you pay for it this time," Mike shot back. "It's your turn for sure."
"Oh," Jimmy said, sounding somewhat disappointed. "Yeah, okay, but man, the one who invites usually pays."
"Ya know you're a cheap son-of-a-bitch, `J'. Shit, you can at least spring for a pizza. Ya know as soon as Len starts filming the fag our income level is gonna go through the roof."
Well I didn't need to hear any more of that. I slowly pushed the screen up and lowered it again, and this time it went back into the track. Then I lowered the window and I was off. I was extra careful as I circled Mike's house, not knowing who I might run into. When I got home I went around back into the garage. I had stashed another set of clothes there. I dropped the burlap bag carefully in the trash and then gingerly began to remove my ivy covered clothes. Rather than wash them I dropped them all straight in the garbage. No sense taking chances.
I went upstairs, stripped again, and took a long, hot shower. Damn if I didn' t get an erection thinking about what would happen to my tormentors. How long would it take for them to use the equipment? When would they start itching? I shivered with anticipation.
After we ate the pizza, Jimmy split and I went up to take a shower and get rid of all the grime I had picked up on the football field (since practice was real long, coach let us go straight home to shower--what a big hearted asshole!) I let the steaming water ease my tight muscles and enjoyed the spray as it ran down all over my body. When I got out of the shower I spent a few minutes admiring my physique in the full length mirror. Man, that exercise equipment had really paid off. I was pumped up like never before. I thought I might even be willing to take on Shawn in the ring now. Only problem was, he had been working out too.
I looked at my hard six pack, narrow waist, bulging guns, and rock hard thighs. I twisted around and looked at my tight butt. I flexed it and it started to dimple. Jeez, was it any wonder every chick in school had the hots for me? I ran my hands through my short blond hair. Should I let it grow out a little longer? Nah, it was good just the way it was. Everything was good. My dong was sure in good working order. Between my girl's cunt and the fag's mouth it was getting lots of attention. I laughed. Fuck, most of the guys in the school were envious of my body, and most of the girls wanted me to lay them. I deliberately thrust out my pelvis and pushed my cock forward. It was beginning to inflate. Ah, yeah, life was good, and when the money started rolling in from the fag 's vids it was gonna get even better.
The fag . . . I thought about him again. He wasn't a bad lookin' dude and his body was okay--not in my league, but okay. But he was a fuckin wimp and a perv. Man, when I think about the things me and J' put that pussy through, I just can't believe it. Shit, who would be that low. Fuck, he's kissed out feet, licked em, and sucked our cocks. We've pissed on im, branded im, and dyed his pubes . . . and he still calls us `Sir'. Fuck, is the guy from another planet? He's a damn coward. What does it take to make him show some backbone? Okay, okay, he's thrown a few punches at me. He even stopped Shawn for a minute during that fuckin' boxing match.
Hey, that's what I want to see again. I wanna see Shawn pound him into the mat again. There may just be enough time for it so that his bruises will heal before Len's shoot. Shit, I know Shawn wants it so bad he would pay me for it. Well, why the hell not? I think when the guys come over tomorrow to pump some iron I'm gonna set it up. Maybe I'll video tape it and show it to Len. Hell, he might even want to put it on his webpage . . . especially if Shawn sits on the fag's face again.
(To be continued)
Authors note: Sorry guys, I'll be out of town for about five weeks and won't be able to post again until I get back. Don't worry, Joe, Mike, Jimmy, and the rest of the gang will be back and wrap things up before Xmas! See ya.