Skateboard by Ruthless@nbnet.nb.ca
WARNING: Non-cons. M/m M+/m This story is male-male erotic fiction. It contains scenes of minor violence and of graphic non-consensual sex. If you are underage or if you are offended by this type of fiction, please do not read it. The author welcomes your comments, questions, suggestions and complaints at Ruthless@nbnet.nb.ca
Skateboard
There are always some skateboard kids playing around the loading ramps, especially on a Saturday. They're not little kids I mean. These would be high school boys and social assistance guys from the rooming houses on Water Street, and maybe some of them have jobs as bus boys, something like that. I guess the average age would be around twenty. These guys wear a lot of army surplus and they have piercings in their eyebrows and noses and they run the gamut of skill. Some of them can't get up on a curb without clattering and staggering away sideways on the pavement and some of them go flying around and jump the end of the dock and still land back on their boards to come swaying down nonchalant at about forty miles an hour. You never know what's going to come piling around the corner on a Saturday, and if he's going to be in control or not, so though I've got the key to the back I wouldn't dream of going in that way.
I work Saturdays and Sundays, every Saturday and Sunday, and I couldn't be more different than these kids. In our office we don't have a dress down Friday. The only concession to a dress down weekend is that our highly decorative female receptionist is off, and I'm expected to take exigency duty, if we get any out of state or international visitors. I get to lead them around and answer their questions and maybe squire them out to dinner at Jardin aux Delices, all on the company credit card, of course. I'm a flunky, but an up and coming flunky. So my daily wear, weekend or not is a suit, the most expensive one I can afford. And my haircut is short and discrete and my last girlfriend asked me if I was a mortician when she first met me, which got the relationship off to a rather rocky start. But I'm kind of a stick and I have to admit it.
I go up to my office on the third floor and sit there crunching numbers -- big numbers, some of them, and looking out the window at those guys whirling around below me. Here I am, up and coming, and next year I'm moving up to a luxury car that isn't a quality pre-owned Lexus, and my life is on the right track and there they are, hanging out, wasting time and perfecting a skill that is absolutely useless. The single guy social assistance benefit is 347 dollars a month. I don't know, but I think they must do a fair bit of ripping off to just get by but they've got all the time in the world and sometimes flying down the forklift ramp they look like they're weightless.
This Saturday afternoon, one of the guys shows me just how fast the world can come crashing in on you. He's one of the regulars, a skilful guy, short punk hair, a white muscle shirt showing off the smooth bulk of his arms and shoulders. Most times when he comes over the ramp he glides as smooth and white as a seagull with his arms outstretched to both sides like the wings of a bird mounting the emptiness of the air. But this time there is another guy coming up and they're both timing it to pass in midair, so he keeps his arms down. And this time he doesn't quite hit the leaping board square on, because the skateboard flips and the guy flips and he hits the concrete like Icarus.
Up in my office my back jerks straight and I crane my neck. The guy is down, laid out flat. I'm still stunned for an instant but then I see red under his head where he landed. So I swing around and start punching buttons on my desk. By the time I have the ambulance underway the guy is surrounded by a cluster of the kids, the red under his head is about a foot wide across the concrete and he's still not moving. It looks to me like his head might be stove completely in on the side. The guys are gathering close, but not touching him and I don't see any of them has a cell phone out. Surely one of the high school kids must have a cell phone, but no. I don't see a phone.
So I take the stairs, jumping down fast, long-legged. I don't take the time to tell security, because I'm at the back and he's supposed to be at the front door, if he's actually there. I just run down, push the back door open and go out on the dock.
I see the guy's mouth is open and I think I see broken teeth. The poor bastard! He is out cold but the young guys around him aren't acting like he's dead. They look up at me, close to ten heads turning. I don't see any friendly looks. They look startled and hostile.
"Ambulance coming." I tell them. "Don't... Did you move him?"
"No, man. We didn't touch him." The skateboard punk who answers me is a tall kid with a bit of a goatee that glints with the piercings in his lower lip. "He fell off his skateboard."
"I know." I say. "I saw it." And then I say, "Don't move his head or his back at all. Don't move him. He is breathing, isn't he?" Everybody knows you don't move a guy who might have broken his back or his neck. I'm telling them like they're stupid, but I have to say it, just in case they don't know.
Then I realise that the pack of boys are looking really mean. They are even spreading out while they glare at me. A couple of them are spreading out so they're coming closer to me edging around towards the ramp I'm standing on. And their hands are being held limp and wide from their bodies, like their getting ready for a fight, although the only one there is me, in my midnight grey suit and my Italian tie that cost me very nearly as much as they get in one month's social assistance benefits. I'm trying to get help for the kid and they're sizing me up. Assholes, I think.
But I don't stick around to gush, oh gosh, do you think he's going to be okay, or deke in close to gawk at the poor bastard sprawled out on the hard, hard ground. I go back inside the building and seal the door up completely. Were those little pricks going to mug me? I think as I climb up the stairs again. But I don't believe it. For some reason the kids are not happy that I called the ambulance. I don't know why that would be.
I go hunt up our security guys. We have two of them on the weekend, and I walk up and down the halls, feet silent on the pale grey carpet and I can't find either of them. Usually I would buzz for them, though I don't do it as often as once a month, but I've had trouble tracking them down that way. I think it'll be faster to hunt for them. It isn't Finally after about ten minutes I just go up to my office and buzz for them from there. By then some of the kids are sitting on the concrete around their fallen friend and the ambulance has not got there yet. He has had a jacket laid over him. Two of the punks have disappeared.
By and by Mickey, the security guard comes shuffling in and he is standing back by my door instead of coming in.
"Look, I just called an ambulance." I tell him. "There's a young guy fell off his skateboard out back and he smashed his head open."
"Aw...Hey." Says Mickey slowly. "I can't keep the kids away from there. There's just one of me, with all respect Sir, and these guys don't listen to anybody. See? So I can't stop it. I don't know when they're there or not... Yeah, respectfully, sir."
"I'm just telling you." I said. But by then I was looking at him narrow-eyed. I smelt something. I came round my desk and walked up to him slow and deliberate and sniffed. Mickey is just reeking of hash. Now I know where he was. He had hidden himself somewhere maybe down the basement and had been smoking it up.
"Aw, Man." I said. "Where's the other security guard?"
"He's downstairs." Said Mickey.
"Mickey," I said. "You've been smoking hash. You can't do that on the job." Only obviously he can and he does. Because the office is all but empty on the weekends unless we have a crew in unloading. There are maybe only six people in the whole building. Looking at him I'm betting he does this every weekend. He's got his whole shift to get toked up in. He's got nothing more to do that mooch around in the most deserted parts of the building and then tick off that he's completed his rounds on his clipboard. And I know he hasn't been doing his job.
I don't know the name of the other security guard but I buzz for him and he doesn't come up and he doesn't come up. The ambulance comes along outside and they roll the guy up and put him in the back of it and drive away and it's only after they are gone that the second security guard comes up. He does the same as Mickey, stands as far away from me as possible.
Yeah, he's so stoned he's making Mickey look straight. Both my security guards are so wasted they can't quite talk coherently. So I fire them both. I'm a prick, but not such a prick that I write them up for drug use on the job. We have a zero tolerance policy, so I am bending the rules at a ninety-degree angle. I write it down as them not responding when I page them, and them not being on duty where they ought to be. So this way they won't have a drug notation in their file. The two security guards just shrug and look at each other and I go down and escort them to their lockers and out of the building. They don't seem to mind much, once I tell them I'm not writing them up for drug use.
I am simply not getting through a lot of marketing plan approvals this morning. Once I have the two men gone I have to contact the company we sub-contract security from, and let them know what I've done and ask them to send a couple of replacement guys in. They say they can manage that but the new security won't be in before five. That's not bad, and I'm not the least bit nervous to have no security in the building until the evening. It never crosses my mind to be nervous.
But before I go back to looking at Power Point presentations of marketing plans I check out my window again. The skateboard punks are almost all gone. There is one large red splash on the concrete and just one kid left, one of the younger kids riding slowly and wobbling, around and around. He looks up at me. He is a blond kid, about seventeen. He goes around a circuit and looks up at me again. He can see me, then, watching him. He knows which window is my office and he is looking up at me, aware that I watch.
I shrug and go back to my work. I work real hard, since I do not want to put in any overtime. If I have to put in overtime I will miss my workout at the pool tonight. And after dealing with the skateboard kids and the security guards I am thinking that my body needs to do fifteen or twenty steady hard laps to get me tired out and quiet in my mind. So I work through my lunch, gnawing an apple at my desk while I keep my eyes on my computer screen and wonder how anyone can make a presentation complete with fireworks, whirling letters and sports team music seem so lifeless.
It is about four p.m. when the power goes out. My computer screen gives a little pop and goes grey and the fluorescent light in my ceiling goes pale white and when I bring my head up startled I see that the clock I keep on my sorting stand is blank instead of having little red numbers on it.
I get up and stretch. I check out the window. There are almost a dozen skateboard punks back and the red splash on the concrete has become a big runny pink splotch. Someone has brought at least a couple of gallons of water and thrown it down in an effort to clean it up. But they didn't have enough water, so it has just become a big pink puddle. The kids are not showing off too hard. They are more just hanging out. The tall guy with the glittery goatee is standing on his board rocking it from one end to the other on the spot like a kid standing on a teeter totter. When I look up and across I see that the gold and green sign on the building across from us has turned dark grey and the office windows are blank, so I know that the power failure has at least hit this block and the next one. It is not just our building.
Everyone else in the building decides to go home. Like I said, there are not many of us in on the weekend. It is a kind of a volunteer duty, to keep the office manned, and it is only ambitious types like me that come in. They are all headed out, apparently relieved to have their afternoon truncated. They call good-bye to me from the halls. Now usually the security guards let us out the front door. I let a couple of people out that way with my key. But some of the others go out the side doors, since they had to take the side and back stairs down anyway. It's easier for them to do that then to walk around to the front again and wait for me to let them out.
Outside it is getting grey so the building is dim inside. It is not getting grey with sunset. It is several hours until dark yet. But it looks like heavy clouds are coming over and there will be a rainstorm in a little bit. I peer up and I decide most likely there is a storm north of us that knocked the power lines down or something. There is no power in the whole city. That means the pool will be closed and most of the restaurants. But it hardly matters, since I don't think I ought to go until the new security guards get here. After all, I have to let them in.
I look about for a flashlight and can't find one. But I wander around the building anyway. It is not so dark. I do what I think the security guards would do. I check everyone is out of the building okay and I'm working on making sure that the side doors have been shut properly after people went out. I'm coming up back from the service elevator corridor when this guy appears. He's inside the building walking down towards the back. Now I'm not short. I've five foot ten, but the first thing that hits me is that this guy is huge. He has to duck his head a little bit coming under the doorway. I'm looking at a man that's pretty close to a giant. He's got shoulders as wide as the doorway and he's an inch or two taller than the doorway, which is well over six and a half feet tall. There's a fucking giant in the building.
My next thought, of course, is who the hell is he? He doesn't work for us. I'd recognize him in an instant if he did. And frankly I'm not sure I've ever seen a guy that size in the flesh, though maybe at a pro football game. I stop short. He keeps coming.
"Who are you?" I say.
He smiles. He pauses a minute for me to really start to wonder, and to feel a definite lump of alarm in my gut. "I'm your new security guard." He says. He's got an accent.
I look at him some more. There is something more than a trifle fishy about this. It's really simple. He's one guy, not two and he's not in a uniform. We hire from a security company and they provide uniforms. This guy is in slightly rumpled work clothes.
"Show me the building." He says.
I stand there, mouth just a little bit open, trying to think as fast as I can. If he's the new security guard, then what I should do is ask him for his ID and start writing down particulars and get his paperwork ready to be entered into our system. But if he's not the new security guard, and I think he's not, if I ask him for his ID he's not going to show me one. In fact, at that point he's going to be fingered for an intruder and I was going to have to face telling a 350 pound giant that he'd better leave the building now or else, or if not I was going to scream like a girl.
Put simple, I didn't have the guts to challenge him for his ID. I put on a frozen smile, nodded and started to show him the building. So I took him straight around to the front desk first, and in my best, I-am-the-boss-on-duty voice, I handed him the clipboard and explained to him about doing his hourly rounds, and how the intercom system worked and how the front door double lock system worked -- it would be on battery now. And how that light on the security board meant one of the back doors was open, I think. And how he was supposed to do rounds...
I just wanted to leave the guy at the front desk and get the hell away from him. That was my plan. But he followed me, two steps behind and smiling. He had big teeth and I think his accent was Eastern European. He seems to find this all faintly amusing.
"So where are the offices?' He says.
"Oh, all upstairs -- except the receptionist here." Yeah, I'm keeping that voice calm.
"Is the other guy coming soon?" I ask.
"Yeah, he'll be here soon." Says the security guard who probably isn't a security guard.
"So, how did you get in?" I say.
"I rang and no one answered.' He said. "So I went around the side and someone let me in the back.' And he gives a smile again. He stands close to me. Or maybe it's the size of him. He just seems to be standing too close.
"Show me the offices upstairs." He says.
"Sure." I say, because I am not keeping up with the pretence of being in control very well.
We go up the stairs. I go first and he is so close behind me that I can almost feel the heat of his massive body. He is two steps behind me and his head is on the same level as mine is. And he is built blocky, with crude features, a square jaw and narrow eyes under big brows. I keep looking back at him, and I keep moving because if I don't, I think the guy is going to touch me.
I do a kind of a cursory, fake tour. "And here are the washrooms... and the executive offices in here. Mostly locked, of course..."
"Who else is in the building?"
"Uh, nobody." I say. "And I was leaving." What I'm thinking, the best plan I can come up with, is to keep acting like I believe he's the new security guard, and then tell him he's in charge of the building and take off. Being in the dark stairwells with him has my heart pounding and I can feel sweat in my armpits. About all there is in the building to rip off are a bunch of expensive computers. But although this guy could probably carry three or four of them off with him, I know the resale on a second hand computer is not high. It's not high enough to be worth risking prison. So that means that this guy is not big on cause and effect. He doesn't worry too much about there being consequences of his actions. He's like most casual criminals, stupid.
I'm pretty sure he's stupid enough to hurt me. I'm not sure he's stupid enough to kill me. But when we have to come downstairs we're in the back of the building, near the ground floor where the open door would be, and it's very dim in there and I say, "We should make sure that back door is locked..." What I'm thinking is I want to go to that back door and go through it. And if I can gabble out something about he should seal it well behind me, maybe he is going to think I'm convinced he's bona fide and he'll let me leave.
But I don't get as far as the door. In that dark corridor he steps ahead a bit where there is an alcove, and so I get pressed into the alcove and then he stops and I'm in the corner there. And he steps forward so I step back -- it's that or have him put his chest in my face. And then I'm back up flat to the wall and he's standing over me, dim great jaw above me in the dark. He's got his two hands on either side of me, at the level of my neck.
"I'll need the keys." He says.
I don't say anything. If I said anything it would come out as a gurgle.
"Give me the keys." He says.
"I don't have them." I say.
"Yeah, you do." He says. And then he starts sliding his hands all over me. First he pats my chest and slides his hands under my jacket so he knows they're not in my shirt pockets underneath. His hands are big and meaty and hot. Then he checks out the pockets in my suit jacket and they're not there. Then he slides his hands, not patting over my front trouser pocket where the keys actually are, but around behind, my wallet-pocket. He pats me on the ass, both sides. I make a croaking sound. And only then he brings his hands around the front and he pats me on the crotch and on both sides, trying the most obvious place last. He finds the jingly lump of keys and takes them out.
"I thought you'd have them." He says. "You're scared of me, aren't you? That's cute."
I'm still back, flat to the wall. I've been groped and I'm sure he enjoyed it. But one faint thought is coming into my head. He patted over my wallet and didn't take it. I have credit cards in there, mine and the company cards, and a bank card that would give him access to an account with over sixty-thousand dollars in it, if he forces the pin number out of me. I've got more resources in my wallet than he could get swiping second hand computers. But he didn't take my wallet. Is it possible he's not a thief?
My mouth opens while I'm trying to formulate this thought and I get the wrong words out. "Where's your uniform?" I say.
He smiles again, that wide curve on the blocky jaw. "They couldn't get one that fit me."
Which is utterly, utterly plausible, since his jacket has got to be a size 6XX oversize. My mouth hangs open, as I suddenly snatch at the hope. Maybe this guy really is the security guard.
"Why did you grope me?" I say. I've lost the ability to dissemble.
"I thought you'd like it," says the giant, and leans in and puts his mouth on mine. Now there's a huge man, kissing me. He mashes his lips against mine. I feel his solid teeth behind his lips and the blunt wet tip of his tongue probes my mouth. I have a bewildered disjointed, intrusive thought, well, at least he's not a smoker. But mostly I just hang there, frozen, angry, and scared out of my mind.
He takes his mouth away and says almost the same thing he did before. "You're cute."
"Let go of me!" I say angrily.
He backs off, reaches into his pocket and holds something out to me. It's a card of some time, plastic coated. It's an ID card. But of course it's way dark there in that corner behind the giant. I can't see the ID well enough to tell if there's a picture on it, much less read any words. "See?" He says.
"No!" I say.
Then he chuckles at that and reaches down and takes me by the crotch. It doesn't matter if he's the security guard or not, I realise. If smoking weed on the job is enough grounds for firing a guy, so is groping lower management. This guy has long since passed the bounds of what he could get away with.
"Fuck off!" I spit the words out. In response his hand tightens. First it didn't hurt but it felt as weird as anything, but the minute I snarl at him the hand goes tight. It's not so bad that I buckle. The yelp that comes out of me is more fear than pain.
"Tell me you want it." He says.
"Leave me alone." I'm panting as hard as if I've been running up the stairs. "Let me out of here. I..."
He cuts me off. "Either you tell me you like it and you want it," He says, "Or I'll understand you like it rough instead."
At that moment I don't say anything. His words take mine away completely. Instinctively I've brought my hands down on his and I'm trying to get them pried loose from my crotch but it's not working. He's cupping and wriggling his fingers under my balls and around my dick and he's got death grip on them over the cloth.
At that point I know something bad is going to happen to me. I just don't know how bad it's going to get. I know there is no wriggling out of this one. I can't fake not being scared of him and I can't pry him loose of me. I shudder under his touch. He brings his mouth down to my mouth again while his hand keeps working. His hand only moves away enough to get my zip and pull it down. When it goes up and gets my trouser hook and button I get my hand over my own crotch. I get them cupped. But then all he has to do is pluck my hands away again. I slow him down for a second and get a knuckle stabbed into my prick uncomfortably while he forces his way at me. In another moment he is reaching down the front of my boxers. He sticks his tongue into my mouth and takes my cock and balls bare skinned into his huge calloused hand.
Now he is playing with it, not causing me pain. He's rubbing my prick. One hand has me by the back of the neck pulling me in to face him. The other hand is wriggling and squeezing. That means my hands are both free and I cock a fist, drawing back tensing. I'm about to hit him, hard as I can hit, one punch in the gut or in the crotch and try that to see if I can break free.
He takes his lips off mine and says into my mouth. "If you hit me, I'll hit back, and then I'll have to rape you while you're unconscious."
I don't hit him. He picks me off the wall, still holding the back of my neck and still rubbing my crotch with his hand and makes me walk down the corridor. My pants are sliding down on my thighs as I stumble along. God? Get me out of this somehow, I pray.
He pushes open the industrial door with his shoulder, ducks to get through and takes us into the loading garage. That's where the side door is open. I'm nearer the door and escape but it's still impossible. The gap in the side door fifty feet away lets in a blue bar of light and a long high up window made of glass bricks lets in still more. There's a place here where small trucks can come in, and a pair of metal dumpsters, and a little of everything that should have been in the dumpster, cardboard boxes, lumpy smooth garbage bags, used fluorescent light tubes, paint cans and the broken metal struts of a display booth that hadn't survived a trip home from a convention. He tosses me down on a pile of cardboard boxes. There isn't much broken glass there from the smashed fluorescent tubes but I register the prickles.
I get up again slowly, trying to see if there is a way to run. He's unzipping. He takes his cock out and shows me. It's huge. "You like that, boy?"
It must be twelve inches long. It's thick, like him. I make a sound and it isn't pleased anticipation.
The giant brings it in close, and gets the back of my head again. "Say you like it, boy." He says to me. "Say, you want it."
"Jesus. Fuck off." I say faintly.
"Admit you like it!" His voice gets up hard and louder. I see the redness of his cock head. I'm dizzy with disbelief. His penis is so huge that the pee slit looks big enough to stick a dollar coin in there. The glans looks so big I'm not sure my hand is even large enough to wrap around it.
Then he takes me by the crotch and this time it's a yank that hurts. "Little boy meat." He says contemptuously. "Say you like my cock." He orders.
"I like it." I whisper. I'm giving in. He calls me little boy. I'm not a little boy, I'm nearly thirty years old but I might just as well be nothing but a kid, because he can handle me anyway he wants to. Please God, I think. Don't let this happen to me. Please, please.
He brings his cock up and my face down and rubs it against my cheeks. I smell the scent of pre-cum and crotch, unfamiliar and familiar at once. The head of his cock is perfectly smooth skin over iron hardness. He rubs it side to side. "You want it. Beg for it." He demands.
"I want it. I like it." I say.
"You love it."
"I love it." I say. Please, God, no, I think.
"You want to suck it." He directs.
"I want to suck it." I don't have much of a voice. It's faint and defeated. I can't believe it's my voice. I can't believe I'm saying it.
"Kiss my hot cock, little boy. Plead for it!"
I start kissing it. I plead. "Please... I want your cock."
He's chuckling as he rubs it against me and I kiss it. I lick it when he rubs it against my lips and I rub my lips over it and tongue it. He pushes it down and my head down so the rubber-ball head of it is ready to thrust in, but it's almost like trying to put a softball in my mouth. I open as wide as I can get and he drags my face in heedless of my teeth. He gets the head of his dick into me, on my tongue all the way back so it hits the back of my mouth. I gurgle. I can barely suck that massive dick. It's way too thick to go down my throat. But he keeps on pushing so all I can do is be pushed back, strangled.
Then he has me flat on my back and he's kneeling over me. He works his cock at my mouth. His other hand is ripping my shirt buttons open. He gets his hand in on my chest and starts rubbing, squeezing down on my belly and it makes me wriggle on the ground below him. The cardboard boxes slither. I can barely breath. My mouth is full of the taste of skin.
"Lick me, Asshole!" He hisses. He pulls it out of my mouth and scrapes his penis against my face so I can lick him. I lick him.
"You cocksucker." He says. "You love cock. You love my cock. You fucking worship my cock, don't you? Your little boy meat is nothing to my man cock. You want to be my slut, don't you? Hey? Kiss that cock, asshole!"
Since he could probably kill me just by twisting my neck I kiss his cock. Sometimes he rubs his cock while I'm licking and sucking on him. "Want me to cum on your face, Man-slut?" he asks me. "Want me to pump my cream down your throat? Beg me for it, you cock-sucking slut."
"Cum on my face." I say. "Please cum on my face. I want you to cum on my face." Because I do want him to cum on my face. It beats the two obvious alternatives.
"You fucking liar." He says. "I know what you want really. I know where you want it. Yeah, you do too, Boy. You can't wait for me to cram this cock up your man- pussy."
Then he gets me up, off the cardboard boxes and onto my knees. His cock is dripping from my spit. He lines it up at the cheeks of my ass. No, Jesus. I think. I'll say fifty Hail Marys every night for the rest of my life if you keep this from happening. Pretty please, God. Just let me know what I have to promise to stop this from happening.
At first it looks like God is going to come through because there is no way he can get that monster prick up my ass. He pushes and my asshole doesn't even take the pressure. It's the two muscles in my butt that feel him pushing down. But then he takes his finger and he jams that up into me, dry and hard and I choke with the pain of it. And then he works a second finger in, while still humping towards my tail. My asshole stretches. His two fingers are bigger than three of mine. The time I broke my collarbone playing basketball didn't hurt as much as this. And his two fingers pull back and slam in, pull back and slam in and I make little noises and dribble spit, because I am so far gone I can't pretend to have any dignity any more.
And when he has my ass nicely loosened up he lines his cock up and holds my butt cheeks open and pushes. "Beg me, Slut. Beg me." He is groaning. I scream when it gets in. It doesn't even get all the way in. It's just the first inch breaching me, not even down to the flared corona, but the shriek of pain comes out of me anyway. That seems to turn him on even more because he pushes harder and his breath is chuffing like he's happy. He snorts and sighs and coos, "I'll give you what you want! Fuck you bowlegged."
And he does fuck me bowlegged. He gets his cock into me and he's humping and pounding into me and I'm bucking under him, held up by him. I never felt anything like it. I feel like there's a truck backing up my ass. Sometimes I yowl and sometimes I moan and sometimes I just shudder. He goes slam, slam, slam and he breaths out curses and endearments in dirty talk. "Fucking pretty slut-boy like you needs to be cock-trained. You going to take my load. Yeah, I got a great load of spunk I've been saving just for you. Pump it in your little asshole, come on, beg me!"
He hits me when he says Beg me, impacting a slap on the side of my head. So I say, "Please." But most of the time I just whimper with pain. He thrusts and he prongs and he bangs into me.
"Beg me for it, man-slut!"
"Please..."
When he comes at last his cock starts bouncing. I feel the shudders in the thing as it twitches inside my ass. I feel it pumping, cum spurting inside me. The giant sighs, "Ooooh..." The twitching goes on. He kneels waiting for his spasming load of cum to stop spurting into me. It goes twitch, twitch and the man chuckles.
When he takes it out of me he reaches around and gets a grip on my cock and balls and turns me around that way. He is chuckling. He guides his cock back to my lips again. It is shiny and dark and still massive. The only change is that now it is pointing half down instead of straight up. "You and me going to have a good night together." He says. He pulls my face against this cock. "Clean it." He demands.
I clean it.
Then when he stands up to zipper it back in, I take off, running. I get off the inside dock and go flying across the garage. I run like hell. I'm running for the door. I run, long legged and my strides push my pants up my thighs as I run. I don't even bother about pulling my trousers up. Because if I can't get away from him with them still down I won't get away from him at all. I only have that instant to run. I break for the door with the giant coming right behind me.
The door is open and I get through the door. But the giant is right behind me and grabs my jacket when I'm only two strides through it. He grabs and I go down. I fall on all fours. My hands go out wide in front of me, breaking my fall so my chin doesn't hit the concrete. Outside the rain is coming straight down, grey. I'm face across the wet concrete. It is dark and drizzly and cold. There are four skateboard punks squatting under the overhang by the side of the loading dock, sheltering from the rain. There are four heads turned to see me go flat on my face when the giant catches me by the jacket. And then I am lying there facing the boys with the giant holding my jacket like a leash behind.
The skateboard punks stand up. One is the tall guy with black hair and the chin piercings. One is a bulky kid with short blond hair. Two have brown hair. They are all the guys that were out there before.
"Want to come inside and play with my slut?" says the giant. "He likes to take a cock up his ass." He pulls me up from the ground. My shirt is open and my trousers are down at my knees again and the four guys are looking. They see my cock hanging down in the open.
The giant hauls me back inside and the four skateboard kids come in, sauntering, looking around like the place is spooky, nonchalant, carrying their skateboards under their arms.
"Don't." I say to the giant.
"You need more cock-training, Pussy-Boy." Says the giant. He gives me just a bit of a shake. "Get on your knees and beg them to let you suck their cocks."
I get on my knees. I turn my face up at the four punks who move in a little bit. They have curious, fascinated faces. The guy with the piercing in his chin is twisting his mouth in a moue like he's starting to ask a question and it makes the silver studs stand out.
"Please let me go home." I say.
"None of that!' The giant slaps me lightly on the side of the head.
"Please let me suck your cocks." I say.
"Sure." Says one of the punks.
They come in, in a ring. They look up at the giant in a way they never looked at me. At him there's a cautious respect. They look at me and take me by the head. One of them pokes my mouth with a finger.
"He's a fucking pussy." The giant tells them, his voice gravelly. "You guys just want a quick suck, he'll take care of you. But if you want some more he's got lots more to give."
The skateboard kids glance around the garage some more. They are wet; dark stains on their hoods and shoulders, damp hair standing up in spikes. It wasn't very dry under the overhang. The high school kids have gone home. These guys are probably homeless. Maybe they even live under the overhang there. The tall kid is the oldest. He's maybe twenty-five. The youngest kid has a tattoo on his cheek. He has the battered look of someone who had gotten into a lot of fights. He's probably not much more than eighteen. They are a tough looking bunch of guys. The blond haired kid smiles. "Suck my cock?" He asks me.
I give a shaky breath and nod.
"You like it?" He pulls his cock out. It is half hard only, growing as he holds it in his fingers. He's uncircumcised and the head of his cock is swelling out of the skin, pushing the wrinkles back as it juts out closer and closer to me.
"Say you love it, Slut, or I'll fist you." Says the giant.
"I love it." I say and my voice trembles.
I bend forward obediently and begin sucking the skateboard kids' cocks. Another one of the guys pulls his cock out and holds it out towards me. There are two of them, so I go from one to the other, lick, lap, mouth. The kids' cocks are normal sized. They are big cocks, maybe eight inches each, not like the giant's cock.
"You going to play with him a bit or just shoot your loads as quick as you can?" The giant asks.
"We'll play." Says the dark haired kid.
"You want to come in more? There's a room with a couch inside."
They want to come in. We all troop through the garage into the grey hall where the giant first put me up against the wall, up the stairs, board shoes wetly smacking on the stair treads, to the executive office upstairs. The giant holds me by the coat and I walk along with my pants at thigh level. There is a big glass window their, letting in a view of the wet skyline, and a pile of trade magazines on a little glass table. There are two spiky tropical plants in floor planters and a pink and grey plaid couch, very familiar to me. The giant puts me on my back on the couch.
The punk with the piercing takes his cock out. Like his lower lip and like his ears, there is a piercing in his cock. He leans over my face and places his cock in my mouth. The giant and one of the other skateboard kids goes to my legs and strip my trousers, shoes and pants off. The giant bends my knees back to my chest and sticks his finger up my ass. He pumps it. The punk feels over my balls and his fingernails dig into me there. I see another punk watching but I don't know where the fourth man is.
"You're the guy that came out and told us you'd called the ambulance, right?" One of the skateboard punks asks. I can't answer him because I've got a penis in my mouth. I try to make a sound, saying yes, because I think maybe they'll hurt me less if they're grateful.
"Didn't ya call the cops too?" Says the blond-haired boy, as he leans over me, squeezing my balls.
"Wha?" I say. The dark-haired man slides his cock out of my mouth so I can talk.
"Did you call the cops? Get them to chase us away? Because we didn't see them." He says.
"No." I say. "I didn't." The cock goes back into my mouth.
I don't fully know what the blond boy means until he says, "We thought you'd called the cops to clear us out after Jay got hurt. No, huh? Ya didn't?" He takes my cock between his two palms and rubs them back and forth on it.
Pretty soon I don't see anything because the black-haired skateboard punk is straddling my head while he feeds his cock to me. I suck mechanically. My jaw is trembling. Then they try to lever me up, so I can be fucked while on my back and still keep sucking. I feel hot bare skinned thighs, fuzzy with hair come under my butt. I can't see which guy it is. He puts my heels on his shoulders and I feel the dampness of his army jacket. He lines it up and slides it into me. I moan.
It wouldn't be nearly so bad as the giant's cock. It might almost feel good, because this cock is much more the size for my body. This one isn't distending me so horribly that it bruises me and stretches me beyond bearing. It's just a firm prick, warm skinned and essentially male. But my tissue is raw and so sore from the bruising that it hurts me just to be touched. He slides it in and out of me. Sometimes I suck the dick in my mouth, sometimes I just concentrate on breathing while my face and my ass are fucked and sometimes I cry. I cry just like some kid and it makes the giant laugh.
"Poor, poor little baby." He gloats.
The skateboard kids keep looking around at me and at him and at the office. One of them has come padding back down the hall with cans of pop broken out of the vending machine in the cafeteria. They are all drinking pop and taking turns fucking me. I am on my knees. The blond haired man, the uncircumcised one is fucking my ass from behind while the giant fondles my chin.
"Push back for him, Boy." The giant tells me. "Make him enjoy it. If he don't enjoy it, you won't get a load of cum in your ass." But the blond haired punk is enjoying himself. He thrust smoothly and evenly.
"How long he been your slut?" He asked the giant.
"Just started breaking him in today." The great big man said easily. "He's my newest baby. He's a cute little suit, too. You want to fuck him across the desk?"
So they take me, make me walk bowlegged and slow, thighs up against my thighs trying to walk while I keep the cock in my ass because if it slides out the giant will punish me and hurt me some how. I have to walk ten steps like this before they lay me over the executive receptionist's desk with my chest on her desk blotter and my chin on her keyboard and her pencil can beside my ear.
But that's not good enough. They turn me around the other way so that they can fuck my mouth as well as my ass. I get to suck another punk's cock while the blond man fucks my ass. There's a stud in this cock too. It rubs my tongue.
"Whatcha want to play?" The giant says. "You can do anything to my slut. Anything you like."
Then the blond man is cumming. He pulls it out at the last moment and he pumps it onto my ass, shooting his load onto my butt cheeks, making it smear and drip so I can feel it warm.
Then the dark haired kid goes behind me. I'm afraid because his cock with the metal piercing is going to hurt more. The metal stud sticks out sideways and it's going to scratch me going in and out. He pulls his cock out but he doesn't put it in me. He pulls my ass cheeks apart and eats my ass out. He slides his tongue up my crack and slobbers and licks and snorts and laughs and sucks me, where my hole is sore and the giant's cum is still oozing down.
And then they wipe my ass off, and I hear them saying. "We can do it. One in front and one in behind."
"Oh yeah!"
"Hear that, Slut? You get to take two cocks at once."
It doesn't mean much to me, since I've already been taking the two, one in the mouth and one in the ass. I don't know what they really mean. They lay me across a chair and one punk holds my knees and someone leans on my back and the giant beats my ass. He just uses his hand slapping but he slaps hard enough I jerk and I scream. It hurts quite a lot, especially with the sore, raw tissue below. I just can't take the impact and these impacts sting stunningly.
"Hey!" says one of the punks and he is half laughing, half protesting. He doesn't want to wait while the giant hits my ass. The giant can hit quite hard. I'm not trying to stifle my screams. Maybe that's what the giant wants to hear. When they let go of me and don't drive cocks into me, I cover my head in my arms.
Then they get me stretched out on the floor, on the grey carpet under the tropical plants and the dark haired punk lies down beside me with his pants bunched at his ankles and his studded cock sticking up along the bush on his belly. They've taken my shirt and jacket away so I am completely naked. They all look at my body, the skateboard kids standing there coolly, drinking pop and glancing at the giant for permission.
"Just fuck him hard so it breaks him." The giant says.
The skateboard kid forces his cock up my ass. And just like I thought it would the stud hurts, it's like being stung only harder. I yelp. His prick is unyielding and rod-like. He bores it up into me humping, dragging my hips down as he lies on his side, facing me. He does a couple of strokes in and out, getting a rhythm. I close my eyes and will it to be done but he stops entirely. He rolls onto his back, keeping me on him. Now he's on his back on the floor and I'm on my back on top of him.
Then one of the other kids is straddling across us. He takes my legs and lifts them up. His thighs are spread so wide I can see the muscle structure in them as he braces. I think, what is he doing? He doesn't need to spread my legs to get at my cock. And then he lies down on me, sliding his cock in deep so the head of it is down in my seam and down where it's up against his friend's balls. I moan, deep and visceral. I know I can't do it. I'm praying it can't be done.
He uses his two thumbs to get my hole wider so that he can put his cock in beside his buddy's cock. He has to squirm it up, inch by inch. The man underneath me is groaning as he forces the second penis up my asshole right in beside the first. But I am only shuddering, with the tears and the sweat streaming down my body.
"Hurt him!" The giant hisses. "Hurt him! Teach him to take cock!"
"Easy, Roy. Lemmee do the fucking." Says the guy with the tattoo on his cheek. So now I now the name of the kid with the cock piercing. He's Roy. The man beneath me with his cock in my ass is named Roy.
I get fucked by two pricks at once. They can't get a rhythm. It's one man than the other, jerky motions and my balls squashed and the skin pressed so tight it's sweat fused and the pain so bad I'm gagging silently. The two men breath deep and wrap their arms around me for purchase. I see the man in front of me, his smile swimming in my vision. He licks my throat and kisses his buddy over my shoulder and then jerks back. He gasps, "You prick! You taste like cum!"
The man under me laughs. He is breathless both from the effort and from our weight on top of him. He bites my shoulder making a hickey, sucking the skin there. They are both laughing, grunting and trying to get a rhythm. I am stretched so badly I can't get my breath either. But they do get a rhythm, one thrusting and than another and they are puffing now, and I feel both shafts pistoning up and back, up and back. They drive harder.
"Break him!" says the giant. He kneels beside ups and he grips my hair, grinning wolfishly. "Break him!"
It feels like I am already broken and the distension gets worse and then the man under me seems to be having a seizure because he is squirming and thrashing all over, gasping, "Yaaaah!" He's cumming. His pulsing cock brings his buddy over the edge too and they are both cumming.
"Oh migod, Oh migod..!" the man on top of me sobs as he jets his spunk out into my body.
They pull out. The man on top of me staggers to his feet with a goofy grin. He hops looking for his trousers.
"Bring him over there... Yeah." The other two men take me and drag me over, on my back over the arm of the couch. My belly is the highest part of me as they hold me like that, shoulders and arms down on one side and knees held down on the other.
"You'll just have to hold him." The giant says. "Hold him no matter what. He'll fight. But if you can't find rope..." He takes his prick out again. It's the first time I see it in the light. It's just as big as it was in the dark. The veins the writhe their way down the under surface are immense. He strokes it.
"See it, slut?" He sneers. "You don't even know how much pain it can cause you yet." He strokes it again. "It's almost ready to drill you again." Then he gets down on his knees and he takes my cock and my balls into his mouth. He takes them into his mouth, all the way, both parts of me at once. They must pretty well fill his mouth. He bites.
I yell in pain, breaking out into a sob. He opens his jaws again, leaving my genitals in there between his teeth and laughs. I see Roy, the dark-haired punk with the piercing looking back and forth, at the giant and away, but mostly I see the glint in the giant's eyes as he checks out my face to see how I'm reacting.
He bites again and I squeal. Now he's laughing so hard he has to spit me out. And now there's something dark and big swinging in the air. It's a skateboard, but I don't realise that until it hits the giant, a great crack just above the ear. The skateboard goes one way and the giant topples sideways the other way. I hear the giant grunt. The dark haired punk is moving fast. He grabs the skateboard up again. Only now it's half a skateboard and the other guys have let go of my shoulders and my knees. The dark haired punk is holding the broken skateboard in the air ready to smash it down again.
I sit up because I'm not being held down and I can't see what's going on. But I can see. I saw it all. The skateboard kid picked his skateboard up and slammed it into the side of the giant's head. I sit up to see the giant. He is lying on his side, stiff cock lolling on the carpet. The giant's eyes are closed and he is snoring. There's a deep red trench in the side of his head above his ear. There's a trickle of blood coming out of the trench.
"Fucking move, Man!" The dark-haired kid with the piercings has grabbed both my hands and is hauling me off the couch and making me run with him, sideways down the hall. I can't run so his momentum gets me maybe eight paces, two office doors down before I fall down.
Not all the punks leap into running. One guy is hopping around trying to get his pants up. He hops down the corridor. Another one of them has run down the hall with the guy who hit the giant. The last one, the blond haired kid is just standing here, leaning off balance over the giant. He is still holding a pop can in his hand. It is tilted over sharply too and it drips pink cream soda onto the thick plush of the carpet.
"Hit him again and make sure he stays out," says the blond guy.
"Come on, let's get out, Man!" Roy is breathing hard and he sounds afraid. "Can't hit him again. I might kill him."
Then the blond haired kid put his pop can down on the receptionist's desk. Only he misses and puts it half on the desk and it falls down. It lands silently on the carpet. He casts around in all directions. He's scooping things up. He grabs cloth and grabs skateboards. The other punks are hustling me down the hall.
"I don't care if you're his slut or not." Roy says to me. "Any guy treats you that rough is going to kill you sooner or later. I don't care what kind of a deal you had with him. He is psycho. You better get the fuck out of here."
"I'm not his slut." I say. I fall down and get up again.
"Come on," says the guy. "Don't worry about him. He'll be fine. I just knocked him cold. They do that in the movies all the time. But if you don't keep moving he'll come to again, and there's no telling what the fuck he'll do."
I keep moving. The five of us scrambled down the dark stairs and down the dark hallway. One of the kids runs back for a moment before the blond-haired boy has quite rejoined us. He's the last one out of the building, carrying a skateboard under each arm. We end up under the overhang at the loading dock outside. The rain comes dribbling down my naked body in thin streams. I have never felt anything so cold. I give a great gasp.
"Give him his clothes!" Roy says. The blond pushes the garments into my arms.
I scramble into them. They are all there, shoes, socks, shirt, necktie... I am kind of groaning, going "Uh...uh... uh..." while I yank my clothes on. The punks keep looking back at the open door of the building. They are jumping around nervously but two of them keep staring at me while I dress, watching to get every glimpse they can of my skin.
"Do you think he's going to call the police?" Says one of the two brown-haired boys.
"I am." I say because my cell phone is still hooked to my trousers. I get the phone into my hand and the dark-haired skateboard kid puts his hand into my face, palm up
"Aw, don't man!" He pleads. "I had to hit him. He was hurting you!"
"He was killing me." I say. And I punch 911
I tell the operator that I've been attacked and there is an intruder in the building, and the intruder is out cold. She tells me she'll send the next available car. Her voice is robotic.
"We can't stay here and talk to the cops, Man," says one of the brown-haired boys.
"Why'd you call them?" Roy protests. "You want to get that big psycho in trouble?"
Then he looks at me and he sees the look on my face and he says, "Aw, fuck! You're just a suit! You don't do rough sex! The asshole wasn't your top. Aw, shit! He was raping you."
"I don't know what kind of sex you call normal," I say. "But I don't do that kind of shit." I wipe the rain off my face with the back of my hand. "Did you think I wanted his cock up my butt? Did you see the size of it?"
"He said you were his slut!" The blond kid yelps.
"Did we hurt you too when we fucked you?" Roy says slowly. "I mean, did I?"
I just shake my head. They hurt me so much it's taking all the effort I've got to stay on my feet. I'm shaking all over and I can't believe how cold I am. "I want to go home." I say, ineffectually, because right then I am completely ineffectual. All I can do is shake from the cold.
We're too scared the giant will come out, so we don't wait just outside the door; we drift away down the lot, with the rain slicing down thinly over us. It soaks through my clothes but my body is already wet beneath. We go down the road to the way the police will come. Traffic there is a mess, halting and honking and swerving. The traffic lights are out and people are trying to get home from the stores. We stand shivering watching the drivers take risks.
"What are we waiting for?" says one of the brown-haired boys.
"If we take off the police are going to think I'm stoned or they're some kind of a warrant out for me." Says the dark haired kid. "Peter, you go. You don't wanna talk to them."
But the brown-haired boy doesn't go. He stands there looking miserable.
"How the fuck did you get mixed up with a dude like that?" The blond haired kid says.
"He was in the building," I say.
The cops don't come and they don't come. They're busy dealing with heart attacks on the twelfth floor and head on collisions at traffic lightless intersections and smash and grab robberies at the stores with dead burglar alarms. It is two and a quarter hours before the cops arrived and by then I've thrown up twice and one of the brown- haired skateboard punks has spent a few minutes crying. By then the giant had come to and was gone. Or else he was hiding in the building. The cops go in with a flashlight while we stand outside in the rain and wait some more. They say they found the place where there was pop and a bit of blood on the floor by the receptionist's desk but they don't search. There are only two of them and the whole building, three floors and a basement and not a single light working.
"He hit me around." I say to the cops.
"Uh-huh." Say the cops.
"He was supposed to be the security guard." I say. "I don't think he was."
"So why did he get the kids to come in?"
"So they... so they could come out of the rain. He told them they could rip off in the place." I say. The skateboard kids look at me, not a word. Standing there in the dazzle of the police car headlights and the dark outside of the building, I never say I've been raped. I never mention the sexual assault at all.
"Did they rip the place off?"
"They took some pop." I say. "But that was alright."
"And you hit him with your skateboard?"
The dark-haired skateboard punk stands tall. "Yeah. I hit him. He was hurting this man, had him pushed down on the couch and was hurting his crotch. He was too big to stop. It was the only way I could think to stop him."
"He was killing me." I say.
The dark-haired kid has an ID and the cops wrote out his name carefully. "You may be charged if the man you describe wants to press charges, or if he's seriously injured." He tells the kid.
"The man assaulted me." I say, bitter with anger. They don't seem to understand that the giant was the criminal. I understand now why the skateboard kids didn't want to wait for the cops.
"Yeah, sir." The cop looks back at me. "And he will be charged if we catch him, okay? Tomorrow we'll look into it, find out if he did in fact have any connection with your security company. He'll be arrested if we catch him. But this guy did an assault too."
Then I cough, and that starts me off puking for the third time. The cop's partner says, "You want a lift to the hospital, sir?"
"No, I'll drive myself." I say.
Two of the skateboard kids don't have ID's One of the two is the brown-haired kid who had cried, Peter the other guy called him, and he has big eyes when he tells the cops he has no ID. The officer makes him say his name and his birth date and the kid says it for him. He says he doesn't remember his social security number. They run all that through their computer, in the car, ask me again if I want a lift to the hospital and leave us on the sidewalk at ten at night in the dark rain.
"Can you get home okay?" says the dark haired punk.
"I can drive." I say. "Where do you guys go?"
They looked at each other and shrug.
"Do you have apartments?"
"We know a few places we can crash." Says the dark-haired punk.
"I know where I'm going." Peter says. "When they figure out I gave somebody else's name they're going to come after me. I'm going to get out of town."
They get into my car so I can give them a lift. But they don't have anywhere in mind and the driving is bad. They end up at my apartment instead, where it's dry and warm inside, and there are plenty of towels, even if I didn't have even one spare bed. The blond-haired guy is named Kyle, and the younger brown-haired guy with the tattoo on his cheek is named Corey. When I get up in the morning, walking slow and bowlegged with my bruised asshole I find all four of them asleep sprawled all over on my carpet.
I'm going to go to my GP to get what the cops called an NAI -- a non-accidental injury report, so they'll have evidence to press charges on the giant. But my GP isn't going to be open until Monday morning. I make an appointment with her answering machine and I leave another message to say I won't be back in until Tuesday, on the voice mail, at work.
I give the kids food from my fridge, and forty bucks each, which is all I have in cash in my wallet or in the apartment and they take off. It's sunny, daylight and the power is back on all over the city. So then it's just a matter of standing and looking at the sunlight coming in my curtains and wondering how I'll ever get the courage back to be alive.
But I said I'd be back at work on Tuesday, so I come in.
There is a lot of stuff to go over, about the man that got in when the side door was open and the mess on the carpet, but I have bruises on the side of my face, so they don't blame me for leaving the place without waiting for a guard to come on duty. What with the blackout, our security company had run out of spare guards anyway. I do the day mechanically, getting used to seeing the places again. But I don't think I'd ever be able to deal with the reception area, even though they're doing a carpet shampoo to get the blood and pop out of the floor.
And then I look out my window and there are four kids fooling around on skateboards down below. They aren't the same kids of course. At least three of them aren't. One of them might be. One short, stocky brown haired kid might be Peter, the guy who gave the false name and said he was getting out of town. I look at them for a while and then I walk down.
There are three kids sitting under the over hang at the loading dock where I couldn't see them from above. The blond, the dark haired guy and the brown haired guy are all there. And so is Peter although the last time I saw him he'd been telling the other guys goodbye. He is still in town, zimming around our loading dock. They stand up. Roy has a new skateboard.
"Have you heard any news about the guy that got hurt on Saturday?" I ask. "Do you know how he's doing?"
"He's got a broken jaw." Roy tells me.
"And a crack in the skull." The blond puts in.
"But he's going to be alright. That's what they say. He'll be fine." The dark haired guy finishes.
They put me on the skateboard. "I can't do this." I say. I haven't been on a skateboard since I was sixteen years old and even then I'd never learned how to do tricks on it. All I could do was scud down our driveway and slide it on the level down the street in those days. I get fifteen feet and fall down.
"Very funny." I say. "What are you trying to do? Get me hurt?"
"You can do it!" They said, and they laugh at me and pull me to my feet.
They put me back on the board, the dark haired kid holding one of my arms for balance and the brown-haired kid on the other side. They start by towing me and I kick off and they go faster until they run, holding me teetering. We go around and around twice with them keeping me steady on the board.
"See?! You can do it! You're flying!"
And then they run up, right up the ramp getting faster, long legged strides as they take me up, up straight in a wild rush, right to the end of the loading dock. The skateboard shoots up into space. The two guys cling to my arms and I fall backwards as the board swings up into the sky rider-less, spinning gracefully. It goes way up to the top of the arc, poising motionless before slowly it begins to drop. I know it's going to crack hard when it hits the pavement. But I'm up at the edge of the dock lying in a heap with the two kids holding me tight. I just lie there while the skateboard flips high through the air.