Teaching the Bully a Lesson
This is a story about teenagers having initially unwilling sex with another teenager. If you don't enjoy that kind of thing, read something else.
Biff was scared. He was mostly naked, his hands were tied with cord, and one end of the cord was looped around a pole that was in the middle of the abandoned warehouse, Biff himself bent over a carpenter's bench. Around him were seven boys he recognized. Five of them were youngsters whom he himself had called faggots and homos and queers. The other two, much to his amazement, were from the high school's football team, a running back and a tight end. What the fuck was that all about?
Biff was 16. He'd been a bully and a hooligan all his young life, often in trouble at school, often beating up younger and weaker kids, often taking away their lunch money, smoking when he wasn't supposed to, drinking alcohol when he wasn't supposed to. Biff's dad was a hopeless drunk who got angry when he was in his cups and took his anger and frustration out on Biff's mom, Biff and Biff's younger sister. True, life had gotten easier the last couple of months, because Biff had finally grown up and bulked up enough to stand up to his old man, and just the previous week he had broken his dad's nose with a well-aimed punch. But that had only led to his mom getting slapped around some more, and in his own anger and frustration, Biff had been particularly nasty to kids at school when the teachers, many of whom were scared of him, weren't paying attention.
They'd been lying in wait for him at the front door of the abandoned warehouse when he'd come by on his way home. Biff had struggled mightily and furiously, but within a couple of minutes he was subdued, seven pairs of hands had ripped off his wife-beater T-shirt, unbuckled his kick-ass belt buckle, yanked his jeans down, and torn off his skanky boxer shorts. He was left with his shit-kicker combat boots, but his jeans around them made his feet more or less immobile. He had tried kicking backward, but that had earned him a slap on his ass that hurt and hurt bad.
"What are you assholes doing?!"
One of the nerds appeared in front of him. What was his name? Kenny? A wimp, not a kid, big glasses, always hanging out with girls and whispering with them.
"You've been calling us faggots for years," Kenny told him, his squeaky pansy-ass voice shaking a little bit. "You're right. We are faggots. We like to have sex with other boys. And now we're gonna have sex with you."
"The hell you say!" Biff struggled against the cord, but only succeeded in drawing it tighter around his wrists. And the next thing he knew, there was something in his asshole. Fuck! It felt like a finger. Biff wasn't entirely unfamiliar with that kind of prodding, having discovered himself some time ago that one of his own fingers up there could make his orgasm more powerful when he jacked off. Some shit about his prostrate, he had heard somewhere. Not that he knew what the fuck a prostrate was, it just felt good. Masturbation was basically Biff's only outlet. Nice girls steered miles away from him, and skanky girls reminded him too much of his old sad-sack mother. Biff had gotten to the age of 16 without ever getting past second base with a girl, and so Mrs. Johnson and her five daughters were his release when his hand wrapped around his cock. At least he wasn't a pencil dick, he figured. It had never occurred to him to measure his cock, that would be way too faggy, but it was a shade over seven inches long and fat, too.
"This is mah fingah'," he heard from behind him. "Next it's gonna be mah cock."
Shit! Biff knew that voice. It belonged to Tyrone, one of the football players. Tyrone was one of the few black kids in the rural town where Biff lived, and he was uber-black, as dark as coal or ink, big, hard muscles not only on account of all the weightlifting he did for football, but also because he and his eight brothers and sisters lived on a farm outside of town, and all of the children were expected to pitch in with the farm work just as soon as they could stand up. Only once Biff had made the mistake of calling Tyrone a nigger. The next moment he'd been flat on his back, spitting out a couple of teeth and bleeding. He hadn't even seen the punch coming. And Tyrone was a queer?!!
"Don't even think about it," he snarled, but he realized that there wasn't much force in the snarl. Christ on a handcart, how had he gotten himself into this situation?
And then the finger disappeared from his asshole with a pop, he heard a spitting sound behind him, and the next minute his whole body was ripping apart. Jesus fucking Christ, it hurt! Biff had no idea how big Tyrone's hog was, but it felt like a two-by-four. He howled in pain and felt sweat running down his face as the big cock began to slide in and out of his bunghole. Biff looked up to see the five nerds standing in front of him in a semi-circle, all of them with their dicks out, all of them jerking their fucking pricks to see him cornholed like that.
"I'm gonna kick your fucking ...", but he got no further than that. One of the nerds stepped up and slapped him across the cheek.
"Fuck you," he said. "You need to be taught a lesson, Bartholomew." Fuck! Nobody called him by his given Christian name, even his mother had learned that he was Biff, dammit.
And then Biff felt something else. First it was warm breath, and then it was a tongue on his cock. And then his prick was engulfed in warm wetness.
Biff wiggled his hips as best he could to get his dick out of the faggot's mouth. The five nerds were in front of him, and that meant that somehow the other football player, Zak, had gotten between his legs. Fuck again! Zak was a golden boy, running back and backup quarterback on the football team, straight-A student, blond, blue-eyed, with perfect, white teeth, and with girls hanging on him in hordes. He was a faggot, too?
"Stop it," he protested. "Ain't no faggot suckin' on my cock!" But his dick remained inside the slurping mouth, and it was with horror that he felt the mouth disappear and the voice announce, "He's getting a hardon!" And then the mouth was back.
Biff hadn't cried since the age of eleven, when he had sworn that nobody was gonna make him blubber like some fucking girl again. But he felt like weeping now, at the realization that yeah, he was getting wood and yeah, the first blowjob that he had ever gotten in his life was feeling pretty damn good even if it was a guy and not a chick doing the blowing, and fuck, he was getting used to the big black cock that was invading his virgin asshole.
The mouth disappeared again. "I'm getting a pint of precum here." And then it was back. He felt a hand on his balls, squeezing gently, stroking and caressing. He could feel big swinging balls hitting him between the legs each time Tyrone's massive prick rammed into him.
"Ah cain't hold on much longer," Biff heard the black man grunt behind him. The rhythm of the slamming picked up, he heard a gasp behind him, and then he felt seed, hot, spurting cum shooting into his tight, ravaged virgin asshole. Fuck!
The mouth disappeared again. "Can I have sloppy seconds?"
"Be mah guest." The huge cock slipped smoothly out of Biff's chute, and Biff realized that suddenly he felt empty. But not for long. Another spitting sound, and this time no finger first, the cock rammed into him with the power of a freight train. Biff's brain instantly calculated that this prick wasn't as thick as the previous one, and then it told its owner to enjoy himself. Actually the meat sliding in and out of him was feeling excellent, and damn if he didn't want his own cock, which was as hard as he had ever known it to be, back in someone's mouth.
He didn't have to wait long. The mouth that enclosed his manhood involved a big old tongue and big fleshy lips sliding across its throbbing surface. Jesus on a pogo stick! So this was what dirty faggots did with each other? They put their pricks up where the sun don't shine, and they sucked on the piece of him that was used for pissing? Fuck! And right then and there Bartholomew "Biff" McBride knew that he was never going to tell anyone about what had just happened to him, not only because that would involve telling everybody that he was a pussy-ass for getting himself fucked up the backside, but also because surely one of these guys would tell everybody that he, Biff, had had a boner throughout the process and that he, Biff, was about three seconds away from jetting a load into the slobbering nigger mouth that was on him.
"Stop, Tyrone," he heard himself say. "I don't wanna cum yet."
The mouth disappeared and he heard a dark chuckle underneath him.
"Well, well now. Appears our boah's got hisself to likin' what we gots to give `im." Biff felt a hand squeeze his throbbing cock hard. "This boah's got hisself a big old hardon heah."
The next thing Biff heard was "Gosh darn it, I don't think I can wait any longer," and the next thing he knew, one of the nerds had come forward, and his dick and masturbating fist were right in front of his face. Biff turned his head away as far as he could, but two seconds later his cheek was dripping with the sperm that ... fuck, that Vietnamese kid, what was his name – Tron? Dong? Kong? ... had shot all over his face. That set off a chain reaction. One after the other, the nerds took their turn whitewashing Biff's mug. Kenny, who had never in Biff's experience said boo to a goose, as his grandmaw would put it. Big load from his fucking pencil dick. Jack, pipsqueak of a 15-year-old, 80 pounds dripping wet, getting some of his cum in Biff's eye, making him blink hard. Hank, who behaved more like a girl than most girls, his dick surprisingly fat, and his balls surprisingly capacious. And Eliot, son of the local Baptist preacher, never without a button-up shirt and tie, only now the tie thrown over his shoulder and his ... Jesus, but the kid had a cock on him! ... cockhead exploding with hot, white semen. Biff felt helpless as the jizz slipped down all sides of his face, getting on his chin, some of it getting into his mouth for all his efforts to keep his lips clamped. Fucking Eliot even slapped his spermy cock on his cheek when he had stopped cumming.
"You guys are turning me on wicked," Biff heard Zak grunt behind him, and then, for the second time in his life, a cock rammed hard into his asshole to irrigate his guts with baby-making juice. And then he heard Tyrone's voice again: "Y'all don't deserve this, cause y'all is one motherfuckin' redneck asshole, but here goes." And then the mouth ... the ever-loving goddamn nigger mouth was all over his cock again, Zak's deflating prick still inside him deep, and Biff couldn't help himself. That big tongue and those big lips and that hand on his balls and that cock up his ass and the five limp, scummy dicks that were in front of his face all combined to make his whole body light on fire, and Biff McBride had his first-ever orgasm in the presence of another person straight into Tyrone Wilson's mouth. It was the mother of all orgasms. Biff thought that it lasted for a full minute, and he would have wanted it to last for a full hour if he had had the option. He grunted and groaned and writhed and sweated like one of the big hogs down at the country fair, and he cummed. Jesus have mercy, he cummed like a stallion, and he never wanted it to stop.
And then the mouth disappeared from his hog, Zak's dick slipped out of his ass, and then Tyrone appeared in front of him, big and black and scary looking.
"Y'all been actin' like some kinda motherfuckin' fool," the black man told him. "Ain't these guys never done nuthin' to y'all to make you treat `em like fuckin' dirt. Y'all mark mah words, heah? Y'all ever give these kids a hard fuckin' time, and next time me and Zak here gonna double-fuck y'all's ass."
Biff hung his head. Only half an hour before he would have put these guys down with every word he had in his limited vocabulary, and if any one of them had made a peep, he would have twisted that kid's arm behind his back to make him squeal and given him a noogie. Well, maybe not Tyrone, but certainly the nerds. What the fuck had just happened to him? He felt dirty. Never once in his life had Biff McBride for a single solitary second thought about anything sexual with another dude. Never. Faggots did that kind of thing, and Biff wasn't no kind of faggot. No fucking way. And yet here he was, with two loads of cum up his asshole and a passel of cum dripping off his chin, and he had gotten himself a boner, and he had allowed a guy to suck that boner, and he had gotten an orgasm out of it that he would remember for the rest of his life.
While Biff was pondering this, his seven captors got themselves cleaned up and dressed again. Tyrone produced a scary-looking knife from his backpack and cut the cord that had bound Biff tight.
"Two thangs," the football player said. "Y'all ain't never gonna talk to nobody about this. Ain't nobody gonna believe yoah fool ass anyway. And lemme say it again – y'all leave the boahs alone, heah? We got you onct, we can get yoah ass agin." And then then they were gone.
Biff stood up. His jeans were down around his ankles, his underwear was on the floor, ripped to pieces, his wife beater was on the floor and ripped almost in half. He pulled up his jeans and buckled his belt and pulled on the wife beater. The left shoulder immediately slipped off, revealing one of his pecs. Biff felt battered, and his ass felt strangely empty. Somehow he made it home in one piece, and he was relieved to find that his sister was off somewhere with her friends, his dad was nowhere to be seen, and his mom was snoring on the sofa. Biff went into the kitchen, rooted around in the refrigerator and got a big carrot and grabbed the bottle of corn oil that his mama had on the counter next to the oven. He went into his bedroom, closed the door, stripped off, got into bed, and oiled that carrot up and shoved it up inside his ass. He got cum all over his face again, but this time it was his own, one hand fucking his ass with the vegetable, the other hand jacking his bone meat, and his brain awhirl with what had happened to him that afternoon. And as Biff McBride spanked the monkey, he realized that his cock was hard for the fucking that he'd gotten, it was hard for the five pairs of balls that had emptied out on his face, and above all it was hard for the big tongue and big, fleshy lips that had brought him up to the mountaintop and then up to the stars in the sky. His second orgasm of the afternoon was even better than the first, if that as was even possible.
The next day, a Monday, Biff skipped school to visit a friend out in the back woods who could make him a fake driver's license to make him two years older, 18. The day after that he skipped school again and rode his bike over to the county seat, where there was a recruiting office for the military. A week after that he was in basic training at Fort Jackson, South Carolina. And a week and two days after that, another recruit, this one from Mississippi, gave him the eye in the showers, and next thing Biff knew, he was getting another blowjob from a fella, this time his cock coming out of his uniform trousers and nobody ripping up any of his clothing, but the blowjob just as good as before.
Calm settled over Fort Alamo High School. Zak and Tyrone, who were boyfriends and lovers, didn't speak to the nerds in the hallways, as had always been so and would always be so. Kenny, Jack, Hank, Eliot and the Vietnamese boy whose name was actually Canh, didn't mind. It was the way of the world. They'd all been surprised when Tyrone had come up to them one day in the lunchroom and whispered that he had seen Biff harassing them and thought that Biff needed to be taught a lesson, and all five of them had jacked off countless times thinking not so much about Biff as about the two studly football players who had come to their rescue. None of them ever spoke about what they had done, though. There was no need to.