The New Life

"The New Life": Part One thetwunkhorla@outlook.com

NB: This is a work of fiction. If you can't distinguish between fantasy and reality, you shouldn't read this. If it is in any way illegal for you to read this, you shouldn't read this. All standard disclaimers apply.

Marcus sat in the main office, splayed out in one of the hard plastic chairs between the front counter and the door to the assistant principal's office. It was the third time this week the sixteen-year-old had been sent down to the AP for fighting. Third time's always the charm and this charm was a three-day out-of-school suspension. Marcus was waiting for his sister to come and pick him up.

The AP's secretary tapped at her keyboard and stole peeks at Marcus, each one a second longer than the last. She was tempted to try and sneak a snap of him on her cell, and it wasn't hard to understand why. Even Marcus' guy friends called him "Gostoso." He had an oval face with smooth cheekbones but a fine jawline. His nose was a little round and wide at the bridge. His lips were plush and a shade of pink that leaned red. His eyes were narrow but wide and a deep, wet brown that was almost black and they were crowned with long, delicate eyelashes and over those thick, dense brows. His black hair he kept shaggy and only cut it when he had to, when his neck would get sore from constantly tossing it out of his eyes. Marcus, born in one of the favelas in Rio (he lived there until he was two, when his mamãe and his avó brought him and his sister Lia to the States and stopped spelling his name Marcos), had skin that was sunkissed brown twelve months of the year.

He had round black barbell studs in both of his earlobes. He and a couple of his friends had put together a makeshift gym in the basement of their building; it was pretty ghetto but had all the basics and Marcus had, over the past couple of years, put on a good amount of lean and lanky muscle. The heat in the main office was cranked and Marcus had his hoodie in his lap. His plain white tee shirt stuck to him, the sleeves looking tight enough around his biceps to cut the circulation and the v-neck dipping low enough to show the meeting divot of his pecs. His long legs, stretched out lazily from the chair he slumped in, were hidden by the draping folds of his sweatpants and ended in scuffed, half-tied kicks.

Marcus had been sitting with his head down for half an hour, trying to mentally fortify himself for his sister's inevitable meltdown, when he heard hands drumming on the front counter and a voice call out, "Uh, yeah, hi? I'm here to pick up my cousin."

Marcus looked up. "Shit," he muttered.

It wasn't his sister. It was his sister's new boyfriend, Dante.

When their grandmother was still alive, Lia would never have dared to date a white guy, but since she passed two years ago Lia was steadily peeling everything Brazilian from her life. Dante (and Marcus had never heard of a yanqui named "Dante" before) reminded Marcus more than a little of the guy their mother had run off with, no forwarding address, no kiss on the cheek, no adeus!, when Marcus was twelve. He didn't think Lia consciously saw that in Dante, but he didn't think it was a coincidence either.

Dante played running back for BC, he was twenty-one, tall and solid and looked like only a front-end loader could knock him over. His hair was a bright gold blond and he usually kept a well-groomed bit of scruff on his cheeks and chin and his eyes were blue frost; Marcus described him to his friends as a refugee from Skyrim (he was actually from Michigan). He had nice clothes and nice teeth. Marcus often had to listen to Lia gush to her friends on the phone--always in English--about his body and what a good kisser he was and, ohmygod, he's, like, literally like a horse, I mean, like, literally.

The secretary glanced at Dante and then at Marcus, and if she was skeptical that this Viking was related to the sunkissed teenager she either didn't show it or she just didn't care. "This is your cousin?" she said.

"Yeah, on my mom's side," Marcus said, rising slowly out of the chair and hoisting his backpack.

Marcus signed out. The secretary watched the two of them leave the office, compared their asses--one in relaxed-fit jeans, the other in loose sweats--and her mouth went dry a little. She took a Ricola from her purse before she went back to inputting attendance data.

"Why the fuck are you here?" Marcus asked as they walked to the parking lot.

"Hey, calm down, little man," Dante said. Marcus bristled at being called "little man" and was about to say so but Dante plowed on. "Your sister's at work, she called me and asked me to come pick you up. She's royally pissed. I'm doing the both of you a favor, so can the attitude."

Dante was parked near the main entrance. His truck, a well-waxed Dodge quad cab, had tires bigger than stock and Marcus had to grip the door frame to pull himself up into the seat. Almost before Marcus could shut his door Dante put the truck in gear and roared out of the parking lot.

They went down a few side streets in silence. Marcus noticed they weren't headed in the normal way to his apartment building. Dante pulled into an abandoned lot, empty in the middle of the day except for the weeds bursting through the cracked pavement, though Marcus knew that at night junkies and dealers congregated there and it wasn't a place you went to hang when the sun went down. Dante cut the engine.

"So let's talk," Dante said.

"What the fuck for?" Marcus said.

Dante smacked him with the back of his hand. "Fode-te!" Marcus spat. "Dude, what's wrong with you?"

"I don't need to listen to your disrespect," Dante said. "I don't mind doing favors for you, little man, or for your sister, but I don't do favors for free."

Marcus eyed him warily. "You've seen the shithole we live in, you think we got suitcases full of cash lying around?"

"I don't want or need cash," Dante said. "I just want a little attention, a little quid pro quo, right?" He reached down and put his hand on his crotch.

"You've got a hell of a wrong idea," Marcus said quickly. "I'm no fag."

"Did I say you were? Your sister doesn't put out as much as I need her to. You give me a tug once in a while, and I've got your back. When you fuck up--and you fuck up a lot, little man--I can help make it go away without Lia ever needing to know."

"I'm out of here," Marcus said. He reached for the door handle but Dante shot his hand out viper-quick and grabbed his wrist.

"I don't think you understand me, Marcus. You owe me, and I always get what I'm owed."

Dante pulled Marcus' hand between his legs and pressed it against the bulging denim. Marcus struggled, tried to pull away, but Dante's forearm was almost as thick as Marcus' bicep and it was like pulling against a riptide. He felt the huge bulge twitch under his palm and he heard Lia's voice in his head, literally like a horse.

"This can go easy or it can go hard," Dante said. He kept his eyes on Marcus' face; Marcus looked away, out the window, but he felt the frost on Dante's stare on his skin. "I think it should go easy, don't you?"

With his free hand Dante unzipped his jeans. Marcus felt the metal zipper tab scrape along his index finger. When Dante had unzipped all the way he spread his thighs out a little and reached in his jeans and pulled his cock out. It smacked against his thigh.

Marcus' dark eyes went wide. "Jesus...," he whispered.

Dante's cock was about eight inches long and cut and the way it flopped loosely in his hand and draped on his leg it was obvious that it was still soft. Eight inches, soft. It was slightly darker than the rest of his skin and a thick vein ran along the underside of it. A pearl of pre blossomed from the slit. Dante pressed Marcus' hand against it and he felt the sticky pre ooze on his palm.

"Wrap your fingers around it," Dante said, "and we'll do this the easy way."

The iron tone in his voice and the iron grip he kept on Marcus' wrist allowed no discussion or compromise. Still, with a quiet mewling that turned his own gut, Marcus said, "Dude. Dante, c'mon, please."

"Easy," Dante said, "or hard." He twisted his hand and a quick bolt of pain shot up Marcus' forearm.

"Ow, ow! Okay, okay!"

He had to force his fingers to spread but he did and he slid them around Dante's warm, pulsing shaft. He felt it twitch, felt the blood rush to fill it greedily. As he slid his hand down to Dante's unruly blond pubes, Dante let go of his wrist. The skin there was grub-pale from the vice grip.

"That's a good boy," Dante said. "You know how to do it."

Dante's mammoth cock grew in Marcus' fingers, pushing them apart as he stroked. When he was about ten inches long and still only semi-hard his shaft was too thick for Marcus' fingers to reach all the way around. Thicker than his wrist. His heart beat hard and it felt as warm in the truck's cab as it did in the main office and he started to sweat as he stroked his sister's boyfriend's horsecock.

The sweat trickled down his chin and under, along his neck and followed the hem of the v-neck tee to disappear between his lean, solid teen pecs.

Dante's dick continued to grow, ten inches then eleven, and Marcus had to move his hand more to go from the ridge of his fat mushroom head down to the base each time. Pre drooled out and collected in the fold of flesh between Marcus' thumb and index finger.

Dante grumbled deep in his throat. "Yeah, you don't need to tell a dude how to jerk off. You know, don't you? You know so, so well."

Marcus wondered when he would stop growing. Dante's cock reached up past the middle of the steering wheel and almost poked past the top edge of the dashboard. The thick vein pulsed and smaller veins ribboned up against the skin. Marcus felt his face burning. His forearm trembled as he stroked.

Finally Dante's cock reached its full length, just over thirteen inches, such a massive pillar of flesh that Marcus couldn't believe, even though it jutted there before his own eyes, even though he felt the size of it in his brown fingers.

"Don't stop now, little man," Dante said. He growled with satisfaction like a wolf who has his rabbit up against a tree. "Be a good boy."

Marcus tried not to listen. He tried not to feel. He tried not to be in the cab of the truck with his sister's boyfriend as he let his palm ride up and down his sister's boyfriends cock, literally like a horse, a horse and then some. There was nobody in the abandoned lot but Marcus felt like a dozen eyes were on his hand and on his face and a dozen mouths were smirking at him.

"That's a good boy," Dante said, "but I think you can be an even better one."

He reached his muscled arm up and over Marcus' head and he put his wide palm in Marcus' shaggy raven hair. He pushed and he pushed Marcus' face down and guided it towards his drooling thirteen inches. "Dante...wait, Dante, wait...."

"Easy or hard, little man," Dante said.

Marcus clamped his lips shut as Dante's giant cockhead loomed closer. He tried to shake his head. He stiffened his neck. His neck instantly started aching.

"Easy or hard."

Dante took his other hand and he pinched Marcus' nose and Marcus' cheeks puffed out and when Marcus parted his lips and gasped for air Dante pushed his open mouth down on his cockhead.

Marcus squirmed. Dante held him. Marcus even with his jaw stretched to breaking couldn't get more than the head of Dante's cock, Dante's horsecock, in his mouth. But that was all Dante was looking for then.

He held Marcus' head in both hands and he turned Marcus' head, back and forth, small little spins of just a few degrees clockwise and counter. Marcus' pink lips, spread apart by the giant seeking dickhead, spread saliva along Dante's sensitive skin and pushed Dante's own pre back into his skin and Dante rumbled.

Dante bucked his hips up just a little and pushed his fat cock just a little into Marcus' overstretched mouth and Marcus whimpered. Dante's fingers gripped the back of Marcus' skull and his shaggy hair felt silky against Dante's fingers. Dante twisted and bucked and rumbled and Marcus whimpered and swallowed Dante's thick leaking precum. Marcus tasted sweat and salt.

Marcus didn't want to put his hands on Dante, not before and not then, but bent over with his face on Dante's cock he needed support so he flailed, he flailed and he put his right hand on Dante's thigh and his left on Dante's shoulder through his leather jacket. Through the denim and the leather Dante felt more like concrete than flesh, Marcus pushed and finally he grabbed and it felt like trying to dig his fingers into concrete.

Dante's nostrils widened as he forced Marcus's lips to widen around his swollen cockhead and he held Marcus there, sometimes twisting his head around like a screwcap just a little, sometimes pushing his face down a little harder and hearing Marcus gag made Dante snort. But mostly he just held the teenager's mouth on his fat cockhead and felt Marcus' tongue spasm and try not to touch his slit or taste the dripping pre.

After several minutes of holding Marcus there, holding Marcus' pink lips there, just barely wetly touching the ridge of Dante's sensitive head, Dante felt his balls start to tighten and his abs churn. He grunted and he bucked up a little and he didn't care as he forced Marcus' mouth down further that the boy's teeth scraped his skin and he felt his balls churn and his abs tighten.

Marcus choked and rasped and pushed against Dante.

And then Dante threw his head back against the headrest of his seat and he spat, "Fuuuuuuuuuk!" and he started to cum. He shot his load, thick heavy ropes of cum, into Marcus's mouth, over his tongue and into his throat and he made Marcus swallow, Dante snorted like a bull and he dug his fingers painfully into the boy's scalp and he spewed his load into the boy's throat.

If Marcus jerked off five times a day and saved up all his cum in a bottle for a whole week he just might have been able to match Dante's single load, the hot jism spurting into his throat, the cum he was forced to swallow. His Adam's apple danced as he swallowed and he had trouble swallowing it all and some of it shot up his sinuses and into his nose and it burned his nostrils. It coated his throat.

Finally, finally, Dante stopped bucking up and he finished emptying his cum into Marcus. "Fuck, little man," he said. He let Marcus go.

Marcus sat up. His neck was sore. He twisted and fumbled with the handle of the truck door and was able to push the door open just quickly enough. He leaned out and he puked onto the cracked pavement, puked out Dante's cum and his school cafeteria lunch, tasted both cum and lunch for a second time as he puked it up and he puked his pride up with it. His face burned.

"Oh, don't be such a fucking drama bitch," Dante said with a chuckle.

On the drive back to Marcus' apartment Dante stopped at a Dunkin and got Marcus a strawberry coolata to get the taste out of his mouth. It didn't work.

Marcus and Lia lived in an apartment on the fifth floor of a five-floor walk-up, an over-crowded brick building on a block of over-crowded brick buildings. The apartment had one bedroom, one living room and kitchenette, and a bathroom where either the tub faucet or the sink faucet was always leaking. Lia slept in the bedroom, and Marcus on the pull-out sofa. He had a small dresser across from the couch; their television sat on the dresser. The few clothes he had that needed to be hung up on hangers dangled from a couple of long nails sprouting from the wall.

Marcus hadn't spoken on the ride home and he didn't speak on the trudge up to the apartment, or when he unlocked the door and let himself and Dante in. Before either one of them had stepped across the threshold Lia started speaking. Speaking loudly.

"Jesus Christ, Marcus, can't you go two days without getting into a fight?" She smacked him upside the head, and none too lightly. Her Applebee's name tag quivered like a burnished caterpillar on her blouse.

"Easy, easy there, baby," Dante said. He stepped between Marcus and his sister and held he shoulders gently. "He didn't do anything wrong. He was defending himself--the principal explained it to me." He flashed her a straight white grin.

Lia cocked her head and looked around Dante's arm to eye Marcus skeptically. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. Everything's cool, baby." He kissed her on the lips, first lightly, then when she let the tension drip from her shoulders he kissed her more deeply.

Marcus stalked past Dante and sat on the sofa.

"Thank you, D," Lia said. "I appreciate it." She reached up and put her hand on Dante's chest. "What would I do without you?"

"You'd fall apart, that's what," he said. He stroked her hair. "Maybe you can show me how much you appreciate me?"

Lia smiled. She licked her lips. "Just let me freshen up, baby." She turned and went into the bathroom and closed the door.

"I told you I had your back," Dante said to Marcus.

Marcus stood up.

"You stay right there," Dante said, pointing at the sofa.

"Why?" Marcus hissed. "You don't fucking need me anymore."

"I want you," Dante said, taking a slow step towards Marcus, "to stay right the fuck there."

Marcus glared, his near-black eyes flashed. His throat went dry.

He sat down.

He stared directly at the blank television screen and didn't turn when Lia came out of the bathroom. If she cared that her little brother was still there she gave no clue. Marcus heard her light footsteps and Dante's heavy tread and the bedroom door close behind them.

Even if the walls in their apartment weren't cardboard-thin, the bedroom door had a half-inch gap between the floor and the bottom of the door and Marcus heard.

His sister's cooing. Dante was silent. Wet-smacky kisses. A belt buckle clanging on the floor.

Mattress creaking as bodies settled onto it.

His sister. "Just go easy, baby, you forget what a big man you are." Her throaty giggle, then a very throaty moan.

"Easy, baby, easy...that's good, like that.... Slow, go slow for me, okay?... Jesus, you're so big, baby.... A little slower, okay?... Okay, wait...wait wait wait, just stay there for a second...."

Creaking, creaking. Muted headboard thump.

"Oh, baby.... Baby, slow, okay?.... Wait, wait.... I know you're not all the way in, I just...I know, but you have to go slow.... Oh, yeah, that's right baby...."

Marcus stared blankly at the television screen.

His sister. "Shhh, baby...wait. That's not my.... Baby, we talked about this.... Dante, you're too big, you can't.... Dante. Dante, wait. Dante. Not my ass. Dante. Dante!"

Then a hard harsh dry slap, not an upside-the-head, why-are-you-in-trouble-at-school slap. A hard harsh dry open-palm get-the-fuck-off-me slap.

Silence.

Mattress creak.

Then the bedroom door opened and Dante's heavy tread on the floor and then Dante was standing in the living room. Marcus saw him reflected in the television screen. He didn't turn to look. Dante was naked except for a thick stainless steel chain necklace that hung between his heavy pecs. His thirteen inch dick jutted from his groin like a battering ram and his fist-size ballsack smacked his thigh. The crimson flush in his neck and his face made his pale muscular body seem even paler.

He walked over to the couch. Marcus finally turned. He started to stand but then Dante grabbed him by taking fistfuls of his hoodie and yanked him to his feet and off his feet and he threw the teenager flat across the arm of the sofa. His hoodie rode up his back and showed off his knobby spine.

"Hey! Dante!" Marcus shrieked.

Marcus tried to pull himself along the sofa but Dante balled up his fist and punched him in the small of the back. Marcus yelped and felt a bolt of hot pain shoot up his spine. Dante pulled Marcus' sweatpants and his yellow plaid boxers down his thighs. His ass was exposed to the living room and the kitchenette and to Dante. His ass was round and hard and brown and Marcus had no tan lines. Marcus had sunkissed skin and would never need to tan.

Dante ran his big palm over Marcus' peachfuzzed ass. Marcus groaned.

Lia came out of the bedroom. She had a terrycloth hotel bathrobe draped over her shoulders. "Dante...Dante, what are you doing?" she said.

Dante looked into her eyes and held her eyes with his. "I'm getting some ass right now, it's either gonna be yours or his. So you tell me. Yours, or his?" He jabbed his finger at her, then at the back of Marcus' head. His shaggy raven hair covered his face but didn't hide him.

His eyes were wide. "Lia! Ajude-me, por favor!" he shrieked. "Please, Lia!"

Lia took a breath.

Then she turned and with her head down she went into her bedroom and closed the door. It made a soft snick that Marcus didn't hear over his frantic breathing.

Dante rested his wrist-thick cock between Marcus' asscheeks and on the small of his back. It twitched, hungry.

"Dante, Dante please, c'mon, Dante...." The words tumbled out of Marcus' mouth messily.

Dante took a fistful of Marcus' hair and he wrenched Marcus' head back. "I like a nice, polite boy," he said with the hint of a snarl.

With his other hand he guided his massive shaft and nudged his cockhead between the sixteen-year-old's cheeks.

"Dante!"

"Say pleeeeeeease," Dante whispered.

Then he shoved his cock into the boy's unlubed virgin hole.

Marcus' eyes went wide and his mouth went wide and the pain swept over him and he passed out but only for a moment. His vision spun and he came back to the living room and the kitchenette and Dante was pushing his horsecock in, not going slow, grunting and pushing hard and not going slow, tearing Marcus' ass relentlessly, pushing, not going slow.

Marcus screamed and his voice broke and Dante grunted and he whistled. "Fuck, little man, you are tight."

Marcus reached forward and tried to scramble his hands on the far arm of the sofa but his long lanky arms couldn't reach. Dante had half of his dick inside Marcus. It felt like a tree limb tearing inside him. Dante stopped and he spread Marcus' legs farther apart, pushing them farther apart with his knees and his powerful thighs, then he set his feet and he slammed the rest of his cock, slammed the last seven inches of his thirteen inch dick into the boy and he threw back his head and sweat flew off his neck and he howled.

Snot and screams came out of Marcus. Dante ground his hips and twisted and he kept his grip on Marcus' hair as he pulled out fast, pulled out all the way, his cockhead popping out with a wet, wet pop and then he lined up again and slammed back in.

His lowhangers swatted Marcus' legs as he thrust.

He thrust in and out, hard and deep. He let go of Marcus' hair so he could grab both of the teenagers' hips and Marcus' head drooped. Marcus screamed until he was hoarse and wondered why nobody heard him scream and then realized nobody cared.

"We are gonna take such good care of each other," Dante said, gritting his teeth. Sweat poured down his cinder block pecs and ran in the deep grooves of his Viking abs and as he rammed Marcus the sweat flew off his body and onto Marcus' ass and his exposed lower back.

The hoodie bunched high up on Marcus' back near his armpits.

Eventually Dante stopped longfucking and started rabbitfucking, slamming deep inside Marcus' ravaged ass and only taking a few inches out before pounding in again hard and fast. Marcus could almost hear himself tearing. His cheeks were wet, his face was wet and his ass was wet and sticky.

Dante slammed Marcus into the arm of the sofa, bent over double across the arm of the ratty sofa. Marcus lost time, he felt Dante's mammoth prick slide in and out of him, tear in and out, and he lost track of time.

Dante started to ram harder and faster. "Why don't you," he said thickly, "thank me for being such a good friend, little man?"

"Thank you," Marcus said weakly.

"No, in Brazilian."

"Obrigado."

"Say, 'thank you, daddy.'"

"Obrigado, papai."

"That's my little man," Dante said and he dug his fingers into Marcus' hips hard enough to bruise and he slammed his horsecock inside him and held it there and he came.

He came, if possible, harder than he had in the truck, harder and thicker and hotter. The veins in Dante's neck bulged redly and slick with sweat and he held Marcus on his cock and bred the boy, pumped load after load of his cum inside the boy's ruined hole. He leaned back and thrust his pecs out and pumped his boy full of his thick hot cum.

When he was done he smacked Marcus' ass and watched it ripple. "That's my little man," he said again. He pulled out and his slick sticky cock rested on Marcus' ass and his cum oozed out in gobs down Marcus' thigh.

Dante was stroking Marcus' hair when he twisted his hips and called out towards the bedroom door, "Lia! Fuck, baby, I'm starving. Go down to the pizza place--you know the one I like--and pick the three of us up some food, 'kay?"

Send comments/thoughts to thetwunkhorla@outlook.com. Would love to hear from you, and if I get enough responses I'll continue the story.