Fuck or Flight

By John Smith

Published on Mar 15, 2015

Gay

Don't read this if you aren't of legal age to view this where you live. It contains sexually explicit material. All names, places, and events are entirely fictional, and any similarities to real-life events are entirely coincidental.

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I dunno, not enthusiastic about this part, I've sort of lost steam.


When it rained, it poured. Poured down my face, all over my bookbag, everywhere. I shivered and conjured up feelings of summer. That one time I went to the beach, the sun on my skin, even the disgusting thought that it wasn't rain, but sweat, that this was a miserably hot bike ride and not a freezing one.

The morning didn't quite look so dark when I'd pedaled out of the trailer park a few minutes earlier. Somehow, during the thirty minutes it took me to get to school, the grey winter skies had given me all they could.

I couldn't even think, I was a bit of a mess to start with, it had been a rough night, and waking up to two black eyes wasn't a great way to start a Tuesday. What concealer I had left went on my neck. It had been days since Alex had covered my neck with hickies, but they'd only faded pto a dull red. I'd have to explain them somehow.

The smart thing would have been to pull off, to hang out in on a porch until it passed. I didn't think about it until later though. I hated school, but that day I just wanted to get as far away from home as possible, and any break in activity would only keep me from staying as far away from my thoughts.

I nearly missed the driveway, but pulled in, locked my bike and went in.


"You know, you're putting your graduation in jeopardy."

I felt like sneering. Of all the inane things to say. Graduation. I don't think Mrs. Farrow was as much of a school counselor as she was a persnickety bureaucrat.

"We have a zero tolerance policy for fighting C.J.," Mr. Tarant chipped in.

"It wasn't even on school grounds, and do I really look like a threat to anyone?," I asked angrily.

"No," Mr. Tarant admitted," You don't. We only have your word to go on."

"I made a mistake, it was a flippant remark. I had an accident," I equivocated, hoping they'd leave things at that.

Mr. Tarant gave Mrs. Farrow a look and leafed through what I assumed was my school records. Not exactly an illustrious chronicle, those.

"There have been half a dozen accidents over the last few years, teachers reporting bruises and the like, attendance issues, grades dropping precipitously from your freshman year," He listed off," Which leads us to suspect there might be some problems at home."

I turned away and looked at the motivational posters on the wall. This was a dank little cell of an office if ever there was one. It didn't help that I was still soaking wet.

"Really on the ball with this one, aren't you," I said dejectedly.

I was really too good of a liar. Once I'd learned to take care of myself and I'd stopped coming to school dirty or unfed in elementary, I flew under the radar the best I could. CPS was only a distant memory.

Mr. Tarant grimaced and tried to change the tone," I'm really sorry if you think you've fallen through the cracks, but you haven't. If something is going on, there are resources available."

"I don't need anything," I said, trying to play up sympathy without going too far," I just kinda lost interest in things. I was working for a while, and my classes are hard."

"We aren't talking about your classes," Mr. Tarant persisted," This is about your safety, son."

"I am safe," I forced a smile but didn't have to force the exasperation," I'm just a klutz and bruise like a peach


"Ugh Ugh Ugh."

I could hear his moans even though my face was shoved down into the covers. His other hand held my hip as he thrusted into me.

Stephen had been a big presence in my Mom's and my life for years. He'd messed with me since I was eleven and fucked me since I was fifteen. It used to tear me up, and in turn I'd take to my arms and thighs, but I'd stopped that and just took it.

"I think you got another boyfriend," He said and gave my ass a slap," You ain't as tight as you usually are."

He was disgusting. I seethed and gritted my teeth.

"Well come on; don't be shy," He grunted, pulling my head up painfully by my hair," Tell me his name. Does he give you warm and tingly feelings inside?"

Just liked in everything else, my mom was no use. He was her Mr. Big, come into her life, leave her skipping for days, imagining some better life than this. I tried to broach the subject once and she went nuts on me, telling me I was just trying to break them apart. After that though, she just acted like nothing happened.

"Fuck you," I spat, holding back tears.

"I thought that's what I'm doing, fucking you," He laughed as he bottomed out," I don't mind if it's not enough for you, I really dont. im away a lot. But you sure seem to be enjoying yourself."

That was what I was most ashamed of. I just can't help getting hard whenever anything is up my ass. His 7 inches was more than enough to hurt me since he never gave me any warning and no prep other than a smear of vaseline. After a while it was less of a teeth grinder and I had to stifle my own moans.

"So what's his name," He said while pulling in and out more rhythmically," Maybe he'd like to share sometime. Or come over for dinner, meet your Mom and take turns on your little puss for dessert."

I just whimpered and shrank into myself. Just get it over with. Stop fucking talking to me.

"That wasn't a rhetorical question," Stephen said, leaning over to my ear, his fingernails digging at my scalp," Tell me his name.''

Wasn't I allowed to have anything for myself? I'd somewhat given up on my body, but my privacy was a different issue.

"Not a fucking chance," I bristled," Ow, fuck."

He'd yanked me over to the wall and pushed me hard against it.

"You know, you and I have had a lot of fun over the years," He needled me," but you don't ever give in. Sure, I can fuck you, and your little faggot ass even enjoys it, but you never admit it."

He started jackhammering into me, and my hip bones banged against the wall.

"Not that I don't enjoy a bit of fire," He went on," maybe it's why I keep at it. If you ever gave in it might not be as enjoyable."

I was sobbing now. Everything good had to be corrupted by him. I couldn't give in. I wanted to give in with someone of my choosing, of Alex. Damn. Why did I think of him at a time like this. Would whatever we had be polluted too? That seemed worse than anything that could happen to me.

Stephen's thrust became less purposeful, a mad excavation of my insides. I squealed with rage and anguish.

Then it happened. He pulled back my head and slammed my face against the wall. I felt a crunch then whited out. It must have been only a second, because I came to as he let me crumple onto the bed. He got off and I heard the door slamming.

I curled up, unable to move, the taste of iron filling my mouth.

Next: Chapter 8


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