Hardball

Amazing: just three little words and the world turned upside down.

Until November that year, Billy Quaid had never been fucked, except by his big brother Mitch, of course, but that didn't count (did it?). A lot of the guys he knew had fooled around with their brothers - it didn't mean anything. Anyway, it wasn't as if Mitch (who was 22, long-dicked and hairy-legged) sneaked into his room at night and raped him or anything. They just got into a tussle now and again, balls got grabbed, cocks went stiff - and sometimes Mitch rammed his hairy prong up his arse and emptied his balls in him. No big deal. He didn't jack off thinking about it or anything. He didn't really think about getting fucked at all.

In fact, his best friend Jimmy Bolt nailed his kid brother most afternoons as soon he got home from football practice - a couple of times he'd watched him do it - just busted his little nuts, bent him over and fucked him. It was just boys being boys, Jimmy said. Jimmy had offered to fuck him once too (cheeky bugger) while they were jerking off together one afternoon on his bed, but Billy had just laughed and pushed him off, so Jimmy had gone and cornered his brat of a brother in the bathroom and rooted the shit out of him instead. Jimmy always said he could do his brother as well if he wanted to ('Go on, what are you waiting for? Fuck him, man!'), but Billy never did - the kid wasn't even going to put up a fight. Guys should at least go down fighting, shouldn't they? Or yelling for more or something. (Even little Tommy Crabtree put up a fight, after all, whenever the guys surrounded him behind the bike-shed to do him over: he kicked most of them in the goolies at least once before he went down. Anyway, Tommy Crabtree deserved it, he pinched stuff out of other kids' lockers.) Billy had liked the look of that succulent, raw-fucked hole, though, at the fork of those boyish splayed legs of his, leaking Jimmy's ball-juice. And the ripe smell, too. And the dirty fuck words the kid had grunted into the pillow while he was getting hammered. Billy did shoot a load or two over himself thinking about that when he got home.

A few men had admired Billy's taut whiteness - like that Greek guy in the fish-shop, eyes smouldering behind long, inky-black hair, Billy somehow knew straight away what he was after - but he always scooted out of the shop with his fish and chips before anything could happen. And then went back for more a few days later. Over and over again, as a matter of fact, liking the feeling of his mouth going dry and his cock uncurling deliciously between his legs, pulling at the hairs in his groin. But nothing ever happened. What could happen? Some men liked his blond cork-screwing hair, too - he knew that as well. 'Fuckin' sexy hair, mate,' the young guy at the gas-station had said to him one Saturday afternoon, with a white-toothed grin. 'What's sexy about it?' he'd asked, grinning back. 'Work it out, kiddo,' the guy had said, eyeing his crotch and flashing him another grin. So he worked it out. His crazy hair made some guys wonder what they'd see if they got his pants off - and he did have a tangle of blond cork-screws around his cock, too, he'd tried trimming it, but Mitch said it made him look like a ponce, so he let the cork-screws sprout again - but he hadn't realised until that moment that it turned some weirdos on. He always dropped in to the gas-station for cigarettes on a Saturday afternoon after that. Fucking perv - but he kind of got a buzz out of the game.

Then after school finished that November, before college started, he found himself hanging out more and more not with Jimmy but with another of his school friends, Raffy Conti - no special reason, he just liked mucking around with him, going to the movies, spending the day at the beach, fishing and skinny-dipping with him in the creek down the coast where nobody went during the week. Sure, he was a good-looking guy - heavy red-black hair, a really weird colour, with olive skin, kind of lanky, with a slightly whipped-puppy look that made Billy want to whip him. (He'd never wanted to whip Jimmy. In fact, Jimmy was getting boring, always trying to impess girls and saying 'dude' a lot.) But he laughed a lot. They fooled around a bit when they were skinny-dipping - just a bit of goosing, a jab or two to the nuts, maybe, a grab for each other's stalks - just two juiced-up mates having a bit of a lark. He had a nice uncut dangling cock, it's true, and a glossy Italian bush that sparkled when the sun caught the water droplets in it after they'd been splashing about ... and a neat black-haired crack ... but ... well, he didn't really imagine doing things with him, or only sometimes, maybe, while he was jacking off at night in bed for want of any other cocks or cracks to picture that summer.

Then it happened. Late November. His birthday. Like a bolt from the blue - something he could not ever have foreseen, something from right off his radar. No, not a bolt from the blue: he felt like an arrow, an arrow someone had suddenly shot up into the sky from a taut bow, leaving everyone he'd known, everything he'd been, far, far below - his shaggy-pronged brother, his mate Jimmy boning his scrawny kid brother up against the bedroom wall, the bike-shed boys, the Greek with hair like black spaghetti, the gas-station guy oozing mischief as he reached for his cigarettes, not to mention Carmel O'Rourke, who smelt of fishpaste and patchouli oil and always tried to snog him at school dances, pressing her warm crotch against his fattening cock ... all of them, far, far below now, even Raffy himself, who was kind of involved, Raffy with those sexy red-black curls of his on the nape of his thin neck ... although he still wouldn't have minded giving him a whipping sometimes, those big, dark eyes of his and jutting lips ... just ants now, all of them. Who would have thought?

He wasn't even feeling horny that night - a bit cocky, but not on heat. 'Want to have dinner at my dad's restaurant?' Raffy said. 'A birthday treat.' 'Sounds great,' he said. His own father hadn't even rung him for his birthday and Mitch never remembered. So they went and stuffed themselves with pasta and gelato and joshed across the table the way they always did. Then Raffy's dad joined them in their booth, sitting down beside Billy, shaking his hand, offering a bit of small talk ... lean like his son, with short salt and pepper hair and dark stubble on his strong jaws. Evil little goatee, too, that Billy rather liked. Not brawny but tough like a knife. When Raffy, who started jiggling his knees and looking even more whipped than usual once his father joined them, went to the bathroom, his father tousled Billy's hair - just like that, suddenly, and licked his lips - and said; 'So what are you going to study next year, Billy Boy? Something useful, I hope - not ... what is it Raffy wants to do? Communications or something. What the fuck is that?' And guffawed. And then he dropped his hand straight down Billy's back, inside his pants and into his crack. Billy went blank. His mind just went white. His jaw locked. 'Communications ... sounds like something only pussyboys would do,' he said, jamming one finger into Billy's moist, clenched hole. 'What do you think, Billy?' Billy sweated and stared at his breadroll. The finger was looking for something, found it and scratched it and Billy jerked his head back and moaned softly. 'What are you going to do, Billy?' And then, as Raffy started to make his way back towards them between the tables, he leant over and croaked in Billy's ear: 'Are you a pussyboy like Raffy, Billy Quaid?' Jab. 'Or do you like playing hardball?' Jab. Then he crooked his finger, scratching the aching knot inside him and slid it out. Billy juddered. 'Drop round and see me tomorrow night at eleven. I'll show you what I mean.'

Billy hardly heard what he said next - something about how the waiter was getting slack and needed a good bollocking - he just sat there, staring straight ahead. But a fuse had been lit.

So all the next day he burned. He wouldn't go, of course, he'd never go near the place again, but he burned, something gnawed at his hole, his balls churned, his springy cock strained to uncoil in its sweaty pouch, he felt sick, he felt hungry, and what made him feel sickest and hungriest of all was that he began picturing himself playing hardball (whatever that was) with Raffy's dad, picturing things he didn't even know how to picture - being forced to suck on his dick till he gagged, for instance, being thrown down on a bed and raped till he cried. By the time night fell he was almost swooning from his lust for maleness. What was wrong with him? He'd never thought about things like that before. No, he wouldn't go. But at half past ten, thick-cocked and tight with fear, he left the house and walked to the restaurant. The waiter, a wiry, dark-haired young guy with an eyebrow-ring, was wheeling the bins out to the kerbside and said to him: 'Are you Billy? Dino's round the back, locking up. He's .. um .. expecting you.' Then, as Bill headed round the side, he called out: 'Hang on a minute - I'll come with you. You can keep him talking while I make my get-away.'

'Get-away?'

'I'm in the shit. The fucker's after my arse.' What did that mean? Billy's hole started pulsing.

Dino - Billy hadn't even known his name - was standing by the back door smoking. 'Come inside, Billy,' he said, grasping him by the shoulder. 'And you get inside as well, Leo. Thought you could sneak off, did you? Not until you take what's coming - and you know what that is.' And he pushed Leo in after Billy.

'Aw, fuck, boss, not tonight ... please. I'm meeting up with a couple of ...'

'Shut up, Leo. You really fucked up tonight. And you know what that means.'

'Aw, fuck, man ... no, please, not tonight.'

'You know the rules, Leo. Now, get over there to the bench, drop your pants and spread your legs. I want Billy here to see what happens to boys like you who fuck up.'

Still grumbling, Leo went over to the bench, dropped his pants and bent over. Billy didn't know whether to make a dash for the door or wait to see what happened next. He could hardly breathe. He just stared at Leo's sinewy, black-haired legs and the heavy ball-sac and cock dangling between them.

'Now, spread those fucking cheeks for us, Leo - let Billy see that hairy arsehole of yours before I rape it. Like the look of that man-cunt, Billy? It needs a good fucking, don't you think?' Billy just swallowed hard and began rubbing at his cock through his jeans. 'What do you say, Billy? Do you think that arse needs a taste of my belt before it gets ploughed?'

And then Billy spoke for the first time and said: 'Yes, sir, I do. Fucking thrash it.' And he nearly blacked out when he heard himself say it. And Dino gave him a mischievous grin, slid off his belt and lashed Leo's arse three times savagely. Leo didn't make a sound until the fourth time when the belt caught him across the balls. He yelped. 'You bastard - you got me in the nuts!'

'Bastard am I? Did you hear that, Billy? Now he's really going to cop a hiding.' A few more vicious slashes with the belt and then he paused and said to Billy: 'And do you know what happens to boys with a big mouth on them after they get a hiding? They get fucked.'

'Yes, sir, Mr Conti - fuck him,' Billy croaked. His blood was up, he was shaking with animal arousal.

'You want to see him fucked?'

'Yes, sir, I do. Fuck him hard.'

'Oh, I will, Billy. I'm going to fuck his brains out. Come closer and watch. You need to know what I do to boys like Leo.'

And that's when he unzipped, letting his pants drop to his ankles, and his pole reared up out of its nest of matted black curls, and, slicking it up with olive oil, he punched it into Leo's pulsating hole, rammed it in and up, almost lifting Leo up off the floor with the force of it. Leo howled and bucked, but then, as Dino started to slam-fuck him, he gave up and slumped over the bench, swearing and groaning, but taking it, jerking on his own cock as Dino knifed into him. High on the stench of male sweat, squelchy, fucked arse and dirty jocks, Billy let his own young cock spring out of his flies and began jacking it. It didn't last long. In an explosion of foul curses and cries - Leo was almost yodelling in his cock-frenzy - they all started spurting their juice, stinking thick gobs of it, on the floor, into Leo's matted crack, into the hairs on his legs.

Dino grunted, slapped Leo across his butt and stepped back, panting. And that's when Billy saw it: arcing up out of his damp bush across his abdomen Dino had a tattoo. It was a red-handled dagger. Its handle was almost hidden by the hair, but the blade curved up out of it low across his abdomen. And Billy instantly wanted to kneel down and lick it, lick all of it, from its root deep in this man's sweaty groin to the tip of its blade. But he didn't. He just shuddered a couple of times as he shot off his last drops of ball-juice and gave Dino a complicit smile.

Weirdly, Leo stood up and pulled on his pants as if nothing had even happened. He was almost swaggering. 'I guess I deserved that, boss,' he said, with a bad-boy grin. 'Fuck, I'm going to be bow-legged for days!' And he laughed.

Billy got to know the tattooed dagger intimately over the next few months, his face jammed into Dino's bush as he sucked and tongued him, parting the hairs to nuzzle at its full length, but not that night. That night, to his surprise, he and Leo were almost kicked out the door as soon as they hoisted their pants. He'd been harpooned, though, as surely and brutally as Leo had been, even though he went home that night with his greedy boy-hole still tight, still craving cock, Raffy's father's fuck-meat, his mate Raffy's father's mushroom-headed ram-rod, not just any cock, not Leo's, for instance, who offered to give him a good shagging on the back seat before he dropped him off - 'Come on, mate, you owe me one - that little show was for your benefit, you know', he said - but Billy just pushed him off and said: 'Another time, maybe'. He nearly let him, though, his hole was fucking spasming with want, he was right on the edge and Leo's slimy pole was just inches away, gleaming in the streetlight, but in a crazy way Dino was already fucking him. His cock had already found is mark. It was just a matter of waiting to be hauled in.

A day went by, two days, three days of fuck fever, and then his phone rang. It was nearly midnight. 'Where are you, Billy Quaid?' It was him. Billy's throat gummed up. 'At home in bed.'

Dino sort of smirked aloud. 'Alone?'

'Yes.' Well, alone with one greased finger up his arse and his fist round his cock, but he wasn't going to say that.

'A good-looking kid like you? We can do better than that. I'll pick you up in five minutes.' Click. Billy leapt out of bed and pulled on a t-shirt and some shorts. He had good legs.

Driving up in his van, Dino came round and opened the door for Billy. 'Ciao, Billy. How are you doing?' He raked his eyes over Billy's bare, blond-haired legs. His red shirt was undone to the navel, his shaven chest hairs glinting in the soft light from inside the car. 'Listen, before you get in, amico ... the thing is this: I'm not picking you up for a chat about the weather - know what I mean?

'Well, sir, Mr Conti, I ...'

'Oh, I think you do. I mean that, if you get in the van with me, you come across.' Billy gulped. His heart started thumping. 'That's the deal. OK? It's showtime. You get in - I fuck you. Right up that tight arse of yours. Hard. If you're not up for it, don't get in the car. Capito?' Billy said nothing. He could hardly think. He'd known it would be like this, of course. He'd wanted it to be like this.

'Capito,' he said and slid into the front seat. It was less of a commitment in Italian.

Pulling away from the kerb, Dino ran one hand up his thigh to the fork. 'Free-balling tonight, are we, Billy? Nice!' he said, flashing him an almost boyish grin. 'Rearing to go, too, by the feel of it.' He sniffed his fingers. 'You've been jerking off, you dirty little fucker! You stink of it. You'll get smacked in the balls for that. I like my men with their balls full when I fuck them. Understand?' Billy had never been called a man before. His cock went rock-hard on the spot.

What happened when they got to the restaurant was more or less what happened every time they met that summer, right up until he said the three words he shouldn't have said. There was no playing around before he was fucked - Dino played around after, not before. He was stripped naked, bollocked hard for jerking off, bent over the bench with his slim legs wide apart, roughly greased up with two fingers and then slam-fucked into next week. All Dino said before plunging his hair-draped prong into him was: 'Nice furry hole you've got there, mate. I like my men to have furry holes. I like my men to be men.' It was only when he'd finished shooting his warm man-juice deep up inside him that Dino reached round and almost gently stroked his sticky stalk to orgasm for him. And then knelt down and licked out his hole while he fondled his balls - and Billy had never had his hole eaten out before, the piercing pleasure of it, bristles scraping his crack, shot right up into his throat, making him gasp and bang his fists on the bench. And then Dino pushed him onto his back on the floor, squatted over his lips and opened up his own ripe hole for Billy's swirling tongue, batting at his balls and grunting: 'Yeah, eat it out, Billy, get your tongue up into that fucking manhole.' Usually when guys went for his nuts, Billy tried to cover them, but when Dino started smacking at them, he actually spread his legs wider - he wanted them busted, he wanted the jabs of pain, they made him feel more male. And then after he'd brutalized his bruised hole one more time, Dino plunged his tongue down his throat, told him to get his shorts back on, squeezed his nuts and took him home. 'And from now on,' Dino said as he got out of the car, 'no more fucking around with my son. OK?'

'I don't fuck around with him - honest. We just ...'

'Bullshit. Last time I looked you could've driven a horse and cart up that boy's fuckhole - did you think I wouldn't notice?'

'It wasn't me - I swear.'

'I see the way he looks at you. Do you think I don't know how pussyboys look at the guy who's feeding them cock? If it's not you, who is it? Anyway, if I catch you breeding my boy again, I'll ...' What? Have him gang-banged by the guys in the kebab shop? Kick his balls up into his throat? Dino wasn't saying. He just wrapped his fist round his nuts, crushed them till he yelped and said: 'I've got you by the balls, Billy Quaid, and don't you forget it.' Billy shivered. But his cock boned up nicely.

He was so stunned that he just stood on the kerb in the dark, staring at the disappearing tail-lights. Raffy? Fucked? He felt angry and jealous and ... betrayed. Which was stupid - what did he care who Raffy gave up his hole to? He was just his mate. Mind you, he'd thought sometimes that he'd like to smack him around a bit and make him not just whimper but cry out and sob (for a change), maybe having his best mate's cock rammed up his arse might juice up whatever they had going between them, make him fight back a bit the way a real mate should, give the wuss some balls. Billy was no arse-bandit, but it had crossed his mind that being able to look at your mate and think 'I've fucked you' might be pretty hot, pumping him full of your baby-makers when he let his guard down might sharpen things up a bit when they got together, give their twosome a bit of edge. He was just really pissed off that some other sneaky bastard had got there first, that's all.

But what the fuck was Dino doing looking at Raffy's hole?

Every week or so after that night Dino used to call him and minutes later drag him off for a fucking. He kept him aching for it, going quietly mad for it, in a fever for it - and then in just an hour or so it was all over and the hunger pangs began again. It was never quite enough. In between times he still hung around with Raffy - movies, the beach, a tennis match or two, hours in pizza parlours talking, but Billy never breathed a word to him about his father. The mere thought that he might let something drop scared him shitless. And he never asked him who'd been fucking him, either, and Raffy didn't drop any clues. He went nut-brown over the summer, Raffy did, his long, silky-haired legs almost begging to be spread and ... oh, yes, Billy could imagine now exactly what a man might do to Raffy if he got him naked and spreadeagled on a bed - or up against a wall or anywhere. He could imagine him whooping with lust and pain. But nothing was said. He was constantly on the edge of blurting something out, but never did. It was torture.

As time went by, Dino got a bit more playful. One week he might meet him in the toilets behind the cricket-ground and screw him like a bit of rough trade in one of the stalls. The next week he might tell him to get out on the beach road and start hitchhiking as soon as he saw the van coming. He'd pick him up and then, pretending he'd never seen him before in his life, drive up a side road and rape him in the back of the van, muffling his cries with a towel. Twice he tore a hole in his underpants and force-fucked him through the hole. Once he tied him up in the storeroom at the restaurant and stuck his cock down his throat and drilled his arse whenever he felt like it all afternoon. (Leo ducked in and quickly raped him once, too - into him like a rat up a drainpipe, he was - scared witless that Dino might catch him at it.)

Just after Christmas Dino told him to meet him in a gay video lounge. Grabbing him by his bush, he hauled him over to a divan and in front of all the other guys fucked his eyeballs out. The others all milled around the two rutting men like dogs on heat. Only then did Dino take him into the bathroom to eat out his armpits and milk his straining dick for him, swallowing every drop when he started to spew his jizz. On New Year's Eve he took both him and Raffy to the Italian club and, while Raffy was over at the bar collecting drinks, Dino took him outside and quickly ravaged his arse with tongue and cock in a darkened doorway, and then sauntered back inside to sit with his son as if he'd just been outside smoking a cigarette. Couldn't Raffy smell his freshly fucked, dribbling arse? He gave no sign of it, but just sat there next to him looking jittery the way boys like Jimmy or Tommy Crabtree did at school, lining up to be caned. And always, before he skewered him, he ran his fingers through the curls in his groin to see if there was any dried cum there, and if there was he got a fist in his balls straight away - hard. Getting his balls mashed turned him on so much that sometimes he jerked off quickly as soon as the phone went, just to have Dino say to him; 'You pathetic scum-bag, you've been pulling on your dick again. Spread those legs - come on! Spread 'em! Hands behind your back! OK, now take it like a man.' Once his balls were so swollen by the time he got home that even his half-stoned brother Mitch noticed when he started groping him. He had to suck him off to stop him asking any further questions. Funny how different his cum tasted from Dino's. Sucking his skanky brother off made him feel sick these days, but, if he didn't, he might get into a tussle with him and Mitch would want to finger his hole and then he'd find it gaping and clogged with spunk, and then he'd want to empty his own balls into him and ... he was too sore and fucked out and stuck on Dino - stuck on Dino's long, hard spike - for that.

Then one day right at the end of summer, on one of the last hot days before college started, he and Raffy were lying on the beach together for want of anything better to do. Raffy was leafing through some magazine or other and Billy was just lying there in his speedos half asleep in the sun. Then suddenly, in a low voice, Raffy said: 'See that guy over there? The one with spiky black hair and the tattoo?'

Billy hoisted himself up onto one elbow and looked across at the guy, who had his broad, oiled back to them - playing with his phone, by the look of it. 'Yeah. What about him?'

'See that tattoo? It's the same as the one my father's got.'

Billy squinted into the sun. Between his shoulder-blades there it was: the curving dagger tattoo. 'So it is,' he said.

And froze. And Raffy froze. And the silence went on for what felt like hours. And then their eyes met. And Raffy moaned like a beaten animal. And each of them knew that the other one knew. Just three words and in a flash Billy was skinned alive.

If this hit the spot for you, or you'd like other spots hit, let me know - Zac on zaccooee@yahoo.com.au