Disclaimer: do not continue reading if adult gay content is offensive or illegal to you.
It's 2am, and I am jogging back to my apartment. Nighttime running recently became a routine for me, and I know I'll fall asleep as soon as I get home and wake up feeling refreshed. The fitness aspect is just an added bonus; I had a slim, defined body long before I started running but I am beginning to appreciate the effect on my calves.
Still, 2am is much later than I am usually out. I unintentionally fell asleep for a while earlier, when I got home after a group meeting for a college project. Luckily I had set an alarm to wake me up just in case of such an event. I have to go running late tonight, because tonight is different.
I jog through an intersection, almost home now. The streetlights are flashing yellow--I wonder what time they start doing that. It's a main road that normally has lots of traffic but this city is dead this time of night. My legs are aching and I am sucking in air; tonight's run is longer than my usual.
As I'm running along the home stretch, you're running through my head. A faceless stranger. We've been chatting online and later on the phone for a while now, but I still know almost nothing about you, and I feel like you know everything about me. You got me to confess all of my dirtiest secrets to you, my darkest fantasies, things I am probably too afraid to ever try. I sent nude pictures at your request and then showed you ever inch of my body on skype, knowing I couldn't feel any more naked or exposed than I was after spilling my guts to you. In exchange all I know about you is that you're 47, more than twice my age, and that you promised to use my desires against me tonight, when you rape me.
Usually running keeps my head clear, even tonight, but now that thought has me getting hard. My dick is straining against the pouch of my jockstrap. You picked out my clothes for tonight, told me to wear a white jockstrap, black nylon basketball shorts, a sleeveless undershirt, low rise socks and sneakers, told me I'd go for an extra long jog and what time I'd get home. At first the run was uncomfortably chilly, not many more running nights left before the serious cold sets in, but now I appreciate the cold air as it wicks sweat off of my body.
Finally I am home, walking towards my apartment. That must be you sitting on the steps to the foyer, the first time I get to see you. I'm surprised. You look younger than 47, and you're dressed more formally than I expected, in khaki pants, a dark blue shirt and a solid-red tie. Maybe it's not you, it's a big apartment and not unusual to see strangers here. I'm feeling foolish, this was a dumb idea, what was I thinking.
The stranger is standing now, and as I walk up the stairs, he lightly catches my wrist: "Got the time?" I had walked past, so I turn now, looking with some contempt at the hand on my wrist, then up at you. I'm still catching my breath so it takes a moment before I snatch my arm back and respond, "Fuck you."
Now I know its you, the only two scripted lines of our night opening up endless worries about the unknown that will now follow. I can't turn back. A rush of conflicting emotions fills my stomache as I take the few steps to my first floor apartment, hunch my tired body over the lock and let myself in.
Before I can toss the keys onto the table, my usual routine, you're on me. I barely remember falling, but your body is pinning me down, my keys spilled across the floor, and you're grabbing my head one arm around my neck cranking my head back.
"Fuck you" you spit out at me. I'm shocked, from the fall but also from the genuine anger in your voice. You're not acting. You're really mad. Your other hand grabs my hair and you bounce my forehead off the floor. I realize, he must hate me. Maybe I represent everything in his life that you hate, young fit boys running around in almost no clothing, being a constant cock tease but then literally refusing to give him the time of day.
This man wants to hurt me and I've invited him into my home. He seems angrier and meaner than I expected of my rapist, no small comment, and I suddenly realize that I am more tired and less able to fight back than I expected. I'm filled with new doubt now, serious concern.
His tongue is probing my lips and I twist my head away slightly, still caught in his grasp. One arm is pinned to my side and his knee is resting heavily on my other forearm, sending sharp pain throughout my body. I'm trying to shake anything free, I'm in good shape and I should be able to put up some fight. I swing my legs upward towards him but he's far forward on my back, I can barely reach him.
He grabs my hair again this time pulling sharply back. A tiny shout escapes me and that's all he needs to get his tongue inside my mouth. I bite down on that tongue, wishing I had done it harder instead of just barely reflexively, but it's enough. He drops me and jumps up with a start. I scramble to my knees, then my feet, lurching forward, around a corner into the hallway--towards my phone, my backdoor, anywhere--just away. But he's grabbed my arm again, the same wrist as before I think absently, and as I run forward I find myself spun around facing him. Only for a moment though, as a backhand sends me to the floor.
My vision is dark, and as the stars clear, I am on my back. I see his dress shoes connect with my rib but for some reason I barely feel anything, though I am doubled over on my side now. The wind is knocked out of me. He has grabbed my arms, dragged me into the bedroom, lifted and thrown me onto my bed before I've collected any of my wits.
Maybe I should stop fighting back. I was really trying, and he had no problem totally controlling me. Fighting more now can only make it worse, right? Or maybe he really needs me to fight back, and if I go limp he'll abuse me more to get me screaming.
I'm on my back and he's pinning my wrists together above my head with one hand. He brings one knee between my legs spreading me open and connecting a bit with my balls, not too hard but I still gasp. He's putting enough pressure on my balls, the threat is there. He's not playing around, he's ready to crush me now. My eyes are closed tightly but I hear him tying my hands together quickly, the sound of zip ties--he must have brought those. Then another quick zip and he has fastened my wrists to a bedpost.
"You're mine now bitch, and you're going to pay for that bite." His mouth is right by my ear and I shudder involuntarily. I feel his hands running over my torso, then going towards my waist. There's a cold sensation below my navel. Cold, hard metal--he brought a knife? My eyes are still locked tightly and I tilt my head backwards. The blade rips upward through my shirt, from navel to neck.
I look down now as he bares my torso. I recognize my own box cutter, that I'd left out after winterizing my windows with plastic sheeting the other day. Must have been on my night stand, and that's where he returns it now after cutting the top of my shirt shoulders. He leans over my chest and puts his mouth on my left nipple. For a moment he's almost gentle, but then he is biting down increasing pressure until I hear myself yelling. His mouth moves to the other nipple and there's no gradual foreplay here, just a quick, hard bite and another scream.
"Ow! Please, please, please" I am sobbing, some tears rolling down my cheek. I don't know what I am pleading for. "Please don't hurt me," it sounds so feeble, so stupid given my situation. The fucker actually licks the tears from my face as he says "should have thought of that earlier, faggot." He punches me in the gut, not as hard as his kick earlier but in the same tender spot.
The boxcutter, the bites, the punches... these are what I wanted, right? There's just barely within my limits. I had armed myself with a safeword when we talked before. I won't use it yet, I'm not ready to give in, but I also wonder--will he even stop if I do?
He is at my side and pulls down my shorts, taking off my shoes and socks as he goes. "This is going to be bad for you slut, but I think maybe you like it. Look at that hard cock trying to escape your jock while I punch your stupid ass around." He grabs my package, then finds my balls and grabs hard and twists them a bit through my jockstrap. He is leaning over me again, his mouth to my ear. A hand reaches down and finds my hole and he wastes no time fingering it roughly, 3 fingers. I can feel him twisting them around, spreading them, scraping and clawing at me, anything but gently.
I gasp and groan, as he calls me names. "You're a filthy whore, wearing a jockstrap and keeping your ass accessible. This is what you've wanted, real men taking your open invitation, taking your ass. Tell me what a filthy whore you are boy and beg me to fuck you."
I beg as he continues working my hole hard. "I am your fucking boy whore, Sir, please fuck me! I need your dick pounding me hard Sir, because I'm a worthless cumslut, please make me your cock slave." His spit lands on my face, the side of my nose and mouth. Then a playful slap, "OPEN boy" and I open my mouth. More spit, he grabs my jaw and holds it open, then hucks a lugie in me, completely disgusting.
As he pulls his hand free from my ass, he wipes it across my face, then stands besides the bed. He starts taking off his clothes and I realize he was fully dressed this whole time. We haven't even begun and already I am sore, tired, and ashamed.
He takes his time carefully getting undressed, folding his clothes neatly and putting them on top of my nearby dresser. His body is amazing. He obviously works out more than I do, and I feel pathetic that someone can put my body to shame like that despite the advantage of my youth. His strong arms and chest... no wonder my takedown in the doorway was such a fucking joke to him.
When he returns to the bed he brings more zipties from his pants pocket. He easily scoops my legs up, bringing them back over my head, and ties my ankles to the bedposts. My tired muscles are screaming at me, I am not flexible enough for this to be comfortable at all and I wonder how long he's going to keep me like this as the zipties cut into my skin. He must see or hear my discomfort, because it brings a big smile and small laugh to his lips.
"I'd love to start by stuffing that pretty face of yours, let you gag and choke up some free lube. But I'm not sure you've learned not to bite the man that feeds you yet, so I'll have to go in dry, bitch." I'm already sore from his finger fucking, but I try to let him into my spread ass. There's too much resistance, it feels like he's ripping my skin, but he wastes no time and no sympathy. I scream loudly as he plunges in and starts fucking me with long, hard strokes.
As much as I love rough fucking this is completely different. It feels like he's punching a hole into my gut and I'm sure he'll tear something at this rate. And it never ends or slows down. I guess the other times I've had good, hard fuckings, my partner must have changed the rhythm a bit if he saw any serious pain, but all he does as I cry out is reach down between my legs to clamp his hand over my mouth, or to choke my neck as I feel myself turning redder.
I'm trying to breathe as each thrust forces the wind out of my body, as I choke and sob and fight back tears. I realize my nose started to run a bit, like a child crying too hard, and between the snot, sweat, tears and his gobs of spit decorating my face I must be quite a sight.
I don't know how much time passed, my eyes closed and trying desperately not to think of how long this was taking, before I can tell he's getting close. He speeds up and is more frantic. "Oh, yeah you're gonna take my fucking load you whore!" he informs me before burying his cock balls deep in me, collapsing on top of my bent-over body. I feel him exploding with such force it almost feels like he's still ramming me.
Finally he pulls his cock out, and somehow this hurts worse than any inward thrust. My hole is so sore--how is this even possible? how long will my body feel this abused? Will my exhaustion even win out over this pain and let me collapse and sleep?
He takes the box cutter and frees my legs. Thank god. They fall dead, onto the bed. I don't think they'd support my weight right now. He seems to think for a moment, then decides to cut my wrists free of their bed post but still bound together. He drags my body to the side and I groan, realizing he's not done with me. My head hangs over the side of the bed and he's standing over me. "You're gonna suck my cock clean bitch" he tells me just in case I hadn't figured that out.
His cock is by my face and I can already smell the cum and my pussy on it. I feel sick. He's pinning my bound hands to my stomache with one hand and the other reaches behind my head, pulling it toward his cock as I open wide.
I really am a cocksucker at heart. I'm happiest with a dick down my throat, and I'm an expert at deepthroating. Not the occasional, take the whole penis for a few seconds deepthroating, but keeping it down my throat the whole time... and I fucking love it. Love breathing around a big dick, love the trust and teamwork it takes to fuck my throat where any misstep could make me gag or puke, and I love the appreciation--which is plentiful, since most men have never even had an eager cocksucker, let alone an expert deepthroat.
But again this is different. I am too tired to work hard at throating now, my sore body screaming objections all over. And I don't think I'm working with a team player who's going to show lots of appreciation.
Still, once he starts fucking my throat in ernest, I slide into my familiar and comfortable cocksucker routine, breathing carefully around his thrusts, moving my mouth and neck a bit with him, exploring his cock with my tongue. I want him to enjoy this, my specialty, and I'm enjoying it too for the first clear time of the night.
He does make me gag, and he doesn't slow down when he does. I end up spewing spit out of the corners of my mouth, matting his pubes and covering my face. He takes a minute to bury his cock all the way down my throat and hold it there, my nose buried in his pubes and pressing into his skin. When I don't run out of air he puts both hands around my throat, and I can feel the bulge there from his penis. He puts some gentle pressure there and suddenly is thrusting quickly into my throat again. I gag, a lot, not ready for the sudden shift.
A moment later he pulls out. I get my first real chance to admire his cock for a moment. It's very hard again, and I love seeing it glisten from my spit. He cock slaps my face a bit, rubbing my own spit into my skin, into my eyes.
Then he rolls me over back onto the bed, on my chest. He sits on my back, and cuts free the last ziptie around my wrist. He pulls my arms back behind me, and there fastens them with a fresh ziptie. I feel him pulling at my hips and I arch my back up towards him, but he pulls harder, pulling me to my knees. Without my arms for support my face is down on the bed, and the position is surprisingly uncomfortable for my back. He thrusts his cock inside me once more. This time it is much easier thanks to the good spit lubing, but it hurts just as much--more. My hole feels unbelievably raw. My legs are shaking, even here on my knees my muscles feel like they'll give out, as he grabs my arms like a handle bar and starts fucking full speed.
At this speed, the sound of his hips hitting me with each thrust alone sounds like a beating. I am crying out loudly now. "Get used to it boy, will take me a while to work out a second load" he grunts. When I say "oh no!" I can hear him throw his head back and laugh. He stops for a moment, long enough to reach under me for the clumped up rags of my shirt and shove it into my mouth by the fistfuls. When he resumes fucking, he is leaning over me pushing my face into the bed, and I am biting down, screaming and crying into my shirt.
Some minutes after I thought I'd die from the abuse, he pulls out and flips me over onto my back, my arms tucked under the small of my back. He sits on my chest and jacks off, shooting rope after rope across my face. One eye is glued shut. He tells me not to move as he gets up, and soon returns, holding his phone. "Smile. You're gonna tell me you're daddy's bitch and how much you liked this, and you're gonna make it convincing."
The light on the back of the phone lights up, recording, capturing my cum-caked face for eternity. "I'm your bitch, daddy. I live to be your fucktoy, thank you for raping me tonight Sir."
"You like daddy's cum on you boy? You wanna eat it, yeah?" "Yes sir" I nod in agreement. Still holding the camera, you use your dick to scrape cum off of my face, feed it into my mouth. "Good boy." The light clicks off.
"Now we'll just tie you back to the bedpost and get some sleep. Maybe in the morning we'll invite over some friends... an ass like that is too good not to whore out, boy."