Nightmares on Fig Leaf Street

Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people, places or events is unintentional.

Nightmares on Fig Leaf Street Chapter VI

DEFENSIVE FORMATION

DAY SIX

"Do you work hard at being so totally useless?"

Quinn rolled his eyes at the accusation from the only boy on the field. Like he gave a crap about the loose end and the inoffensive tackle and going one way... or whatever the terms were.

Quinn tried to dismiss himself from the confrontation but another three lads surrounded him.

"You made us loss that very important game."

There was something comedically mechanical about the way the boy said it.

"Right. Sorry," Quinn said.

"Well that's no way to apologise," Mr Summer said.

Quinn looked at the figure who seemed to have materialised out of nowhere. Just like the other three boys had. Quinn recognised him now. It was like a magic eye, once you could see the picture underneath, you couldn't unsee it. Mr Summer was no longer a haunting inconsistency who was able to dupe him and make him confused if he was in reality or dreaming.

"You should apologise on your knees," Mr Summer said.

"Why? Because you're hungry?" Quinn replied sarcastically and the man's smirk slipped for a split second.

There was something reassuring about seeing the figure that had been haunting his nightmares – for one thing, it was a signal that he was dreaming. More than that, Quinn thought he knew what his dreams were about now and since they knew who the man was, Quinn felt empowered rather than powerless.

"Pathetic losers like you shouldn't talk back," Mr Summer replied.

"Shut the fuck up then," Quinn shot back.

Quinn didn't think he was a pathetic loser and didn't measure his worth by the opinions of people he didn't like or respect. For all his fears, Quinn didn't like the way Mr Summer was speaking to him and knowing he was in a dream gave Quinn the courage to stand up for himself.

"Grab this cheeky fatherfucker," Fred Summer growled at the four bullies on the field.

Did Quinn even know their names? Quinn had known many bullies over the years and the four boys surrounding him seemed to be an amalgamation. Quinn had always feared being bullied – shoved in a locker, tripped up, pushed over, kicked and punched – and these boys were a grotesque (but pretty to look at) merger of them all. The bullying had been at its worst when Quinn was closeted. Quinn owed Andrew for standing up for him after he finally came out but the truth was, he went to the kind of school where being gay really wasn't that big a deal. The bullying had fizzled out when neither Quinn nor his classmates gave much attention to the bullies.

Ironically, the bullying itself had often been underwhelming compared to his fear of it.

The four boys, the first who had spoken to him and the three who had appeared from thin air, grabbed Quinn and forced him onto his knees. The grass was damp and muddy. Quinn was wearing running shorts and a t-shirt, white socks and sneakers. His knees had grass stains on them as he knelt in front of the four bullies.

"We know who you are," Quinn said challengingly to the man who now towered over him.

"Of course you don't," the man replied.

"Of course we do," Quinn persisted. "Fredrick Summer."

The man looked almost relieved.

"And do you know why I want to destroy you and your friends... and also Chris?" Mr Summer asked.

Quinn thought it was unfair to single Chris out like that but the man had a point. Of the five of them affected, Chris was the outsider; even if it was self-imposed, Chris was set apart.

"Revenge?" Quinn guessed.

"More. So much more," Mr Summer replied.

"Ok, don't tell me why," Quinn said. "Tell me how."

"Magic," the sinister man said.

"What do you want?" Quinn asked.

"At the moment? I just want to see you mind your place," Mr Summer said darkly.

"Grab his t-shirt," said one of the bullies.

Quinn found his top roughly pulled from his body and thrown in a muddy puddle.

"Oh no," Quinn whined in deliberately unconvincing tone. "Please don't let four hot boys take my clothes. I'd hate that."

Fredrick Summer looked down at Quinn with increasing disapproval and annoyance.

"Don't play games with me Quinn. I've met boys like you before, pretending to be brave. Pretending you can take it..." Mr Summer needled.

"This isn't real. It's a dream," Quinn shrugged his bare shoulders.

One of the four boys pushed Quinn in the middle of the chest and he fell backwards, He propped himself up with his arms and his legs were tucked underneath him. Within seconds, two of the lads hand grabbed Quinn's shorts and pulled them down his legs to expose sky blue briefs that slipped down as the shorts were pulled. The shorts were pulled from Quinn's legs and then his sneakers too.

The four bullies laughed scornfully at Quinn – pointing at him and giggling at his exposed legs and boyish underwear. Quinn felt shame and his cheeks burned with embarrassment. Even if it wasn't real, it felt real and dreams imbued a quality of uncertainty by masquerading as reality. 7How could Quinn be really sure he was dreaming?

"It is not a dream," Mr Summer said. "It's a nightmare."

Someone tore the socks from Quinn's feet. His feet and legs could feel the moist prickle of the grass beneath him. The seat of his underwear was soggy as he sat on the football field in nothing but the embarrassing sky-blue briefs.

"Oh my god!"

"That's pathetic."

"Are you sure you're eighteen and not twelve?"

"No-one will be surprised you look pathetic, faggot."

"I'm not scared of you," Quinn insisted.

"Yes you are. You're scared of being bullied. Of being weak. Of..." Mr Summer listed.

"Yes, yea, yea," Quinn said. "But I'm not being bullied. It's a dream. A fantasy. Looking at naked boys is your fantasy."

"You think I'm doing this just to see you naked, Quinn Mason?" Mr Summer asked bitterly.

The man clearly resented being challenged – perhaps even more so because Quinn was right. The man did want to look at naked boys. When he'd been alive, he had been good at it. He made excuses to be in the locker room when the boys were changing or `checking on them' when they were in the shower.

Then he discovered magic.

Not the rabbit out of a hat kind of magic (rabbit out of a guys ass maybe) but the kind that was subtle and subversive. The kind of magic that made boys compliant and helped him to exploit their weaknesses.

Mr Summer hadn't always needed magic to make the boys do things. When they came to fear him, they started to behave as if influenced by supernatural power even when he wasn't using it. Their obedience became a learned behaviour.

It had all been going so well until five friends decided they were going to oppose him, expose what he had done to them as if they hadn't enjoyed it. Doing things alone or with each other while he watched and occasionally treating himself to a bite from the forbidden fruit.

Was aubergine a fruit?

"Get him up," Mr Summer snarled.

Quinn was hauled to his feet, each arm held by a nameless bully. Then another stooped in front of him and pulled his briefs down and off on one swoop. The briefs were discarded onto the muddy grass.

"You're not worth seeing," Mr Summer said derisively.

Quinn didn't believe him. His point was undercut by the fact the man had literally removed his last stitch of clothing while saying he wasn't worth being seen naked.

The four bullies were laughing at Quinn but the noise elevated from four laughing boys to ten and then a hundred. Quinn looked around as the football field was suddenly surrounded by spectators. A school load of boys were all looking at him and hooting, laughing, pointing, taking pictures.

It was a nightmare. It felt real. But it was exciting too. Quinn didn't want to be naked and exposed, exhibited and embarrassed in real life but a simulation of that experience? Would Mr Summer know that Quinn secretly enjoyed it?

"Look at his tiny dick."

"How, I can't even see it from here."

"...sad..."

"...gay..."

"...tiny..."

"...Tweet..."

Quinn felt tears pricking his eyes. The comments hurt and fear rose inside him again. Bullies could be so cruel. Quinn thought he was on to something when he realised it was a dream. He thought it had given him some power. But it felt real. The nakedness, the outdoors, the pain of being humiliated.

"You are nothing, Quinn," Mr Summer said.

Quinn didn't think it could get worse but he started to get excited.

"He's getting hard."

"He likes showing off his prick."

"You're detestable."

Wait. Was this a nightmare? It was, yes, but was it so bad?

The experience was a battle of wills as Quinn reminded himself he was naked and hard and surrounded by boys. Quinn liked being naked and hard and boys. What was so bad about it? Let Mr Summer have what he wanted. Mr Summer was wrong; it wasn't a nightmare.

It was a dream come true (hopefully not really true).

Quinn concentrated and suddenly the four bullies were naked too and then so was the spectators.

Mr Summer's eyes darkened so there was no longer even a subtle difference between his iris's and his pupils. How was this boy doing this? Controlling elements of the dream he had so carefully created?

Mr Summer had a talent for weaving dreams. When he was alive, he had used magic in reality but since he had awakened, his influence was only over the dreams of the five boys on Fig Leaf Street. Yet that influence had touched on reality. Mr Summer had tried to use this tentative link to escape, to touch the real world for himself and live again but he had no body. If he was going to be trapped forever in the world of dreams, he would make the most of it.

Even now that Quinn was fighting back, it only made things more interesting. He liked a challenge. When boys resisted, it was fun; he liked it when they squirmed or tried to fight back.

The comments and laughter of the crowd that only moments ago had been mocking Quinn faded to be replaced by the sound of hundreds of boys fapping.

Quinn delighted in the effect of lucid dreaming.

He knelt down as the four bullies stroked away, surrounding him. Quinn opened his mouth and leaned forward, sucking the first dick to be shoved in his face.

Quinn's eyes were locked on the groin of the boy who was now face-fucking him. The cock was warm and firm inside his mouth, pushing deep until it nearly hit the back of his throat. Quinn's eyes slid to where Mr Summer was standing – the man was smirking so if he was perturbed by Quinn hijacking the narrative of the dream, he didn't show it.

Quinn could feel sweetness in his mouth as goo tricked onto his tongue from the invading cock.

Quinn heaved air into his lungs by breathing through his nose since his mouth was simply too full. Hands grabbed his head as the face-fucking became more enthusiastic so Quinn's hands grabbed meaty ass and squeezed the cheeks.

Quinn fully expected cum to wash down his throat. Instead, he felt warm splashes land in his hair and then on his back. How could he forget the other masturbating bullies? Tears had started to prickle Quinn's eyes as the hard dick in his mouth continued to leak and pummel his throat.

Finally, the bully let go of Quinn's head and pulled his cock out, jerking it feverishly with one hand and taking Quinn's chin in his other. Quinn followed the prompt, putting out his tongue so the bully could cum on it. Quinn's tongue was like a scoop that was filled with sweet spunk; so much filled the scoop that it spilled over, until Quinn swallowed the spoon-like tongueful of jizz.

Quinn sat back on his heels, controlling the dream no longer prescient in his mind. Around him, the spectators were still jerking off instead of heckling him as Mr Summer had orchestrated. Mr Summer had rather liked the change to the scene he had set.

Four naked bullies – one had cum in Quinn's mouth and the other on his head and back. The remaining two seemed content to use Quinn for bukkake.

The third boy blasted cum into Quinn's face – surprising the teenager and causing him to laugh as an inordinate amount of ejaculate rained over his forehead, nose, cheeks and chin. Quinn didn't even need to look at Mr Summer – he could feel the man's delight at Quinn's degradation.

Finally, the last boy pushed his way in front of Quinn. First, he wiped a big hand all over Quinn's face, smearing the cum of his peers into the pores of Quinn's face. Then he pressed his own cock against Quinn's lips. Quinn opened his mouth obligingly. Quinn knew his chances of four guys doing this to him in real life were remote, so he eagerly embraced the opportunity for a mixture of bukkake and cock sucking.

As Quinn worked on the cock that pushed in and out of his mouth, his lips creating pleasurable tension on the shaft of the invading erection, he could see the spectators starting to cum. It was like the shots and volleys were showering down on the football field like rain.

When the boy came in his mouth, it poured out, over his lips and chin and down his chest. The cum gushed into Quinn's throat with enough left over to thoroughly contaminate his skin. Quinn drank it and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You're not in control anymore," Quinn asserted to Mr Summer.

Mr Summer for his part continued to look unperturbed.

"You have a vivid imagination," the man replied and sounded almost complimentary.

"You liked it? Of course you did," Quinn said without surprise.

"I don't need to control every detail of the dream, boy," Mr Summer sneered. "What did you think? That you would make the four boys stop mocking you and instead fuck your face and I'd fade away?"

Quinn wasn't sure what he'd thought but he suspected he had just touched the tip of the iceberg. The magic influencing theses dreams was not just Mr Summer's to control and that meant he and his friends could defend themselves.

"The five of you are trapped together. One of you opposing me is meaningless," the dead man claimed.

The sinister man did not feel diminished by Quinn's opposition. He already knew there was only one way to trap him again and the idiots would never figure it out...

...would they?

"Not just one of us. I'll tell the others how to oppose you too. Face their fears. We'll all take control of our dreams," Quinn said with a certainty he didn't really possess.

"The dreams," the man sniggered. "And what are you going to do about reality?"

Before Quinn could reply, everything faded to black.

A GRAVE PROBLEM

Quinn tried to open his eyes but they were sticky. He was aware of coolness on the bare skin of his chest and dampness on his back, buttocks and legs. He lifted a hand to prise his eyes open – they had been practically glued shut.

Quinn guessed what it was: cum.

What was it with that sinister man and conjuring spunk in the real world? And how was he doing all this? Magic? Quinn didn't believe in magic. However, he also didn't believe in dead men controlling dreams and all the other weird shit that had been going on.

With his eyes open, Quinn gazed up into the sky.

He was in a hole in the ground, the periphery of his vision filled with a tunnel of dirt from the sides of the grave in which he had woken up.

Quinn was startled – he was in a grave?

It stared to rain but it wasn't water that fell from the sky, it was cum.

Which was impossible.

Quinn remained sat up in the deep, dark, dank grave that started to fill with supernatural spunk. Then the man was looking down at him.

The sinister figure was barely more than a silhouette at the edge of the precipice, the sky behind him dark but for a few stars. Fredrick Summer laughed in a crazed and frightening cackle.

"You asked why I'm doing this?" Mr Summer asked rhetorically. "I am punishing all of you for the sins of your fathers. For betraying me. For my hunger. For my unmarked grave!"

For my unmarked grave!

Unmarked grave!

Unmarked!

The words seemed to echo.

RUNNING BACK

Quinn awoke with a start.

He was still sitting in a dirt hole but this time the edges were not regular and perfectly vertical. They were rough, slanted and pitted. The hole was also not grave-sized but a large, wide and deep space in the ground. Like a trench. Quinn was still coated in a slimy film of cum and he had the unsettling sensation of having woken up from a dream in which he had woken up from a dream.

Was he really awake?

The sinister man who had stalked his nightmares and the dreams of his friends was gone. Quinn could remember standing up to him, challenging Mr Summer and compelling changes in the dream. But it hadn't really made a difference. Fredrick Summer was totally unperturbed by Quinn's attempt to take control as if the content of the dream itself was unimportant.

"The five of you are trapped together. One of you opposing me is meaningless."

Quinn needed the others to help him. To end the nightmares for everyone.

Quinn got to his feet and looked up the uneven walls of dirt. The sky was still dark and pricked with spots of light from stars a billion miles away. At least it was still nighttime so it was unlikely he'd run into anyone. But where was he? One of the sides of the trench was a gentler slope than the others so he walked up the incline. Quinn's bare feet sank into the soft, shifting soil that was damp underfoot. He needed to use his hands several times as he fell forward until he was almost climbing out of the hole.

The grave.

"I am punishing all of you for the sins of your fathers. For betraying me. For my hunger. For my unmarked grave!"

Quinn's hands and feet, knees and chest were all smudged with dirt by the time he got to the top.

Quinn reached the top and stumbled onto the level which was when he realised where he was. He was at school. Quinn looked around and could see parked construction vehicles, equipment and materials all around. He was on the building site for the new football stadium, the bare boned of which was almost invisible in the darkness of the night.

Was Mr Summer telling the truth? Was this where he had been buried? In an unmarked grave? If it was true, who buried him? The body must have been disturbed by the construction... had that set him free? And yet there had been no news about a body being found in what looked like a drainage ditch or lines for pipes and cables that would supply the new building.

So who moved the remains? Where was the man now?

All important questions but Quinn had a different worry now – he was naked outside on school grounds and miles from home. This wasn't like in the nightmare where, once lucid of the dream, he could have fun with it.

He was naked at school! Outside! Miles from home!

Quinn was all alone. Well, except for the runner.

Shit! A runner? Quinn crouched down at the edge of the grave to avoid being seen but this was unnecessary since the runner wasn't paying attention and the hole was unilluminated – unlike the section of the schools running track that came close to the construction site. The runner was jogging as if in a trace, he might not have seen Quinn if Quinn hadn't decided to attract his attention.

Quinn made this choice because when he narrowed his eyes, he realised that he recognised the runner – it was Chris.

Quinn ran to intercept Chris – he was still embarrassed to be seen nude by another boy but at least Chris would understand the extraordinary circumstances. Even as Quinn got closer and emerged from the construction site and onto the running track, Chris didn't seem to see him.

"Chris? Chris!" Quinn shouted.

Chris slowed to a stop and blinked as if coming out of a trance.

"Quinn?" Chris said.

Chris couldn't help but check Quinn out. He had seen Quinn naked in the dream they had shared but the reality felt different. Covertly looking at boys in the shower and dreaming about boys in the shower were two different things. Well, they were before all this nightmare nonsense. Now Chris wasn't sure what was real.

Quinn looked good. Muddy with besmirched hands, chest, legs and feet, Quinn was in need of a good wash. The dirty boy was not the most ripped guy at school but Quinn was slim and had a nice tummy and petite nipples and his dick was...

"Are you ok?" Chris asked before his eyes could linger too long on Quinn's penis.

"Oh. Yea," Quinn covered his penis with his hands.

Yea? Why did he say yea?

"What are you doing here?" Quinn asked.

"Running?" Chris replied sarcastically.

"Right, I could see that," Quinn answered.

Why was Chris so irritable?

"Here," Chris said and he pulled his t-shirt off.

Fuck! While his shirt was over his head, Quinn checked out Chris's hard abs and beautiful pecs and the V-shaped dip into his shorts. Chris handed his t-shirt to Quinn who quickly put it on to cover up his nudity. While Quinn fumbled with the top, Chris sneaked another peek at Quinn's nakedness.

Quinn inhaled silently – the t-shirt smelled like Chris. A mixture of running sweat, washing powder and deodorant. It was a nice smell.

"You had another nightmare, didn't you?" Chris asked once Quinn was dressed.

Well, half dressed. The t-shirt was just long enough to cover the important bits.

Together, the pair started to walk across the football field towards the school. Quinn knew Chris had access to the locker-room out of school hours – the sporty boys got perks that the mere mortals with a 3.8 GPA didn't get. Where was Quinn's 24/7 access to the library for being a nerd?

"Yea. But it was weird this time," Quinn replied.

He was aware that weird was a relative term. After all Quinn was currently walking barefoot across the school running track, his feet muddy from the adjacent construction site, and wearing nothing but a t-shirt. The wind was blowing across his bare thighs and tingling his scrotum and cold, limp, shrunken penis.

Beside him was a hot shirtless swimmer with a cantankerous demeanour and the glazed look of someone who had barely slept for three days.

"I knew it was a dream so I could control parts of it," Quinn continued.

"You could control it?" Chris asked hopefully. "How?"

"I'm not sure. I think it's because I knew my fear and accepted it. Once I faced my fear of being bullied, Mr Summer couldn't hold it over me anymore," Quinn hypothesised.

"Mr Summer," Chris repeated the name with a shiver like it was Candyman. "How did he take it?"

Chris was still hostile towards the ridiculous idea that they were being tormented in their dreams but deep down he knew it was because he felt it to be true. It was ridiculous but it was also happening. How and why didn't matter to Chris as much as figuring out how to stop it.

"He didn't seem to care. Chris," Quinn said seriously and turned to his classmate. "I think we all have to face our fears. Mr Summer said we were trapped together and one of us standing up to him didn't matter."

Chris didn't reply but he swiped his student keycard at the side door to the gymnasium and together they entered the locker room.

"You seemed half asleep when I ran into you..." Quinn chuckled at the word choice. "When you were running I mean."

"I went for a run so I wouldn't fall asleep," Chris replied defensively.

Chris had been tired though and felt dazed. He was lucky he hadn't been run over or fallen.

"Chris, we're all in this together. Do you want to tell me what your fear is? Maybe I can help? Or one of the others?" Quinn asked hopefully.

"You can't help me," Chris responded bitterly.

Chris opened his locker to find another t-shirt and to see if he had a spare pair of shorts for Quinn. It was still the middle of the night so school wouldn't start for hours yet. Chris wanted to go home – the run that he had hoped would keep him alert and awake and only served to exhaust him farther.

"Drowning," Quinn said.

"What?!" Chris replied as he whirled around to look at Quinn.

Did Quinn know his dick was denting the t-shirt?

"You're a swimmer. You're afraid of drowning. It's so obvious," Quinn said enthusiastically.

"I'm not afraid of drowning," Chris replied too quickly.

"Fuck! Well, it was worth a try," Quinn conceded but he didn't sound convinced.

"Here," Chris tossed Quinn shorts to put on.

They had been worn and Quinn was secretly thrilled to be wearing the slightly soiled shorts, especially since he was going commando.

"How did you get here, Quinn? Naked outside I mean?" Chris asked.

"Don't know. We've all had strange things happen when we wake up," Quinn thought aloud. "I don't know if I sleepwalked here naked or if the dream opened... I feel silly saying magic portal."

Chris sort of smiled.

"I think I woke up in his grave," Quinn added.

This time Chris didn't smile. He looked disgusted and disturbed.

"His grave? Mr Summer?" Chris asked.

"Yea. He called it his unmarked grave," Quinn said. "But who buried him there and when?"

"Even more important..." Chris added. "Who dug him up and where is he now?"

"Henry thinks our dads know something," Quinn said carefully. "And it is a building site managed by Leroy's dad."

Chris was quiet and it was an eerie silence in the dimly light locker room. Just the two of them in the middle of the night. If Chris was gay, Quinn might have had horny thoughts. Actually, Quinn was still having horny thoughts anyway.

"Are you mad?" Quinn asked eventually.

"Mad?" Chris replied.

"Andrew was really angry that Henry suggested our dads might have something to do with Mr Summer. We know he's dead. Did they kill him? Or maybe they didn't kill him but they buried him? Or maybe they didn't do anything but ruin his life..." Quinn speculated wildly.

"Ruin his life?" Chris interrupted. "From what we read, that bastard abused them. Probably others too. He was a sicko. Made them do things... like he's made us do things."

Chris stopped to think for a second. Could he blame Mr Summer for the feelings he had?

"Maybe that's why we feel the way we do about... things," Chris said hopefully.

"Things?" Quinn asked stupidly.

Quinn had no idea that Chris was gay and the very idea hadn't even crossed his mind. No-one knew. Except maybe Henry. Chris wanted to keep it that way. The way he felt about boys wasn't real. It must all be part of the nightmares. Mr Summer had returned to abuse the sons of the boys who stood up to him.

"My point is, Mr Summer's life deserved to be ruined. And now he's cursed us," Chris continued. "I need to go."

Chris stormed out before Quinn could say anything else and left the cum-stained boy in borrowed clothes alone. Quinn waited a few minutes and then started of home too. He would need to share what he had learned with the others and wondered what kind of night they were having...

THE BOYS IN THE MILKING MASKS

The room was chilly but not cold and it was faintly lit but not dark.

In a circle of bright light, Andrew roused to find himself tied to a chair. He struggled against the bonds around his wrists and ankles but they didn't budge. He was totally naked and tied to a chair.

"This way," said the voice.

It was a voice he had become increasingly familiar with since the nightmares had started. Mr Fredrick Summer as they now knew him was standing in the doorway but who had he been talking to? Mr Summer stepped into the room and was followed by Henry.

Henry gasped as he saw his naked stepbrother tied up. He tried not to think sexy thoughts but it was hard when your brother is smoking hot, naked and exposed.

"Your brother thinks he terribly clever," Mr Summer said to Andrew.

Andrew didn't know how long he'd been asleep for. He'd tried to stay awake and must have drifted off.

"My brother is clever," Andrew asserted.

Mr Summer smiled humourlessly.

"I think he's angry because I figured out my fear," Andrew said with surprising cheerfulness.

"Are you really here?" Andrew interrupted.

"I'm scared of... what do you mean?" Henry replied.

"How do I know you're not just a dream-Henry?" Andrew asked.

"Well, for sure it's my dream to have a boy tied up naked," Henry agreed.

Andrew blushed and writhed in the chair. It was humiliating to be the only naked person in the room – the light above him like a spotlight on his nudity.

"Poor Andrew," Mr Summer said unsympathetically. "I was always good at identifying a boys weakness. So kind of you to let your fear dovetail into my interest in showing off beautiful boys."

Henry was momentarily perplexed for a few reasons. One, he couldn't understand why Andrew would be scared of showing off because he is a fucking stud! Two, he couldn't understand why Mr Summer would openly admit it.

Henry had assumed that the nightmares served some kind of function and hoped that if they each faced their fears, they might be freed. If Mr Summer was willing to expose Andrew's fear, maybe Henry had it wrong?

"Are you afraid of showing off? Henry probed his brother (not in that way).

Mr Summer just laughed and steered Henry closer towards his nude stepbrother. Henry had been naked too until a few minutes ago; dreaming about trying to save his friends and failing as each of them turned to stone until he was alone. Andrew, Leroy, Quinn and Chris had been counting on him and now they were naked statues in the town centre – exhibited forever and trapped as a monument to Henry's failure.

Now Henry was dressed in a school sports kit of shorts, t-shirt and trainers.

"I realised I'm scared of failing, Andrew. That's what all my nightmares have been about. Failing to save my family or friends," Henry admitted to his stepbrother. "Or my fear of being alone and abandoned by my friends... or family."

"We would never abandon you, Henry," Andrew promised.

"His father did," Mr Summer interjected and he turned a cruel gaze on Henry. "Your father didn't even wait until you were born to end his life. He couldn't bear the thought of having such a weak and snivelling runt of a child."

That hurt.

Mr Summer was a bastard.

But that hurt.

"You're my brother and I won't abandon you," Andrew promised. "I'll never let you go."

"Well now, there is an idea," Mr Summer proclaimed.

A second chair emerged from the shadows – scraping across the floor like nails on a chalkboard.

It emerged into the circle of light that Andrew was sitting in. The chair moved by itself and by itself, the straps attached to its arms and legs whipped out and grabbed Henry like vines. Henry struggled and let out a yelp but he was powerless and a moment later, he was dragged into the chair and he too was restrained.

Magic!

This was something Mr Summer could not have done when he was alive. His magic had been cerebral and emotional so he enjoyed the power he had over the world now. The ability to realise fantasies and scenarios he could only have... well, dreamed of.

Mr Summer ripped Henry's t-shirt in half and twisted it from his chest and it seemed to dissolve into nothing. The shorts suffered a similar fate – tearing like tissue and leaving Henry naked again. Naked except for the cage that stopped his dick from getting hard. Henry had only been dressed to torture Andrew – a moment of CMNM to emphasise Andrew's fear.

The chairs turned to face each other.

"Look at your brother, Henry," Mr Summer said. "Naked, exposed. His legs, his thighs, his shrunken penis..."

Henry tried not to look – tried to defy the nightmare scenario of his stepbrother but he couldn't look away.

"Look at his pubic hair and the trail up to his belly button. Can you see his chest hair and his armpit hair. His biceps and his pectoral muscles. He is a handsome boy, isn't he Henry?" Mr Summer continued. "Every inch of your brother is exposed to you."

"It's ok, bro. It's going to be ok," Henry reassured his stepbrother.

Andrew didn't respond. He was blushing and burning with embarrassment and shame and he felt like he was on fire with the attention of Mr Summer's imperative gaze and Henry's choiceless staring.

"But it won't be ok, will it Andrew? People looking at you. Judging you. Thinking about you later. And all those nasty thoughts in your head about your freakish physique..." Mr Summer sneered. "You'll never be normal, you know."

"I think I have dysmorphia!" Andrew confessed, hoping the man would give up his litany of jibes.

"That's a made-up thing, Andrew. Pussies and woke faggots say things like that," Mr Summer said.

"I look at myself in the mirror and I... I don't know how to feel. I don't like what I see," Andrew ignored the embittered man.

He was looking at Henry now and trying to ignore Mr Summer. He was trying to ignore the fact he was naked and embarrassed too.

"But you look awesome! I know that's not how dysmorphia works but you do," Henry reassured his stepbrother.

"I don't see what everyone else sees, Henry. I know what I'm meant to see but..." Andrew struggled to talk about it – he'd kept his feelings secret for so long. "I train hard and run, build muscle and strength and stamina. But the thought of people looking at me and judging me..."

"No-one will judge you as harshly as you do yourself, freak," Mr Summer spat.

"Ricky has a point here," Henry said – surprising everyone.

They'd all been calling him Mr Summer since discovering his name was Fredrick Summer but the first name he had used was Ricky and if felt somehow disrespectful to call him that now. Which, of course, was why Henry had used the name.

"Your judgement about your body is coming from you. Even admitting it is a start and this guy..." Henry nodded to the dead man. "He's just trying to feed into your fears. It doesn't mean what he's saying is true."

Andrew didn't reply but he hung his head.

"Your friend Quinn thinks he has it all figured out too," Mr Summer said with a humourless laugh. "Face your fears and you can escape."

The sinister man laughed again, cackling, his face contorting grotesquely as he did so.

"I don't care if you face your fear of abandonment or being bullied or your own bodily disgust," Mr Summer asserted. "You are all trapped together and the scenarios I make for you will feed me with or without fear."

Henry thought about this – there was something about the way Mr Summer said this though. Fear had been important, Henry was sure of this, and what Mr Summer was not saying was as important as what he was saying. And feeding was a returning theme too. Why was that important?

"I know you're right, Henry," Andrew said at last. "I've known for a while that what I feel about myself is coming from somewhere unhealthy."

"Mental health is still health," Henry reassured him.

"Ugh! Woke nonsense," Fredrick Summer said.

"What? That doesn't make sense. What do you think woke means?" Henry asked.

Henry didn't want to dig in to how a man who had died 20 years ago knew about a neologism like woke. All he knew was that it was a word the man was throwing around meaninglessly to dismiss real things, real concerns, real thoughts. All Henry knew was the man was using the word wrong... which pretty much tracked for such a demonstrably ignorant and disgusting man.

Now that he was feeling better about himself – accepting he had to acknowledge his mental health was a problem – Andrew was able to focus on more salient issues like being butt naked in front of his stepbrother and his stepbrother being butt naked too.

Afraid or not, nudity and exposure were embarrassing.

"You liked naked boys, don't you?" Andrew asked Mr Summer. "And you have something of a cum fetish."

"I'm hungry. Hungry for cum and boys and fear," Mr Summer admitted.

"Why us?" Henry asked. "Just tell us."

"Your fathers killed me!" Mr Summer snarled.

Henry had already inferred this but Andrew hadn't wanted to believe it; indeed he had been angry when Henry suggested it. Now that the enemy had said it, it was real and Henry felt that he and his stepbrother could unite against their common foe.

"You want to know how? They tied me to a chair in my office and left me there for half the summer. No food, no water, no windows. The heat, the hunger..." the man spoke bitterly.

Henry and Andrew knew they should feel a stab of pity for the man but they also knew he had abused boys he had coached (including their dads) and even after his death Mr Summer had the will to abuse.

"Maybe you deserved it?" Henry said unsympathetically.

"Your father came back for me," Mr Summer said – glaring at Henry in particular. "I was barely alive. He didn't feed me or give me water. He came to see if I was dead yet. I... I asked him..."

Andrew and Henry could tell the man had been going to say "I begged him," but stopped himself.

"I knew he was going to leave me there to die again but I was glad he came. I cursed him and all his friends... your fathers... but not them. I wanted to punish their boys," Mr Summer said.

The man had always believed in power, magic, mysticism.

He didn't know how it worked only that he could use that power to coerce and influence people. He had used that influence – call it charm or charisma instead if you like – on so many students before. And then five boys, all about to graduate high school, ruined everything.

Arthur Ng, Johnny Roberts, Sebastian Booth, Donald Heard and Robert Mason.

Mr Summer never expected any of his victims would break free and turn on him but once one of the five turned on him, they all did. Well, two could play at that game.

"Now, the five sons are trapped here with me. Fears or fetishes, it doesn't really matter to me," Mr Summer admitted. "Henry, I think we can get rid of this now."

Mr Summer waved his hand in front of the chastity cage that encased Henry's cock and it disappeared. In its immediate freedom, Henry's cock sprang to attention. It was only really twenty-four hours since it had appeared but those hours felt like dream time – stretched into a whole new chapter of Henry's life.

"Have you boys ever experimented together?" Mr Summer asked casually.

"No," Henry replied.

"Gross! No way!" Andrew answered.

"Hey! Gross?" Henry objected.

"Not gay, remember?" Andrew reminded his stepbrother.

"What's that got to do with anything?" Mr Summer asked. "Since you're not afraid anymore, let's try something new."

Four figures entered the room – cute, half-dressed boys who neither of them recognised. Each boy had a different task: attaching a mask to Henry or Andrew's face and attaching a masturbation sleeve to each of their cocks. The masks resembled gasmasks that created a seal around the mouth.

Andrew had to be helped to get hard first and feeling the boy stroke him until he became fully erect was an odd endurance. He liked masturbation. He liked being masturbated. But as a straight boy, getting jerked off by another guy was unsettling.

Once they were both hard and masked, they felt the masturbation sleeves starting to pump. But this was a dream controlled but a horny cum-obsessed man, it was no ordinary pump. It was attached to a tube that fed into the mask of the person opposite.

Every drop of precum and goo was fed into the mouth of the stepbrother in the other chair.

The precum seemed to flow like a trickling tap – drip feeding into their mouths. Henry couldn't believe he was tasting the boy juice from his brother. It was warm and salty and sticky. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Andrew was a hot boy. Andrew was his stepbrother but he was a stud and his precum was yummy.

Andrew was even more conflicted because he wasn't attracted to men and didn't particularly want to taste jizz. Yet as Henry's precum was pumped into his mouth, he got harder for it. Andrew swallowed the stuff flowing into his mouth.

The more they swallowed, the more that came.

They could each feel their tongues coated with ball juice. The volume gradually increased and the pumping on their cocks increased too. They tried to moan – they couldn't help it, it felt so good – but their voices were muffled by the masks secured over their mouths.

Andrew's eyes were wide open as he looked at his stepbrother writhing with pleasure – thrusting into the masturbation pump of the milking machine. It was a machine powered by a sinister man and by the horniness of boys. More precum entered Andrew's mouth and it got harder to swallow the volume before his mouth was full again.

Henry too was wide awake (so to speak) to the experience. He excited himself by looking Andrew all over – his hot, athletic physique and toned body. How could Andrew not love the way he looked? He was as perfect a male specimen as a guy could get. As Henry swallowed more precum, his mouth was fed more from his stepbrother's cock.

Out the corner of his eye, Henry could see Mr Summer enjoying himself at the side of the room. Fear was no longer feeding him – cum and pleasure were his food now. Maybe they always had been? Henry guessed Mr Summer had been "so hungry," in life too and his diet had been couching teenagers and then doing this to them with magic.

Henry swallowed more of Andrew's precum and vice versa. Perhaps this was the key? Hadn't they all woken with cum on them? Ejaculation had been conjured into the real world by the sinister man...

Maybe that was the key? A perverse man like Mr Summer had to be stoppable and what better irony than feeding him that which he desired? If Henry was right, he knew what his dad had done to trap Mr Summer.

They'd need to get out of the dream and find Mr Summer's body or his grave or something!

The environment that, until now, had been intimate, resolved into an area. The football stadium was all around them – shiny and new, the one being built right now. It was packed with people and big screens showed the brothers being masturbated and guzzling the other's precum.

Andrew whined and tugged at his restraints – lost in the narrative of the dream. He was naked in front of so many people and they could all see his cock and they could all see him swallowing his own stepbrother's spunk.

"This is a race boys," Mr Summer said. "Who can cum first?"

The crowd went wild and cheered or booed. It was liked playing a Friday night match.

"Can everyone see them ok?" Mr Summer asked the crowd who responded with enthusiasm.

Henry could feel the shame of exposure too even though he also knew it was only a nightmare. The masturbation pumps that had been edging and enticing them finally took the boys over the edge.

Andrew came first and it was with an almost audible explosion because it coincided with a victorious cheer from Andrew's side of the stadium. They were cheering for him cumming in his own brother's mouth! The cum gushed and was drawn by the pump into Henry's mouth.

Henry drank, swallowing as much as he could and feeling the overflow push past the seal around his mouth until it spilled down his chin. And still it flowed. The cum didn't stop even when Andrew began to writhe in pain from the stimulation of the milking.

Henry came too and he felt his cum being pulled by the pump.

He saw the look in Andrew's eyes before the ejaculate entered his mouth. The surprise and the faint disgust and the dread of the inevitable tasting. Andrew, a straight boy, was about to taste his stepbrother's cum.

The flow of the spunk was hot and sweet and fast, filling Andrew's mouth every time he swallowed. The milking continued for Henry too until he started to struggle against the machine and cried out at the overstimulation. His cries were muffled by the mask and soon he also had cum overflowing from the mask, dripping down his chin and covering is face and body.

The crowed jeered the brothers.

"I always liked watching. But my favourite thing was getting the boys to do things to each other," Mr Summer sniggered. "Henry, your dad always thought he was so much cleverer than the others. A dream, all a dream, that ends in nothing, and leaves the sleeper where he lay down..."

Andrew and Henry woke up.

They had been dreaming but it hadn't ended in nothing.

They were naked together in reality too and Andrew's cock was inside Henry's ass.

END OF CHAPTER VI

TO BE CONTINUED...

If you're enjoying the more fantastic elements of this story, check out The SEX Men; it's a comic book inspired story involving superpowers, smut, comedy, drama and embarrassment.

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/sf-fantasy/the-sex-men/

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My stories so far:

https://www.nifty.org/nifty/authors.html#jforrester

Complete series: School Exhibitionism, The Symposium, The Embarrassment of Riches, Do As You're Told, A Series of Embarrassing Events, and Noah the Embarrassed Nudist.

Also: Anthology, and The SEX Men.

Short stories: Aiden's Accidental Autoerotic Assignment, Jogging Joe's Jaunty Journey and Peter's Past Posing Pictures.