This story involves male-to-male non-consensual sexual activity.
If you are under 18 or are not interested in this topic, please do not continue.
Oh, and if you want to lift this story for use on another site please ask me . . . and ask me nicely . . .
Stray
straykiwi@hotmail.com
Rugby Thug
Neil'd spewed forth from some tin-pot rural high school and within two weeks was running the school; well, at least he was running the fifth form. He easily out-muscled every other muscle-head thug and his cocky bravado guaranteed him a strong following. His dirty-blond hair, strong jaw, thick corded neck, thick lips and crooked nose gave him the sort of ruggedly handsome looks that had most of the girls - and a few boys - dripping at the thought of him.
Including me.
He'd even managed to impress his way into the school's top rugby team. This was an elite bunch of twenty testosterone-riddled morons who liked to throw a ball around a muddy paddock in the middle of winter while trampling over each other in spiked boots. They were allowed the privilege of wearing a bright red uniform jersey - as apposed to the drab grey of the rest of us plebs.
Neil, naturally, was the only fifth former in the entire history of the school to be granted entrance into this hallowed sanctum. Such privileged esteem was - until he came along - reserved for the senior sixth and seventh formers.
He was a revelation! An outstanding sportsman! The most desirable creature on God's earth . . .
And I hated everything about him.
Before he'd arrived I'd been moderately popular. I was strong academically and artistically; I took leading roles in school productions, wrote for the school newspaper and - almost as a balance' - was a champion long-distance runner. I freely associated with all sorts of people from all the in' groups. I had a wide circle of friends and I was having a blast!
As soon as Neil arrived, he labelled me a `poofter' and that was it.
His popularity was such that everyone blindly accepted his impression of me and thus I was instantly ostracised.
Nobody wanted to associate with a Poofter.
I was out.
A figure of derision.
Ridiculed.
Dammit! Why label me with the epithet `Poofter' when I didn't know for myself what that really meant?
Sure, I liked to sneak glances at Neil's dick in the changing rooms at the end of PE. That magnificent coiled slab of manhood encased in white briefs. Yeah, he'd strut around the place showing off his humpy, muscled body, his fat, long schlong of a dick, and bragging about how he'd have three-or-four girls every day at his previous school. How they'd beg to be fucked by him. Laughing about how often he could cum.
"Yeah!
"Fuck!
"Ten times once!
"Fuckin' bitch she was!
"Squeeeeeeezzzed her fuckin' twat `til she milked me dry!"
The others in the changing room roared with laughter - eager to hear more of his horny bullshit stories.
"Aaangh, nuthin' like that around here. Not this school. Bitches want it - but they won't fuckin' give it . . . Not like Hanlen here!"
He pointed at me, calmly buttoning my shirt, and trying desperately not to get excited by his leering, lecherous talk.
"Ha!
"Yeah, fuckers! If you're really horny, Hanlen'll give it up - but you'd have to be fuckin' desperate!"
Ha-fucking-ha.
To make matters worse, I had to suffer the indignity of sitting directly in front of this bullying, boasting muscle-head in four hour-long technical drawing classes every week. He sat next to one of his thuggish underlings - a muscular idiot named David Cleary - and I was forced to put up with Neil's constant boastful barrage of how many girls he had screwed at his previous school.
"Fuck! There was this one girl with a cunt so big you could put your head in there and have a sleep!"
Cleary would giggle away at this bullshit, encouraging Neil even more.
"Yeah, I could screw her any fuckin' time I wanted - that bitch loved having my dick slamming away inside her sloppy hole. I done her every lunch hour for two weeks but, fuck it! it gets boring grinding away at the same old hole all the time . . . Shit! Now I've got a hard-on . . ."
"Yeah?" giggled Cleary.
"Yeah . . . Shame to have to waste it. Should have some twat slut in every class who'll look after big fat problems like this. Can't concentrate with a fuckin' hard-on . . . Yeah - have some bitch who'll crawl under your desk and suck you off whenever you fuckin' need it. Fuck! that'd be choice . . . But there ain't no bitches around here who'll give up nothing. Except faggots like Hanlen. Bet that little poofter would love to swing off the end of my dick. Big fuckin' dick . . . Bet his tight little arsehole is just twitching at the thought of me fucking him senseless. Fuckin' queer bastard. Look at him - sittin' there - pretendin' not to listen. Filthy little faggot queer."
This sort of unprompted carry-on would really piss me off. He had no basis for calling me a faggot, a poofter, queer. Yet somehow he'd managed to see into the darkest recesses of my being.
Because he was right.
I longed to have physical - sexual - contact with other males.
But the oppressive atmosphere of the school turned that sort of burning, natural desire into something dark and evil. Therefore, I never admitted my sexual needs.
Not even to myself.
A bell sounded to mark the end of the class and the start of the lunch hour. A general hubbub of noise started - students packing away gear, storing projects, last minute instructions from the teacher, the scraping of chairs and the clamour for the door.
Outside in the hallway, amidst a confusion of swarming student bodies, a strong hand gripped my wrist and yanked my hand behind my back.
"Still got that hard-on," growled an all-too familiar voice. "Know of any pussy?"
Nobody noticed - or, at least, nobody cared to notice - one uniform-clad student being manhandled by another into the small upper level boys toilet. They were too intent on heading downstairs to retrieve lunch bags from lockers, to swarm to the cafeteria . . .
The speed at which Neil propelled me into that room took me completely by surprise. Cleary stood at the door - holding it open for us like some grinning doorkeeper of hell. As he shut the door, Neil slammed me against a wall, my arm twisted painfully behind my back.
"Let me make this clear," he spat into my ear, "I don't like filthy fuckin' homos. You're all warped, twisted little shits, but - you could be useful."
"Fuck off . . ." I muttered against the pain of his hold on me.
"Oh, I'll be fucking all right," he growled, "but not `off'!"
At that moment the door to the bathroom opened and I heard people enter the room.
"Fucking hell, Neil!" one of them exclaimed. "I didn't think you really meant it!"
"Shut the fuck up," he replied. "I always mean what I say. You get the rope, Inia?"
"Right here," Inia grunted.
Inia Whatarau was a quiet, unassuming Maori guy who was killing time until he could legally leave school. He was the last person I would have thought of to be involved in this sort of shit.
"Then let's get at it," Neil commanded.
A hand was shoved against my neck, pinning me to the wall as more hands grabbed my arms; the rough rope cut into my flesh as my forearms were bound together. A wad of fabric was stuffed into my mouth, more fabric wound around head, covering my eyes. Duct tape held everything firmly, tightly in place.
The small room was filled the with sound of breathing, of curses as I tried to lash out against the violation, of chuckles and giggles, and of my own throaty cries for help. I was desperate. I had no idea how many people were in that room assisting Neil in this vile act, witnessing my rape.
I was lifted clear of the ground and carried a short distance before being forced to kneel and lean forward. I felt the top of my chest come into sudden contact with something hard, solid, cold: the air was different, hollow . . . I was held firmly in place as more rope crossed tightly over my shoulders, my head. The realization of what these bastards had done to me occurred when I heard a sudden roaring rush and my face was drenched in an onslaught of rushing water.
They had tied me down to the toilet, my face in the bowl, my arms firmly tied behind my back.
The roaring of the water ceased but was replaced by the roaring of their laughter - vicious, cruel, harsh.
"Fuckin' little faggot . . . bet he's just lovin' this!"
"Been dreeeeamin' about it!"
"Fuckin' little queer cunt!"
"What about it pussy boy? Had enough? Think we should let you go now?"
I screamed into my gag, Yes! For Christ's sake, let me go!
"But I still got me a fuckin' big ol' hard-on . . . You boys see any pussy around here?"
"Only one pussy I can see, Neil . . ."
"Where? I can't see any pussy? You better show me me that pussy fuckin' fast."
"It's right here . . . ."
I felt a pressure on my backside, then heard a ripping sound as someone sliced the back of my pants and then ripped them open, exposing my naked ass to everyone there.
"Yeah . . . Now that's a pussy!"
Someone pulled my butt-cheeks apart. I'd never felt this exposed before, this used - or abused.
"Pretty pink pussy. Tight and sweet. . ."
I heard a wad of phlegm being hoiked up - and felt it land right on my asshole.
"Yeah, this pussy's even drippin' at the thought of being pried open by my fat log. Waddya reckon, pussy? Want me to rip you open? Wanna get fucked by fat dick? Lotta girls get scared by the size of my dick - but they soon get used to it . . . Think you're enough of a faggot to take it? Huh?"
I said nothing. I wasn't exactly in a position to argue with him. Ropes cut into my arms, my shoulders and head, feet or hands held my legs apart and my exposed asshole was dripping with spit. Mentally I attempted to block off everything that was happening - I tried to escape into my own mind: but the harsh reality kept me there.
"Get it ready, Grant," Neil barked.
I tensed at the thought of what was about to happen - and was shocked by the unexpected gentleness of something stroking my asshole. Light, gentle, fluid, massaging strokes. "Grant" was licking my asshole - a sexual act I had never even considered. I felt disgusted, invaded - and fuckin' turned on!
"He's tight," purred an unknown voice(Grant? Who the hell was Grant?). "I don't think he's been fucked before."
"That right, pussy? You still a faggot virgin? Fuck! You're gonna love this!"
The stroking action at my asshole continued but the pressure increased, getting deeper, swooping into my hole.
"Relax," purred the voice again, "Lean against the bowl, let that take your weight, and push your asshole out, like you're taking a shit: it'll be easier that way, less painful."
"Yeah, listen to your faggot buddy, he knows how to take dick. You're gonna get fucked, pussy-boy!"
"Relax, push out . . ."
I tried to obey the voice and it seemed to help. I felt his fingers go deeper into my hole - damn! It felt good! - stretching me open gently. But all too soon I sensed a movement behind me as people swapped places. The gentle, massaging fingers and tongue were replaced by something hard, blunt headed, pressing at my asshole.
"This is it, faggot! You're finally gonna get dick up yer ass! My dick! You're gonna get fucked, pussy boy! Fucked haaaaaaaard!!!"
I screamed into my gag at the burning, searing pain! It felt like a goddamned knife had sliced its way up my ass and into my guts. Very muscle in my body screamed with tension as I tried to clamp down against this monster intrusion.
"Yeah! Take my fuck! You got all my fuckin' dick inside you, faggot! All eleven fuckin' inches in one go! Yeah! Fuck!"
A voice near my ear whispered, "Relax - the good feelings are there too. Concentrate on opening your hole. Push out . . ."
I tried to relax, tried to open my hole - but I couldn't ignore the intense pain.
The monster in my asshole started to pull out, slowly, smoothly.
"Fuckin' tight hole! Tightest fuckin' pussy cunt I've ever drilled! You boys are gonna love this one! YEAH!"
Just as I thought he was going to ease out me, he slammed his dick fully into me again.
"FUCK! YEAH!"
Something happened inside me - inside my ass, my gut, my head. The pain was still there but something else occurred - something good.
Neil started to pump me. He drew his massive dick out slowly, slowly, until only the head remained inside me and then - whoooph! - slammed it back inside me. Over and over he did this - a relentless, deliberate rhythm.
I knew it was wrong. Obscene. Violent. Vile.
But I starting groaning. Moaning with pleasure. Pleasure! This bastard was raping me, using my body against my will in the foulest way possible - and all I wanted was more.
I started babbling incoherently into my gag. Fuck me! Yeah! I'm taking dick up my asshole and I love it! Keep fucking me! Don't stop! Please! Harder! More!
Neil's thrusts grew more intense, faster, deeper. I heard his breathing become less even, ragged.
"Fuckin' little faggot. . . takin' dick up your ass. . . Oh, fuck! Fuck!"
He grabbed my hips and thrust deep, hard way into my guts and held it there.
"FUCK! YEAH! YEEEEEAAAAAH!!!"
He remained perfectly still, his monster dick still deeply imbedded in my asshole. I heard the others whooping with delight.
"Fuckin' A!"
"Yeah! Plant your cum up that little poofter, Neil!"
Eventually, Neil withdrew his dick - slowly, almost gently.
"Fuck! Look at that mess! Inia, your turn. I've loosened him up for you so be careful you don't fuckin' fall out. You others can probably cut him loose - he ain't goin' nowhere. Teach him how to use that faggot throat of his - but keep the blindfold on for now. Grant! Get over here and clean up my dick. Let's get into action, boys!"
When the bell rang to mark the end of the lunch break, I was left alone in the boysroom. Every muscle in my body ached. I felt bruised and battered - both inside and out. And I felt thoroughly satisfied.
Gingerly, I tore the blindfold from my head and blinked into the dim light as I lay slumped, naked, against the wall.
The door opened and, before I could move to hide myself, a head appeared around the doorway.
"I thought you might need your PE gear."
He threw a pair of shorts and a t-shirt at me.
"Now, get going, Hanlen. You've got a full-on session in the gym this period!"
And with that the PE teacher, Mr Grant, quietly closed the door and left me to get changed. . . .
Stray 2003 straykiwi@hotmail.com