Taste of Power

Taste of Power by: Krazytop ---

Part X

"Stop rolling around, punk."

Everything has a glazed look as I pry my eyes open. I try to sit up--but I'm stuck. Zane cuffs my wrists to the bed frame above my head.

"What the hell?" I ask, shaking my arms.

Zane puts his pointer and middle fingers to my lips. "Shhh."

I shut my mouth and gaze at him.

"I'm going to cut your hair."

He flips on an electric razor and shears off a clump, mowing a row along my scalp that stings fresh. He does it again and again; with each new strip, I hear the buzzing noise jump in pitch as the machine roves past my ear.

Zane straddles me; he manhandles my head, sloping it as he sees fit so he can reach the back parts. As he does, his filled-out jockstrap quivers inches from my lips. The smell of Zane's junk has grown familiar. I breathe in slowly.

He tilts my head back so that I'm looking up into his deep green eyes. "Are you getting turned on?"

"Yessir."

Zane chuckles. "I just wanted to cut your hair. I wasn't trying to get you in full-on faggot mode."

I lean forward and smack my lips against the outline of his shaft. Zane indulges me, dry-humping my face as he finishes his job, keeping me off balance.

"You wanna suck my cock?"

"Yessir."

"Too bad. It's not about what you want. Not anymore," Zane says. He flips off the razor and tosses it to the side. "It's about what I want now."

"Don't you want to feed me?" I run my tongue around my lips.

These days, worrying about feeling dirty strikes me as a waste of time and energy.

"I wanna hear you BEG," Zane says.

Zane starts brushing the rogue hairs off the bed; they make me itchy, and I have an impulse to scratch...

"Please Zane."

He slaps me.

"Please let me suck you."

He slaps me again.

"PLEASE ZANE!"

The next slap stings.

Misguided pride serves no one.

"Please Zane—please fuck my cunt-face."

"You are mine now," Zane says, gripping me by the head. The thin hairs prickle. "Get that straight. Your body is mine."

I lick the fabric, stealing a glance up at him.

Zane frees his junk and seizes my head with both hands.

I fold my top lip under my teeth; I stick out my tongue; I make the passage soft for him.

Then, Zane forces his cock deep inside.

"You are a good boy when you are half-asleep," Zane muses, gyrating in and out. "Maybe you should stay this way."

I suck on his cock, my eyes half-closed, as he runs his hands through my bristly hair, his eyes glimmering.

"Listen to me. Chris and Calvin aren't your friends. They never were. I don't want you to play along with their bullshit anymore. If they talk to you—tell them all the crap that a part of you always wished you had told them. You got that?"

I nod around his cock, slurping.

Then he strokes my hair and forces his cock deeper inside.

I put on my ear guards and headgear early—I'm not supposed to wear this earring, and I don't want the others to see my hair.

But Zane tells me not to take the earring out, lest the hole closes and he has to pierce my ear again.

I slide into my singlet. Don't want to look too conspicuous, half-dressed out.

Maybe I didn't get enough sleep, or was too dazed by what I went through with Zane, but it is difficult to wake up. I slap my cheek, trying to get the blood flowing.

The varsity team cleans up: Chris, Zane, Eduardo, and most of the others win their matches easily.

The junior varsity team is a bit shakier. Calvin wins his match, while Hiro loses his, and by the time it is my turn, the JV team is crossing their fingers that I'll get the win that carries the majority of our matches.

I don't get nervous though. Not even with Zane's earring hidden illegally away, nor the secret haircut that made me look like a felon.

In fact, they seem to help me.

Veiled within me is a kind of energy that Zane had fed me.

His gravity had somehow let out the fierceness inside me. I couldn't make sense of it, but I sure as hell could surf the wave.

As though in a trance, I shrug off my opponent's advances, and then, in a flash, I have him on the ground. My old play style has vanished.

One!

I play like...

Two!

Hiro and Calvin cheer.

Three!

The judge pounds the mat; I let go of my opponent, who sidles off, defeated; Hiro and Calvin roar.

Then they pin me down far more effectively than my opponent could.

For a moment, my bubble is gone. I am one of the guys, no different than anyone else. I close my eyelids.

When I open them, out of the corner of my eye, I see Zane nodding at me in approval, and I remember.

Regardless of what I am on the surface, I am not a guy just like anyone else.

My hair prickles; my ear pangs with soreness.

I had been marked. The truth, past the surface, is that no matter how hard I work, and however masculine I look, it is all in the service of Zane.

He is one of the guys.

And I am his faggot.

Zane gives me my set of clothes to wear after the match: we trade jockstraps, so that I have his sullied one, along with his work-out shorts. He also forks over the grungy wife-beater I had sucked on while he fucked me.

Finally, he hands me a shark-tooth necklace I had never seen, and a beanie I could use to cover up the earring and haircut till I was ready.

Minutes later, Hiro's jaw drops as I walk by him to get on the bus.

I head to the back row of the bus as Zane instructed, and sit by the window. He follows not long after. "You look like a total hard-ass," he whispers, his wet lip grazing my ear.

My butt tightens as he speaks, and I feel myself blush.

Calvin clears his throat. I look into his blue eyes, searching them for shock, but if he is surprised by my makeover, he hid it well.

"Hey big guy," he says. "Don't you want to sit up front with me? We could play more games."

"I'm sick of your games," I say.

"C'mon—don't sit next to this tool."

"I've grown quite fond of Zane. I feel I can count on him. He isn't flaky."

"What are you on about?"

"You know what this is about. It's about how you expect to be nice for a couple weeks and make up for abandoning me for years. It's about your bullshit Calvin. Why should I trust you? You might have done a better job than some assholes, but I'm tired of settling for that. I want NOTHING less than what I deserve."

Calvin shakes his head. "Act like a fool and you'll be sure to get it." He turns away and walks back toward the front, bumping shoulders with Eduardo as they budge past one another.

Eduardo whistles at me. "Damn, cundango, looking good."

I smirk, pulling out my gameboy and switching on Mokimon Indigo.

Chris avoids my eyes, slumping into the seat next to Calvin towards the front of the bus.

Everything is rearranging, like clouds shifting before the storm.

Who doesn't like a bit of rain?

When we get back to the school parking lot and I get my bag from the storage compartment of the bus, Zane nods to his truck and I make my way to the passenger seat.

I've never been in his truck before.

It is neon-green, with splotches of mud and webs of rust.

Zane hops into the driver's seat and smirks at me. "Call your parents. Tell them we have a group project to do."

"Yessir."

I make the call, my mind still catching up with my reflexes.

"Yes mom...I won't stay out too late...I promise."

When I hang up, Zane chuckles. "A bad-ass like you, being a good boy for your momma, respecting that curfew, and all...it's hard to understand."

"I'm well-behaved," I murmur.

"We'll see."

As soon as we are inside his house, Zane pulls off his shirt, unzips his jeans, and slams me back against the front door. He leans in and bites my bottom lip. I lean forward to do the same to him, but he grabs my head and holds it at bay.

"Nah ah," he says. His jeans ride down to his knees as he bucks at me playfully. I see his jockstrap peeking out. "You have to ask permission."

"Can I kiss you, Zane?"

"Not on the lips."

With both hands, he pushes down on my head, and I sink to my knees, my face dragging against his pectorals and abdominals.

"You can kiss my balls, punk."

I push the pouch to the side and his junk swings out. I plant a soft kiss between his big balls, then lick them slowly. When I kiss the head of his shaft, I feel a crack against my cheek as Zane backhands me.

"Please Zane—can I suck your cock?"

"You have to earn it." Zane kicks off his shoes and steps out of his jeans. "Strip down for me, faggot."

I tug off my shoes and place them next to one another by the wall. Then I stuff one sock in each of them, as though they are drooling fabric. I pull my work-out shorts part-way down my legs and crawl out. When I reach for the jockstrap I'm wearing, Zane kicks my hands away.

"Leave that on for now. It'll catch your faggot load if you blow."

I pull off the grimy wife-beater. Then, as I reach for the beanie, Zane brushes my hand with his foot again.

"The beanie and the necklace can stay."

"Yessir."

It's difficult to understand what's happening to me.

Here I am, in nothing but a jockstrap, a shark-tooth necklace, a beanie, and a yin-yang earring, with a trashy haircut to boot. I'm on my hands and knees between the legs of a miscreant, who is dragging his uncut, leaking cock across my face.

Speckles of light glimmer in his green eyes as I gaze into them.

"Lie down on your stomach," he snarls.

I spread out flat.

"Now shove your ass up."

I push up toward him.

"NO—just your ass. Not your head or your back. Shove your ass up at me." Zane steps on my head with one foot, pressing it into the carpet.

With my head trapped, I will my stomach to stay as flat as possible against the carpet as I arch my ass into the air.

"Good," Zane says, gripping one ass cheek roughly in his hand. "We'll call this the faggot pussy position."

"Don't you think that's a bit degrading?" I mumble.

Zane presses his foot harder into my face. "Keep your whiny bullshit to yourself. You should be thanking me. You are the lucky one, Travis." He releases his foot from my face, then pushes me to the side so that I crumple in a heap. "Let's see how fast you learn. Get in the FAGGOT PUSSY position."

I scramble onto my stomach, keeping it flat as I poke my ass up into the air. It's hard to catch my breath. I tremble, holding pose. Cool air flows over my jock-clad butt.

He clenches one of my ass cheeks in each hand, sinking down behind me. Then, I feel warm, wet, soft strength sweeping along my crack.

"Oooh," I whimper.

"You like getting your ass eaten out like a cunt, don't you?"

"Yessir."

I feel his tongue dragging against me again, prodding at my hole.

"Fuck."

"It's cuz you want my cock inside you."

"Yessir."

He grips my hips for leverage and I feel the bulb of his cock at the cusp.

Carpet fuzz drags against my lips as I open my mouth.

Then, the tip of his cock plops inside.

It snakes in easier than before. The subtle corkscrew twist makes me close my eyes and adjust with a grunt.

Then, he slides all the way inside, and I let out a low, extended moan.

"This is what you live for, isn't it faggot?"

"Yes master."

He slides out, and I prepare for the rhythm that's sure to come.

But then, he surprises me—and pulls all the way out with a plunk.

"Master?" I ask, a wave of panic setting in. "Aren't you going to fuck me?"

"That would be a reward. You need to be punished."

"Please, Zane. How can you do this to me?" I push my ass up higher. "You made me your pussy punk bitch. You made me want it."

"And now I'm gonna make you earn it."

I suppress a scream.

"This is emotional abuse," I say softly.

Zane slaps me across the face. "You've been a tease to me before; don't get on some high horse about the pain of dealing with me teasing now. But this isn't about revenge. This is about all of your BULLSHIT whining. Do I care if I am degrading? Do I care about abuse? Let me tell you something. Every time you work out, you rip your muscles a bit, and that's what gives them room to grow. Hard work gives you muscles and calluses and attitude and that's what protects you from the real world, not whining until you get a pity party." Zane stands up and walks around me until I'm between his legs again. "Do I look like I'm going to throw you a pity party?"

I look at his shoes, and earn a slap across the face.

"Look at me when I tell you to! And answer the goddam question!"

"No Zane," I say, swallowing, as a tear streams down my cheek. I look up into his sharp green eyes. "Please don't play this game with me. You know I want it, Zane. Please—PLEASE--fuck me."

Zane clutches the beanie on my head and the short hairs prickle underneath. "You want my cock plunging into your FAGGOT ass?"

I nod.

"Then do everything I say."

"Yessir," I croak.

"Don't move," he says.

I stay still in the faggot pussy position as Zane collects a pen and paper from his backpack. He clicks the ink into the head of the pen and begins to write.

About a minute later, he walks over to me and drops the list. It flips in the draft a few times, until it lands a few feet away.

"Go get it," Zane says.

I move to stand up, and Zane pushes me back down.

"I didn't say to stand up."

I crawl over and read the list. It's a series of tasks, alternating between mundane and erotic.

"Get started."

I do the dishes; Zane makes me suck on his toes one by one.

I put in the laundry, sorting through Zane's wrestling gear and weekly wreckage; I massage his stiff thighs and quadriceps till they soften like clay.

I clean the bathroom; Zane sits on my face as I lap at his asshole.

I fill out Zane's history workbook; he drags my head over his abdominals and pectorals, tracing out his tattoos and the sweat that runs through them.

I wash Zane's truck; he makes me lick his biceps and smothers me in his pits.

I vacuum the floors; Zane gets me to nibble his neck.

I take out the trash; Zane has me lie face-down on the master bed, waiting.

"Off with the jock-strap now," Zane says. "I don't care if you cream my dad's bed."

I push it down my legs, kicking it off.

Zane's cell phone rings, and he makes a raspberry noise before he answers.

"Hey, what's up buddy?"

There is a pause as Zane listens. He grabs my wrists and casually cuffs them together behind my back, so that they are resting on the hill of my ass.

"No, I can't hang out now, Chris. I'm working on an art project." He pauses. "How should I know where Travis is? How would you even know if he was home? You `checked'? Maybe he just didn't answer....Fine. I'll look around AGAIN."

Zane sighs again, covering up the receiver and turning to me. "Did you lock the door after you took out the trash? I'm afraid this goofball might come over searching for you, and I don't want to deal with him right now."

I nod, and my heartbeat races.

The truth is—I DIDN'T lock the door when I took out the trash.

Was I looking to get punished again?

What had gotten into me?

"Good faggot," Zane whispers, shoving the red jock I had been wearing into my mouth. He turns his attention back to the phone. "Maybe, Chris, but he's nowhere to be found. Stop interrogating me. We can play Big Bang Brothers later, okay?"

I hear the phone click off. Zane uses the black jockstrap he had been wearing to secure the red jockstrap, looping it in a band--like a halo--around my head. He adjusts the fabric so that the crotch area is digging into my nostrils. I'm overwhelmed with the smell of Zane's crotch sweat, piss, and hints of dried cum. I suck down on my jock strap and taste hints of my old flavor mixed with Zane's draw out of it.

"Glad to get rid of that asshole. I like it better when it is just you and me—don't you?"

I close my eyes and moan.

"Fuck yeah, faggot," Zane growls. "You like being trapped in my jock don't you? Being where my cock was? You know that's where you belong."

My response is muffled by the jock.

He pins me against the bed, then runs his hand through my hair, under the beanie, and to my ear. He holds his earring between his fingers, smirking.

"How does it feel? First you had my jockstrap on you, then you had my earring in you—do you like mimicking me--cuz I am your hero--your star--your obsession?"

I whine.

"FAGGOT PUSSY POSITION!"

I arch my ass toward him, trying to keep the rest of my body as flat as possible.

Zane pushes my face coarsely into the bed. He spreads my ass with his palms and tongues my hole without hesitation. I suck hard on the jockstrap, tasting old cum and sweat. I can't think straight with Zane's crotch smell claiming my face. My eyes droop; the haze is upon me.

Zane kisses up my back, burrowing under my beanie to suck on the earring; I'm wearing nothing else but the dangling shark-tooth necklace. Zane holds my ass apart—and plunges his fat cock inside me.

"Furggg," I moan. Within moments, I push my ass back into it.

Zane laughs. I hear him pull something up from next to the bed.

"Branding you with that earring got me thinking—holes can close up. They can heal. But what if I wanted to mark you with something—a bit more permanent? How would you feel about that?"

I look back over my shoulder. Zane is holding a tattoo artist's needle.

My eyes bug out and I whimper into the jock.

"Are you excited?" Zane asks.

I squeal. I'm flailing; I'm writhing; I flex all my muscles; I clench my ass.

Zane plunges his cock in deep, pinning my struggling body down to the bed. "Take it faggot," he whispers in my ear. His teeth find the earring again, and he bites down around it.

I whimper once more, shivering. He presses the needle to my back, switches the device on, and I cry out, wrenching, pushing my ass up into the air and wiggling my back, but Zane thrusts again and again and again, humping me into submission.

"Fuck yeah," Zane growls. I feel the needle blighting my skin, tracing pain and darkness into me, sharp at the bottom of the shape, and curved at the top. He mirrors his motion on the other side; the shape is symmetrical about the center; I can't quite place what it is.

I shake, but there is nowhere I can go with a cock balls-deep in my ass and a needle drilling my skin.

I whimper into the jock strap, biting down and closing my eyes as a tear strains out.

When my eyelids lift, my vision is hazy—I feel a dream lingering upon me.

Fuzzy tapered hair at his temples, surging downward into sideburns and upward into earthy, curving brown tufts; wide golden-brown eyes, flashing like rising sunlight; the big mouth, usually bent in a crooked smile, but now just ajar—wet lips and wet tongue shimmering as they move; tight shirt and jeans, with a leather belt.

Chris.

He's not just a dream—he is real.

"What the fuck is going on here?" Chris asks.

He walks across the room and hacks Zane at the forearm. The tattoo needle flies out of his hand and unplugs from the wall, drilling a bit of ink into the carpet before it dies. Chris snatches the jock out of my mouth and then pulls both off my head.

"Travis!" he mutters, looking down.

Zane swings a fist at Chris's gut. "Get the FUCK out of my house!"

Chris flexes and snarls, batting Zane's arm away and clenching his fists. They glare at each other.

"Fine," he croaks. "But Travis comes with me," Chris says.

Zane laughs. "Travis doesn't want to go with you. Travis likes what I do to him. Isn't that right?"

I nod slowly. The crotch of Chris's jeans are inches away. I tear my gaze away and look up at his face.

A pang of pain crosses Chris's eyes. "You've brainwashed him!"

Zane laughs. "Say that you love me," he growls.

"I love you, Zane," I whimper. He flexes his cock inside my ass and I moan.

"Bullshit," Chris growls.

"Face the facts, Chris," Zane says. "This faggot has cum from having my cock inside him...three times I think? How many times did he cum when you were inside him. Zero? You are just a fantasy to him—he liked the idea of you, not the actuality. Because when it comes down to it, you are a conforming, brain-dead coward that never said you wanted him until your ego was at stake. If you know what is best for you, you should just go away."

Chris frowns, his face contorted with rage. "You are a manipulative bastard! It's because of YOU that I rejected him in the first place! YOU were the one that said it would make me a faggot--threaten my honor--make me a laughingstock! So if that's the case, why do you get to make him your bitch? I get that you think you are above the law, but I never understood that you thought you were above everyone—your fucking majesty—king of the white trash—"

"You've lost, Chris. Don't cry to me about it."

I hate all the fighting. I want to make it stop.

I want to be active—to put my soul into it.

My heart is racing, but I know what I want to do.

I lean forward and kiss the crotch of Chris's jeans.

"Un-fucking-believable," Zane growls. "You lying shit!" He slaps my ass so hard that it stings.

Chris grows hard; I feel his big cock flexing against his jeans, pushing on my lips. Chris's breath is uneven, and rising.

Chris unbuttons his jeans, undoes the zipper, and pulls out his cock.

I suck his cockhead into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the bulbous head.

Zane's voice grows malicious. "Travis, you--you two-faced whore!"

Zane spreads my ass out with his hands and drills his cock in so hard that it hurts. Chris pulls off his shirt and reveals his sweaty, muscular chest. My dick starts leaking at the sight of him. I moan around Chris's seeping head, the force of Zane's pounding lurches me forward; half of Chris's delicious cock impales my face, muffling me. Chris's hand finds my hair, petting me, as he tries to push in more.

It's like Zane said. Competition and sex are, in a way, the same thing. They certainly flow into one another, and feed off one another.

Nothing consumes a struggle like a good fuck.

"You are one to talk," Chris growls.

Zane slaps my ass. "I'm not a whore—I'm just open-minded."

Chris pulls on my cheek softly, making me open wider in order to get deeper inside me. I push my ass back against Zane and his cock and abs throttle me harder.

They channel their anger into their thrusts—I can feel it—as they pound me from both ends.

Chris smirks, his eyes glimmering. "Is open-minded the new word for hypocritical?"

I close my eyes and suck on Chris's cock, trying not to drool as Zane hammers my senses inside-out.

"Two sides to the same coin," Zane says.

Zane is merciless as he pounds my ass—over and over I murmur and suck down on Chris's big cock.

"You are our little coin, aren't you?" Zane asks, gripping the necklace and yanking, choking me and causing me to arch my back up. I press my face into the skin of Chris's crotch. "I get tail while Chris gets head."

I gag as Chris's meat fills me balls-deep. He is tense, hanging on the edge; I slurp over and over, savoring the precum and the anticipation. Once my throat is open, Chris feeds me his whole cock again and again. I moan, my eyes fluttering as the intensity of my tempted, stretched, filled, warm holes overwhelms me.

"You think of Travis as an object," Chris says. "Something you can barter or bet."

Chris's sweaty balls roll over my bottom lip. Chris pulls my forehead into his flexing abs. He holds my head in place and cycles his cock into my face. Zane grinds deeper into my ass, twisting his balls and abs into my skin.

Zane snickers; I feel the ripples running through his body into mine. "I own him. So—yeah—pretty much. Don't remember you acting too different."

A bet. That was the other time they both used my holes on the same occasion, down in Chris's cellar. Somehow, paradoxically, when it is both of them, I get less attention than when it is one of them. I feel like an extra--a background noise--an afterthought—in their little game-show.

Chris's hands clamp down on my ears. He is losing control, snarling as he mills my face. Zane claws at my ass, straining my beaten ass into submission. I groan slowly, my voice cracking, and push out in both directions, taking them both to the balls.

Chris strokes my cheek. "I think I might be tired of playing roulette with his life." He looks down at me, and I look up into his golden eyes. Something about Chris's motions becomes more carnal, more intense and real. I become the locus of his concentration again.

"You aren't Zane's. How could you be—if you've been mine all along?" Chris cradles the back of my head with his palm and wheels his cock hard into my mouth. Zane continues to break into my ass until it is almost numb.

"You are mine, right?" Chris whispers.

His cock carousels in and out of me, like the dream on the edge of my mind.

"Swallow, bitch," Chris growls, a hint of light playing in his eyes.

He buries his cock inside of me and holds my head in place. I suck on it, lulling my tongue over it in advance, salivating, fantasizing about his cum inside me, until, suddenly—the idea reifies. Hot strands of cum weave out and knot up my throat. I drink it all down, one gulp after another.

I nurse his cock as it waivers. I hold it in my mouth, keeping it warm, wet, and under a touch of pressure, like an incubator. He relaxes, massaging my hair and letting me slurp gently on his cock.

I regain some of the sensation in my ass as Zane batters it harder and harder. I close my eyes and moan, stretching out like a cat, preparing for my body to be used. In that open position, extra love muscle snakes into my holes.

I suck eagerly now; Chris's cock doesn't even go soft; it leaks freely.

"Shot off already?" Zane asks with a chuckle.

"I can go like a machine gun," Chris says. "I ain't done yet."

Zane laughs. "Personally I don't like automatic weapons. I'm more of a revolver kind of guy. Like to take my time... To lock. And load. And fire." He pauses here and there as he hammers into my body.

He slaps my ass again and I feel my focus twist to him. He wraps his arms around me, like he did at the hotel, and pinches my nipples. I whimper around Chris's cock. Zane's hands find my back; his lips find my ear.

"Make a show for Chris if you wish," he growls. He bites the earring. "But on the inside, you are all mine."

I shudder, thinking about how much punishment I have in store.

"Get any closer to me, Zane," Chris says, "and I'll slap you across the face without using any hands."

Zane chuckles. "I bet you would like that, wouldn't you Chris. Showing me who is boss? I bet that really gets you going."

Zane sucks my ear before he retreats, kneading my ass in circles again and chiseling deep into my hole. My scream is muffled by Chris's leaking, hardening cock. He takes it out and rubs it across my face, smirking.

"Beg for it," Chris says, his eyes glittering.

"Please Chris," I whimper, my throat sticky and cracking, "Please. You know how I feel about you."

"I am sick of this bullcrap romance with Chris," Zane snarls.

He pulls my ass cheeks wide apart and raids my ass with his fat bludgeon of a cock. I wail as he sledgehammers me over and over; he refuses to relent; he refuses to quit; my hole is his; my hole submits; he owns it; I'm breathless; I can't—I don't---

"Oh fuck," I whimper.

I cum into the sheets in thick, blinding waves.

With each one, my ass clamps down on Zane's cock, drawing him inside me to the balls.

His cum swims into my ass in mirror motion; as much hot cum enters my ass as leaves my dick.

"Four to zero," Zane says. He collapses onto me, exhaling slowly.

I like the feeling of Zane's body on mine, but Chris doesn't let me relish it.

He walks over to us, his face wrinkling, and pushes Zane hard. Zane, who is still recovering, can't balance; his cock pops out of my ass; he falls with his limbs entangled on the floor, grunting. Chris sets his sights on me, taking Zane's place behind me and lining his cock up with my hole.

"I shoulda never let you go," he growls.

Chris plunges his cock inside.

"Fuck," I whimper, helpless beneath him. My hole clenches down.

Chris massages my ass as he pushes and pushes.

Light flashes in front of my eyes as Chris liberates the resistance inside of me. I open for him and Chris slides another inch or so of his cock into my hole.

He finds my other ear--the left one--the one without the earring.

"You said you love me."

His tongue is soft as it rolls around inside my ear.

"I tried to let it go. But I couldn't..."

I find myself contracting my ass muscles, stimulating Chris's cock, as he wraps his strong, sweaty arms around me and flexes his fire-hot abdominals and pectorals into me.

Zane staggers to his feet, clutching his floppy cock in his fist. He drags it across my face then grazes Chris's cheek with it.

Chris lands an uppercut into Zane's stomach, making him stagger backward. Zane's breath is short but he is still laughing.

Chris snarls. "Do that again, and I will show you a new place you can store that tattoo needle."

Zane smirks, the sharp hues in his eyes glinting. "I wonder how much our coin here likes things...flipped around."

Zane pushes his semi-hard cock against my lips.

"Clean off my cock, faggot."

I suck slowly, slurping the cum, sweat, and ass taste down, before letting it slide out of my mouth with a plop.

Chris traces the tattoo on my back with his hand, then kisses it softly as his cock burrows deeper. I can't move my locked arms much, but still, I find a way to spread my ass cheeks wide for him, and finally, he tunnels his cock in to the balls. I moan and close my eyes.

"You like that?" Chris asks. I tense and soften my ass in approval. Chris moans low, his breath raspy.

"I—I'm over the moon," I whisper.

"Better bring you back down to Earth, then," Zane says. I see the fracturing light in his sharp green eyes again. "Suck it down, faggot."

I open my mouth, and Zane jams his cock past my lips again. I close up around it, drawing it in.

I feel the fine strand of hot liquid in my throat before realizing what it is. My eyes narrow; I emit a sharp squeal through my nose, but I see in Zane's eyes that there's no negotiating this time.

I gulp over and over, waiting for the gully to end.

"You cumming again, Zane?" Chris asks, gripping me rougher.

Chris starts to plow my ass into abject submission. My hole stops clamping down, and just lingers, stretchable, like molding clay on the wheel.

"Not quite," Zane says.

He pulls the necklace tight again; the shark tooth digs into my neck; I choke and sputter and spit up Zane's cock bit by bit.

As Zane pulls out, I taste the tart, hot piss on my tongue; then, I feel it stream out from the corner of my lips, the dregs dripping onto the sheets.

"What the fuck?" Chris says, his voice breaking.

"He's my toilet. Didn't you know?"

"That's...really fucked up," Chris growls.

"Grossing you out? Maybe you just don't have the stomach to own a piss faggot."

"Maybe Travis doesn't have the stomach to be one."

"I know that he does," Zane said, gripping the necklace tightly, making me wretch.

"The fucking hell with it," Chris says.

He seems to lose his cool, ramping up till he is just as rough as Zane ever was, and possibly deeper inside me.

Harder and harder, Chris shapes me; I try to catch my breath as Zane toys with the necklace, and my throat cracks with cum and piss; softer and softer I flex, defeated; less and less of the world is perceptible as I slip in and out of reality—in and out of myself.

Zane pinches my earring. "I've branded you, coin. Don't forget it."

Chris snarls, caressing my back. "Prove this fucker wrong."

I'm overwhelmed—Chris's cock is so deep inside me I feel like I am being spit-roasted; he's lighting me up; my senses are shocked to extremes; I can't take it; I can't take it; oh my fucking god—

Zane pushes the jock straps back into my nose and I lose it, sucking down the last drops of piss dripping from Zane and clamping down hard on Chris's big cock.

I'm cumming again; I'm already stuck to the sheets, but now I am drowning in a pool of my own sick pleasure; my ass is milking Chris's cock; I feel his balls against me, drawing up, he's painting a picture inside me; he's staking his claim; I'm lost in myself again.

They are rough when they pull out; I whine, huddling into myself—empty.

"Go home, coin," Zane says. His expression is etched with cool rage.

I reach for the jockstrap and he bats my hand away, slapping my face.

"Did I say you could have clothes? No clothes, faggot. No boxers, no jocks, no briefs—NOTHING."

"But—I'm naked! Please, I can't—this can't happen! Please," I say softly. I look at Chris. "Please. My parents—what will they think if they see me like this?"

Chris frowns at me. "So don't let them see, then. Wouldn't want to embarrass yourself."

I look back at Zane, biting my lip.

"Are you fucking retarded?" Zane asks. "Get the hell out, NOW, before we beat the shit out of you."

I shake my head, and Zane slaps it, before shoving me onto the floor and towering over me.

"Get—the fuck—OUT. Mommy wants you home anyway."

I brush my eyes with the back of my hand, stumbling to my feet, and lurch to the door. I'm across his house in a flash; I grab a washcloth to cover my crotch; I can't see straight...

I storm away, slamming the front door behind me. Then I run into the forest—naked—like the frogs and the bugs and the salamanders, shielded by thin foliage from the encroaching world of man.

--- Feedback keeps me in the mood to write and brainstorm and is always appreciated. :) email: krazytop@gmail.com tumblr: krazytop.tumblr.com