The Downfall of Nate Ramsey

Downfall of Nate Ramsey Chapter 16

THE DOWNFALL OF NATE RAMSEY

By Kit Fortier (kitfortier@gmail.com)

Based on the concept and characters by Jasper Cooper © 2019

DISCLAIMER: This story is a gay fantasy; no part of it is based in fact, and none of the characters are intended to resemble real persons. This story chronicles the humiliating ordeals an 18- year-old high school senior is unwillingly subjected to. Some of these humiliations have a strong sexual component. If you are underage, or do not want to read about such matters, you should leave this webpage at once. Assuming you do not fall into either category (you should not have made it this far if you did), I bid you: onward!

***

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: "Cocks Come Home to Roost"

***

"Nate would have to fend for himself."

That was supposed to be Troy's last thought where the hapless slave-boy was concerned. But after following Finn, trying to lose himself in the beautiful boy's fucking perfect ass, the thought was still there. It wriggled its way around the back of Troy's mind while Finn locked his dorm room door behind him. The two ended up on Finn's bed after a whirlwind of hastily-discarded clothes and slapdash kisses as the thought began to fester like a boil.

It almost got shoved into the cold barren wasteland of forgotten things altogether when Finn's talented tongue began pushing into him, rooting around in his ass like a pig in a trough.

Troy almost laughed at the image—it was so far removed from this handsome guy going to town on his taint and his ass, the Irish blooded hunk with sparkling, deep blue, teary eyes—

No. That was wrong. Those weren't Finn's eyes he saw. Those were Nate's eyes from the hallway, earlier. Troy's brain cycled the question—what the fuck did Owen do that turned their jock slave into an utter, complete mess?

Troy shook his head. A fortuitous flick of Finn's tongue pulled him back into the reality of the moment. He looked down at his lifted legs and saw Finn's head of coal-black hair bobbing and swaying about beneath and behind his legs, felt his wet lips and more than nimble tongue pushing pleasure into the deepest parts of his being.

"Finn," Troy groaned.

Finn hadn't let up, but their eyes connected. There was the gorgeous green that Troy had come to know so well.

"I want—I gotta have you, too... Can... Can we ungh oh fuck—damn, baby, can we do this, do each other at the same—_oh!—_time?"

Troy felt Finn's mouth arch into a smile as the guy pressed kisses deeply against the sensitive flesh at the base of his thighs. A creamy leg came down just over Troy's shoulder, followed by another one. He was soon face to face with the prettier-than-pink hole that belonged to the hunk of boy straddling his face. Troy's breath was ejected from him as Finn pulled Troy's lower half up to get better access to his own prize between Troy's legs. It was a feat of gymnastic athleticism, but Troy was flexible enough to maintain his awkward but exciting position, and Finn was strong enough to hold Troy's lower body close to him.

But as Finn had gone back in, enthusiastically lapping and chewing, Troy stared blankly at Finn's offering. His mind was elsewhere, trying to solve a puzzle that he needed to see in order to do anything about it.

Eventually, Finn slowed. The alabaster-skinned jock gently brought Troy's lower half back down to the bed.

"Okay," he said, pushing onto his knees, then tossing himself back on his butt, seated against the headboard with a pillow behind him. Finn stared at Troy's head, wishing he could see into it. "Your head's not in the game, man. Do you wanna talk about it?"

Troy laid there still, focused on the off-white of the ceiling above him. It was decision time, especially if he wanted to check in with Owen and what he was going to do with their mutual plaything.

But it long since occurred to Troy that the red-headed terror had almost zero limits and even less empathy.

He knew in his gut something was wrong. It was simultaneously warming his head while sitting like a frozen bowling ball in his gut.

He came to a decision. If he couldn't trust Finn - the boy to whom he'd first come out, to whom he'd lost his virginity, to whom he kept circling back despite the numerous other booty calls he'd had - then who could he trust?

Troy sat up and turned to face Finn. He grimaced at the look his black-haired, pale-skinned boy threw him. It was concern, frustration, and now, a little fear. Not of him, but of whatever possibilities were about to fall out of Troy's mouth.

"You know how I can't stand Nate Ramsey, right?"

Finn's face darkened at the mention of that homophobic asswipe. "Yeah. He's not particularly high on my list of likeable people, either. I know how he made you feel bad all through high school."

"Yeah, well, two weeks ago he lost a bet. Some of us on the team, we... We made him our slave. We made him do a lot of things. Bad stuff." Troy paused, unsure whether to go on.

In the silence, Finn questioned, "What sort of bad stuff?"

Troy decided to take the plunge. "Mostly sex. We – we made him suck our cocks. And we fucked him, too. A lot. He had to service us whenever we wanted, however we wanted. And if he failed, we'd upload the videos we took of him getting fucked like the whore he was." Troy stopped. Finn was... unnaturally quiet, his face inscrutable.

"Okay," he said at last. "Why are you telling me this?"

"One of the guys he has to serve is Owen. I think it's pretty clear to everyone in school that Owen would love nothing more than to run Nate over with his truck."

"Go on."

"Today, Nate belongs to Owen. And when I saw him this morning, and again in the halls, it's like... I barely recognized him. I know Nate's been crying a lot after all the shit we've piled on him for being an asshole, but..." The image of Nate's haunted blue eyes, brimming with tears, flashed in Troy's head once more. "He looked really bad at lunch. And then, after school, I saw him heading in the direction of Owen's family farm."

Finn frowned. "You think Owen fucked Nate up at school, and now you're worried he's gonna fuck him up even more at his farm?"

"I guess, I can't shake it," Troy mumbled.

"Of course you can't shake it! You've been blackmailing and fucking the hell out of the guy for two whole weeks! Did you think Owen was just gonna throw him a cupcake party? Fuck. Fuck! We need to get the fuck out there, now!" Finn scrambled to get his clothes on. Troy sat there, stunned.

"Well?" Finn noticed Troy hadn't moved. "What are you waiting for? A fucking royal invitation?"

"Finn, calm down!" Troy said as he got to his feet. "I'm sure it's nothing. We'll go out there and check in with Owen."

Finn shoved on his shoes. "Let's go. Let's go now."

***

The ride to Montrose Farm wasn't long, although traffic stagnated a bit as the sun began to creep into the late afternoon part of its journey. Finn stared out of Troy's rolled down truck window. Troy hadn't been able to get a word out of Finn, so he rambled on about how all the things he and the gang did was payback for Nate's bad behavior, what Jessie said he did to her, how Owen was pissed at Nate for getting between him and Melanie and stealing her away.

"Do you think Owen would actually kill Nate?" Finn asked, still focused on the road.

"I don't know," Troy said. "I don't think so. I hope not. Look, I just wanted to fuck with the guy, since he bullied us non-stop with all his bullshit talk and homophobic crap. I only fucked with his head."

"Can you hear yourself?" Finn spat out. "You literally fucked the guy. Not just with his head, but also his body. And for what?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"You do know that of all the things he did, he never laid a finger on anyone."

"Yeah, but—"

"And what you all did that first night, you drugged the guy, which is assault, you held him against his will, which is unlawful restraint, and then your team fucked him, repeatedly, also against his will? Because that's rape!" Finn cried. "And you forcing him to get fucked to prove a point? You make every other gay guy look like a fucking perverted predator by thinking you can fuck someone into becoming gay!"

Troy cringed. "It was just a—"

"Prank? A joke? `Oh, hey, Nate—we're gonna gang bang you and stick shit up your ass, but it's okay, `cuz it's funny! And it don't hurt you none, because you're really a cum dumpster who doesn't know it yet? How the fuck does that sound like a joke? And you're blackmailing him." Finn's exasperation had peaked. "What the fuck, Troy?"

Troy glanced over, noting Finn's profile. The green in Finn's eye stood out in stark contrast to the redness in his face. It wasn't blush. It was anger. "This `taking him down' revenge thing may have started off as a joke," he said as evenly as possible. "You guys could have left it at the gag about running naked in the park. But the moment you blackmailed him, you all could have gone to jail. And then you made it worse! He may be an ass, but it doesn't mean that he deserves to be the victim of actual crimes."

Troy was bereft of things to say. Of course, he'd thought of these things before, but it wasn't ever supposed to get this out of hand. And now, thanks to Owen, it very well may have.

"We need to get there now, Troy." Finn's leg shook as a result of clear, high anxiety. "I pray to god the guy isn't... I just hope he's okay."

***

"Okay" was not what they found. Even as they drove up, less than half-a-mile near the barn, they could hear Nate screaming. Troy sped right up to the barn door and hastily parked the car just feet from the main entrance. Owen's own old pick-up truck was nearby, parked in front of Nate's convertible.

Troy and Finn jumped out of the pick-up, scrambling for the barn door. Owen's hulking form hovered at Nate's head. The ginger teen was oblivious, chuckling mirthlessly, focused solely on the screaming, naked boy trussed up like a biology class frog on the frame in front of him.

Troy and Finn rushed up. They saw Owen holding a controller at his side as he stood leering at Nate, who was writhing and begging. Wires led from clamps to his nipples, which were red and angry. More wires stuck out from a clamp attached to the exposed end of a sounding rod slid inside Nate's dick. There were two more wired clamps on his nutsack, and one that was likely in his ass, from the wire hanging between his legs. Troy grabbed the controller from Owen, scanned it quickly, and turned down the dial to the full opposite end of the potentiometer until it clicked in the "OFF" position. To keep it that way, Troy ripped out the wires that connected the controller to the rest of the rig and threw it all to the floor.

Finn had shoved and pinned Owen against a load-bearing post—but it didn't seem necessary. Owen was still laughing without smiling, the mirth in his eyes remorseless and malevolent. Nate was still screaming—he didn't know he had been freed, and his brain was still in the throes of immense, unceasing pain.

"Nate, stop it. Stop it!" Troy yelled. He took Nate by his shoulders, his skin slick with sweat and fear. Tears streamed from Nate's eyes, crushed closed in reaction to being electrocuted. "You're okay now. You're not being tortured. I've stopped the electricity." Troy moved quickly, undoing the clamps from Nate's nipples, as well as the ones clipped to his scrotum. He was careful to loosen the clamps before pulling away as not to tear the skin from Nate's tortured body. They weren't sharp enough to pierce the skin, but definitely made to grip indiscriminately and painfully. Troy grimaced at the plug with wires coming out of it, and damn near threw up when he realized Owen had used a sounding rod to electrocute Nate to his core. He gently but swiftly removed the alligator clamp from the rod. Then he carefully slid the sound from Nate's fear and pain-shriveled penis and the plug just passed Nate's overworked, excessively tortured anus. Troy tossed the offending items into the hay-strewn floor. Nate still screamed, unaware of his surroundings.

"Look! No more alligator clips. Nothing in your dick. Okay? Will you stop screaming now? Come on, Nate, stop it already!" Troy knew Nate was in pain. The last thing he wanted to do at the moment was add to it in any way, all things considered, but the situation called for it, and he had no other choices. A solid, open palmed slap to Nate's face startled him, and the screaming stopped. It was only replaced with light sobbing, choking and gasping for air.

Nate's blue eyes were bloodshot—a likely side effect from being electrocuted. Troy realized Nate was staring at him, and the look on his face was one still of terror, yet somehow touched with relief. A scuffle and a thud pulled Troy's attention—Finn had knocked Owen on his back.

Troy pulled out his cellphone and side-eyed Owen, who was now laying on the floor, laughing to himself. Finn took a position closer to Nate, but still between the victim and the tormentor, ready to defend the guy should Owen make a move.

"Wes," Troy said.

"Hey Troy," Wes's voice replied.

"Nate was with Owen today.' It wasn't a question.

`Yeah, it's Owen's turn," Wes said, his voice a little uncertain and questioning.

"Putting you on camera," Troy said firmly. Instead of pointing Wes's face at himself like a selfie, Troy slowly swept his phone camera over Nate's body, and hovered over the implements of torture just a couple feet away. "That was sticking out of his dick, the other was shoved in his ass, and the clips were attached to his nipples and nuts," Troy ground out as he videoed the horrific instruments Owen employed. "He electrocuted him."

"Holy shit," Wes whispered. A booming voice cracked the barn with psychotic mirth.

"He got no less than he deserved!" Owen cried out. Finn edged away from Nate and closer to the madman on the floor.

"You could have killed him!" Troy yelled back. Owen only laughed.

"If he died, then it's because he was too weak. I didn't come up with this stuff; it was on the internet. It's what fags do to each other all the time," he retorted.

"Are you for real?" snarled Finn. Troy took him quickly but gently by the sleeve, shaking his head quietly. The anger in Finn's eyes didn't dissipate, and he never took his eyes off the monster on the farm floor, but he nodded, acknowledging that now was not the best time to act.

Troy couldn't fathom how Owen had gone this far. Even with the depth of his hatred for Nate, something had to be seriously wrong with the red-headed boy to think this was remotely what Nate deserved.

"We're done," said Wes. His voice was shaky, but he was determined. "This slavery thing is over. For good."

Troy nodded. "Yes. Yes, of course."

"I'll tell Drew to take down the site. We'll get everyone together tomorrow. Can Nate get home alright?"

Troy and Finn looked at Nate, who was not following the conversation. The adrenaline high had drained away, and the weight of the boy's fatigue was bearing down on him.

"I don't think so. He's in no shape to drive. But Finn's with me," Troy said. "I'll drive Nate home in his car, and Finn will follow in my truck."

"He's mine for the night, assholes, remember?" Owen called out. "I got plans for that ass. Gonna tear him a new one someday," the teen terror practically purred.

"Fuck off, you sick bastard," Troy snapped back. "You're lucky I don't call the cops on your fucking sadistic ass!"

Owen only laughed. "You're one to talk," he said in a little sing-song-y voice. "You're one to ta-a-alk... You're one to ta-a-alk..." It was a taunt, but Troy had more important things to do.

"What do you want, Nate? Do you need to see a doctor?" Finn asked quietly, afraid if he spoke louder, he'd spook the guy into a heart attack. After this ordeal, it could easily have been a possibility. Finn hadn't brought himself to care about Nate before this but judging from what Troy and his team had done, the boy on the rack was clearly a kindred spirit—a fellow survivor of abuse.

Whatever all this was, they had some serious common ground. Finn spoke again, still hushed, but firmly. "Nate? What do you want to do?"

Nate's eyes were glassy, pathetic in a sad, quiet way. "I just want to go home," Nate rasped wearily. His voice was sandpaper rubbing against gravel. Finn nodded. With a pointed nod, Finn motioned to Troy to undo the bindings on his side while Finn took care of the ones on his own. As he knelt down to undo Nate's leg, he saw a sharp, slightly rusty awl half-hidden in the hay on the floor. Finn pocketed it, just in case he needed something to fight Owen off with.

Troy and Finn took Nate under their arms. He was truly dead weight at the moment. The two gingerly dragged Nate to his car and got him settled into the front passenger seat. Troy buckled Nate in and met Finn at his own truck. The older teen had already let himself in and turned the ignition, as the keys were still in the truck.

"I'm glad he looks like he's going to be alright," Finn said. His eyes were focused on the back of Nate's head.

"This... This is a fucking nightmare." Troy huffed.

"I can only imagine," Finn agreed. "But if this was horrible to us for the past thirty minutes, how the fuck do you think it felt for him for the past two weeks?" Finn bellowed.

Troy flinched at Finn's anger. Finn wasn't even looking at him but he still could feel it. "I... I know. I'm sorry."

Finn huffed incredulously. "You're telling that to the wrong guy."

Troy nodded dumbly. It's all he could do. "Can you pass me the blanket from behind the driver's seat?"

Finn slid his hand behind the driver's seat. He pulled out a flannel blanket and tossed it out the truck window in Troy's direction.

"Fuck it," Finn said. He jumped out of the truck and fished something out of his pocket. Striding up to the driver's side window of Owen's old pick-up truck, Finn plunged the thing he was holding into the sidewall of the front tire. He brushed the dirt off his hands and walked back to Troy's truck, purposefully keeping his eyes forward.

"In case he gets any funny ideas," Finn said as he got back into Troy's truck, thumbing over his shoulder at a tool sticking out of Owen's driver's side tire.

"Oh, shit," Troy gasped. "Let's get out of here."

***

Nate was grateful to Troy for the blanket. He wrapped it over his shoulders, and still had enough left over to cover his groin, his legs. He was grateful that Troy raised the convertible's roof before they started the drive. His clothes were still in the backseat, but he couldn't be bothered to put them on. Every part of him hurt. At the moment, he didn't care. He just wanted... Everything... to be over.

When they pulled up to Nate's house, he was grateful no one else was home. Troy handed him his car keys.

"Nate?"

"Yes, Master Troy?" Nate said, defeated, remembering his place. He hoped against hope that Troy would tell everyone to go easy on him, at least for the next day or two. In his bones, he didn't have anything left for the guys to break. Judging from the way Owen treated him, Nate was resigning himself to the idea that someone would likely find his body hanging from a bathroom stall with two dildos jammed in his ass and a filthy, urine soaked jock in his mouth.

"No, Nate, you're okay. We're done with all of that. Wes is calling it off. We're just... We're just us again." Nate realized he must have looked confused when Troy continued. "I called Wes."

"I remember," Nate said hesitantly.

"The video thing, the pictures, the slave shit, you're done. We're done. It's getting deleted. It's... This has gone too far. I'm... I'm sorry." The moments the words left Troy's mouth, he realized how utterly inadequate they were. They did a lot. Too much. Nate's face twisted into something between deeply severe mistrust and horrified grief as he burst into tears.

"You're lying," Nate cried. "You're just fucking with me. This is some kind of test or something. You get my hopes up, then you fuck with my head, and I end up in Tijuana, coked out of my fucking mind, getting fucked by a donkey for your video collection!"

"That was... Inventive," Troy said, his own shame settling in.

"No. Owen was inventive when he went out of his way to make that electric torture device," Nate said, shuddering. He pulled the blanket over his shoulders tighter. "You forcing me to get fucked without protection, that's inventive. Forcing me to go stripping and letting guys, fucking random strangers grope me, that's inventive. Making me beg for two dicks and a fist in my ass was inventive. Owen hate-fucking me like I was some kind of animal today while shoving a rubber cock in my ass at the same time was inventive. Making me walk around with a fucking dildo jammed up my ass all day—"

"I get it," Troy said. His words came out harsher than he meant. The weight of all the things they came up with seemed alright individually, but this was two weeks of rape and degradation. Kids committed suicide for less.

That was a sobering thought, and he kicked himself hard for not thinking about it this way much, much sooner.

"We're holding a meeting tomorrow," Troy said. "You... You're under no obligation to be there, but if you would, we'd like you there."

Nate laughed, exasperated. "Let me guess, make sure I wear something I won't mind losing? I'm coming home naked again? Gonna make me jerk off and fuck myself on a baseball bat in front of a church? Or a kindergarten class?" He was being mouthy, but this surely had to be a joke.

Troy grimaced. Of course, Nate wouldn't trust him.

"Nate, Nate—" Troy tried to head off Nate's train of thought and took a deep breath. "It's over. I think you can look at the website. It shouldn't exist anymore."

Nate blinked.

Slowly, he popped his seat belt and started to leave the car when he realized his only covering was still Troy's blanket. He looked around, making certain no one was coming so he could change into his clothes and return the blanket to Troy. He turned around and let the blanket fall over his shoulders. Before he could say anything, Troy spoke up.

"Bring it tomorrow," Troy said. "If you remember," he added, softening the request. "I don't need it right now." Troy amended after a brief hesitation. "Keep it. Please. I don't need it."

Could it be? Was this a mercy? A prelude to a mindfuck? Nate didn't know. His head bobbed slightly—a nod of acknowledgment, an acknowledgment of kindness, a gesture of confusion... It was all of them individually and simultaneously. All he knew was that he was being dismissed from the rest of the night. Whatever happened tomorrow, if the guys were fucking with him again, he'd know eventually. But for right now, he had a few precious hours to recover. To heal.

Troy got out of the car and patted the convertible roof after he closed the door. Nate wrapped the blanket around his waist, not caring that his top half was uncovered, locked up his car, and with a last glance at his (supposed) former master, he went up the staircase, into his house, and let the door click closed behind him.

***

After today, Nate didn't know how to hope.

The vicious penetrations of the morning and the rape in the afternoon were a pipe dream to Owen's pièce de résistance of the day. And then, to be rescued by one of his tormentors?

Nate didn't know how to hope, but he needed to.

In the shower, he let the water run over him, hot and steaming. The sound of the shower muffled his cries, and the water falling down his face easily disguised his tears.

Owen meant to hurt him. Truly hurt him. Whether he knew it or not, the hurt he wanted to inflict could have been permanent, irreversible if he hadn't been stopped by one of his own accomplices. It was inhuman—utterly horrifying on the receiving end. He should have left things be with Melanie's favorite place, hell, with Melanie_, but it would have only delayed the inevitable with the brutish boy whose hatred clearly knew no bounds._

When the shower started to cool, Nate washed himself off thoroughly. He tenderly cleaned his battered and thoroughly ravaged ass, trying to get any remnants of duct-tape adhesive, ben-gay, and whatever goop Owen used on his electro-torture butt plug out from inside his crevice and in and around his hole. There were little stings when soap hit micro-abrasions in the stretched-and-suddenly-clamped tissue of his anus, on the taut skin of his chest near his nipples. The places where the alligator clips bit into his skin were red and slightly inflamed. He stepped out of the shower and toweled off, glad that his mirror had fogged over so that he wouldn't see what he'd become. He used a bit of aloe spray on his tender areas to help the healing process along. It was instantly cooling, and a relief to the boy's tattered senses.

Nate slipped into a loose black tee shirt and a soft pair of boxer shorts. He had two more besides the one he wore. They survived the purge of his underwear at the outset of the whole ordeal by being lost under clothes kicked under his bed. It was the first time in two weeks that he was able to choose to wear something around his groin that didn't hug him obscenely or was overly revealing, or wasn't a neon color that stood out in stark contrast against his skin. Bright and flashy peacock shit wasn't his thing anymore.

But he wasn't going to torment anyone else for it, or even comment on it either.

The sun was near setting, and all Nate wanted was sleep.

As he plugged his phone in to recharge (he could still be in a world of hurt if one of his masters called and his phone was dead if this horrible "game" was still on), he caught sight of a missed call and a voicemail.

Nate shuddered violently—he knew this "break" was too good to last. He was already being called, likely to prep him for more miserable humiliation, and now, even worse, real, damaging pain. Considering how each torment had typically outstripped the last, Nate had to steel himself for the possibilities.

Absentmindedly, with a trembling hand, Nate played his voicemail.

"Hey, baby," the message began. Spencer. Nate's heart rate slowed significantly. "I know the Championship is tomorrow, right? I just wanted to know if you... if you want to work out some of your stress," Spencer gave a little snicker. "Seriously, though, I'd love to have you over and help you ease your mind before the game. You know where to reach me!"

The message ended. Nate sat, staring at his phone. No other messages, no other calls. No one leaving him cryptic orders, threatening him with complete and unmerciful exposure as the dirty cum dump of a slut they made him into.

If what Troy said was true, and it looked like it was, Nate no­ longer had an obligation to the ruse Troy had created to get Nate fucked by Spencer in imaginative, coerced ways. He had no reason to call the guy back or go back to him.

But if he was honest with himself, Nate knew that he had precious few friends in this world, and despite Spencer's role in his descent into base, pride-obliterating degradation, Nate couldn't bring himself to burn that bridge. The guy cared about him. That's more than pretty much everyone else in his life would do at this point.

And right now, more than anything, he really could use a friend.

Spencer's contact info glowed on the phone's screen. A deep breath later, Nate's thumb touched the dial button. Tinny music played, then the call connected.

"Hiya, Spencer."

"Hey! Hi yourself, Nate! That was pretty quick. Did you get my message?"

"Yeah, sorry I didn't catch your call. I was in the shower."

Spencer's laugh bubbled through the phone. "Hope you're not wearing yourself out before I get ya."

Nate grimaced. Spencer wasn't to know, and as long as he lived, Nate would never give up the game. He moved along gently to the main subject.

"I just wanted to say..." Nate almost choked on his next words. He could end it all. Break Spencer's heart. But he was a good guy, right? It didn't matter that he was gay—it mattered that he cared. "I'd love to come over." A thought occurred. A niggling question that a kind hand like Spencer's might answer. "Do you wanna... Can we sleep together?"

Silence pushed its way into the conversation. Nate was afraid he'd said something wrong. "We don't have to—"

"Nate, wait," Spencer said. "I'd love to. My roommate's in, though. But I got it! I'll work something out, okay?"

"It's okay. Let's meet at the Collinswood motel. I got another night there. I was hoping I'd get to see you before the game anyway"

"Sure," Spencer said. "I'll bring dinner. I'll keep it light, but good."

"Okay," Nate sighed. "Thanks."

There was a brief pause on the line. "Sure. Of course. Hey, are you alright? You sound a little rough."

Nate felt panic rising. He was on the spot with yet another little lie, but he was so tired of lying.

He was so tired of everything.

"Bad day," he covered quickly. "A lot of screaming going on."

"Wanna talk about it?"

The question made Nate want to curl up and cry all over again. "Maybe later. I'm gonna throw a bag together."

"Sure thing," Spencer said with a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

"Thanks. Oh—hey," Nate interjected.

"What's up?"

"Can I... Can I be the top this time?" After everything that happened to him, Nate had to figure this out once and for all. No drugs, no coercion. Spencer was kind, forgiving, and usually gentle unless he was asked to be otherwise. If anyone could help him understand, it'd be Spencer. But Nate had to know, for good, if he was what his gang of tormentors accused him of being. He might also be able to reclaim some parts of himself that he lost in the span of days. Control? Possibly. Dominance? Possibly. Self-respect?

In that moment, it felt like a tall order to fill. The question remained, though, and he had to know...

If he really was, in fact, gay.

Spencer's answer was mercifully sweet.

"You've got a big day coming. I suppose I could give it up for you, if you really want." Spencer's voice sounded equal parts amused, put-out (in a joking manner), and a tender acquiescence that Nate expected but was always surprised to hear, especially these past few days. Spencer made his request a choice_, not something that was forced on him._

"I do," Nate said. "I want... I want to." Nate hemmed and hawed for a moment.

"Still there?" Spencer asked.

"Yeah, still here," Nate replied. "Do you want me to, ah... bring... protection?" While he had been reduced to loud whispering, the word protection was just barely audible. Spencer sighed.

"Baby, answer this for me."

Nate waited. "Okay."

"Do I need protection from you?"

The question was an arrow launched by an expert marksman, and it sunk into the target with a satisfying THUD. Nate was surprised.

On one hand, he could feel his guilt rising that he was about to use Spencer. Technically, he had been using Spencer, but only because his masters coerced him. Now, he was using Spencer to further his own discoveries.

But a counterargument sprung up in the forefront of his mind. Spencer would also be getting something from the experience. Pleasure_. At the very least, Nate made up his mind to make sure that, even if_ he didn't enjoy it, Spencer would_._

"No," Nate said. Even he felt the sincerity of this particular denial. He would never hurt the guy. He'd only known him nearly two weeks, but he knew Spencer was worth protecting.

"Then just... Bring yourself, got it?"

Nate smiled. "I got it." After a pause, he added, "I'll bring lube."

A peal of laughter rang over the phone. "Okay, boy scout," Spencer snickered. "Be prepared and all that. I'll let you go. Gonna get that nice dinner, wash up, and, um, prepare myself. Don't want your first time to be any more of a mess than it's gonna get. Besides, I know what you're packin' down there," Spencer said with a chuckle. Nate huffed and smiled. He knew the score. While he was no slouch, Spencer tucked a whole lot more down the front of his pants than a lot of guys. Him included.

"You're funny."

"And you're perfect."

Nate cringed at that slightly. If only Spencer knew. But he pushed that thought aside.

"I know I'm not," Nate said sadly. "But I thank you for saying so. Meet up in an hour?" Nate asked.

"You bet. See you there!"

Nate nodded, even though the boy on the other end of the line wouldn't see it. "Yes, you will." He waited until Spencer disconnected before he did the same. When he pulled the phone away from his ear, he saw he'd missed a text message. It was from Drew.

"Nate, Wes told me we're done. You've fulfilled your end of the deal. I deleted everything, scrubbed everything. See you after school?"

Nate didn't respond. He wasn't aware that a steady stream of tears had leaked out from the side of one eye. He was vaguely aware that his vision glazed over from behind the rapidly pooling dampness. The boy fell back on his bed and closed his eyes for a moment. He clutched his phone to his chest as he curled into a fetal position, rocked by his own quiet sobs.

He hoped that this day would be the hardest to deal with.

He hoped tomorrow would be better.

He hoped.

***

Troy watched Nate withdraw before he headed to his truck. Finn had already switched into the passenger side. His creamy, freckled arm hung out the window with his hand tucked on the inside of the truck. As Troy walked up to the passenger side, Finn looked out the windshield, over the driver's half of the window.

Troy sighed. This was not the way things were supposed to go. Someone should have put a muzzle on Owen or tucked him into a mental institution like the one Hannibal Lecter sat in.

He slipped into the passenger side, not missing how Finn stared out the passenger side window. The only thing of interest was lawn.

"Can we talk?" Troy said.

"I think we can," Finn replied, non-plussed. "I think now's a good time for me to tell you, anyway."

"Tell me what?"

Finn's silence was a pot on its way to boiling over. Troy could only wait with dread to hear what was coming.

"I was raped."

Finn's revelation words cut through the air like a chainsaw.

Troy was flabbergasted. "What? When?"

"You know how my brother Parry always hated me?"

Troy's hands curled into fists. He did know. Finn had told him all about the years of bullying by the youngest of his adoptive brothers. "But he didn't - you didn't say anything about a rape?"

"Yeah, because that's something you'd admit to a boy you like - hey, did you know my own brother raped the shit out of me? That he held me down when he was drunk and ruined me in my own bedroom?" Finn's tears spilled over as he relived the worst moment of his life. He recalled his brother's boozy breath in his face, the hard cock plowing what had been virginal territory just seconds earlier, the futile struggle to free himself from Parry's vice-like grip, the tears that finally fell when he felt Parry flood his insides with molten cum, the white-hot shame of blowing his own load during the violation.

"Shit, Finn." Troy's heart ached for his lover, and he instinctively reached out to envelop him in a hug, but Finn flinched away from him.

"I don't want comfort from you, Troy! You're just as bad as him!" yelled Finn.

"I don't, I never," Troy sputtered. "It's not the same thing. You weren't the bully; Nate was."

Finn shook his head in disgust. "In his mind, Parry could justify what he did too. I'd come in and taken his family, his favoured position as the youngest son. I owed him and since I was gay, it wouldn't hurt me to give up my virginity to him."

Troy had no rejoinder to that.

Finn went on. "If Parry was evil for raping me once, what would you call yourselves for raping Nate over and over again? For torturing him incessantly for two whole weeks?"

The sinking feeling Troy had turned to a howling, winter wind.

Nothing was said. Finn stared forward, and Troy prayed that he could fix whatever was happening right now between him and the boy he—

The boy he loved.

"Do I really want to know what you guys really did to him?" Finn said at last.

Troy didn't answer. "Let's get back to your room. I'm kinda tired." He turned over the ignition and pulled away from the curb.

Finn was quiet for a few seconds before he said, "Sure".

Troy heard resignation, a little sadness, but he'd take it. He'd do anything to see Finn smile at him again.

***

The early night summer air was a little bit of heaven. Though it was humid, there was a cool, gentle breeze which made the night more than just bearable—it was actually enjoyable. Nate stepped out of his house about ten minutes after he hung up with Spencer. Gym bag in hand, he started for his car when his phone buzzed. It was a text from Spencer.

"Hey gonna get the food, but I should be there when you get there!"

Nate allowed himself a small smile. He took a deep breath and pulled himself together, wending his way towards the sketchy no-tell motel. When he arrived, he parked at a leisurely place, moving at a leisurely pace. The clerk saw him and gave him a wink and the room key. Nate left with a friendly nod.

After pulling his gym bag from his car, he locked up and made his way to the room. It was... serviceable, though the air in the room had a stale, antiseptic smell.

At least they cleaned it. Or cleaned something. Maybe.

Nate pulled out his phone again. "I'm here, waiting."

Within a moment of hitting send, Nate's phone rang. He turned on the video phone option.

"Hey you! You're early, huh?"

"Yeah," Nate rasped. "You gonna be a while?" Nate cleared his throat. He swallowed, wincing at a small sting somewhere in his windpipe.

"Oh shit, your voice! No, baby. I shouldn't be long. I just left, so maybe half an hour?"

"Okay," Nate replied. "I'll just take a nap."

"Alright. Get cozy—I'll be there soon."

The screen froze on Spencer smiling at him. Nate took out his phone charger and plugged his cellphone in. Nate tugged off his shoes and socks and lay on the bed. While he knew where the evening was going, he chose to remain fully clothed. The decision not to get naked was his choice, and not because he had to do as he was told. Or forced.

Nate drew all the curtains closed and turned off the lights. The only light in the room came from outside: the fading light of day and a streetlamp on the other side of the parking lot. He laid down on top of the sheets, happy the AC worked. Nate turned his head and glanced at the tacky, generic alarm clock. It read 06:02 PM. With his hands behind his head, and his legs spread slightly, Nate fell asleep to the soft mechanical buzz of the cooling unit, and the feel of its perfectly chilled air caressing his body.

It felt as if though, as soon as Nate closed his eyes, he ended up opening them again. The nightstand lamps were on, but not the overhead room light. His eyes barely registered the clock reading 06:26 PM. A surprise feeling of wet warmth surrounded his turgid dick. He glanced down, and saw Spencer's handsome, grinning mug and felt his mouth going to town on him. He must have really been out of it, since Spencer managed to unbutton his fly and pull out the prize tucked within without Nate so much as flinching.

Nate groaned at Spencer's expert treatment. He smiled when Spencer scratched his fingertips over the stubble growing at Nate's groin. He actually giggled when the guy made strange, snorting, sniffing noises tracing the faint line of the returning growth that was Nate's previously shaved happy trail. Toes curled, feet flexed, and release was coiling slow and tight around the base of Nate's brain and at the base of his spine. Spencer's large, strong fingers fondled and tugged at Nate's nutsack which occasionally ended up in Spencer's mouth, too. The mop of blond hair bounced at his dick, taking it as close to the root as he could. He was only focused on pleasing his boy. The teenage stud bucked—his abs sharply contracted as thick jets of cum shot from his dick and onto his torso. When Nate's spasming ceased, Spencer gave his lover's dick a few playful tugs.

"I only barely touched you and you shot up all this?" Spencer said with a snicker. He lapped up a few thick strands of boy batter, humming appreciatively as he swallowed his silky reward down. "My compliments to the chef." He loved what Spencer could do to him.

Nate laughed at Spencer's playful jab, though. The sound of it was like a rusty squeezebox.

"You sound like Harvey Fierstein," Spencer mused.

Nate raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"The guy who voiced the little tough guy in Mulan."

"Oh. Ohhh!" Nate exclaimed with a hearty rasp.

"Just whisper, okay? I'll do my best to listen closer."

Nate smiled. He caressed Spencer's handsome, young but rugged face. He had to admit the lifeguard was insanely attractive. His blond hair, his crazy green eyes—the beautiful bronze tan beneath his clothes. He'd won that full-body tan by spending countless days in the water in nothing but Speedos, under the sun... Nate had come to appreciate his look, his body, as one would appreciate a masterfully crafted sculpture. The difference between straight and gay? He could adore Michelangelo's David. However, he wouldn't want to fuck the model from which the work of art was made. Now, Nate did feel an attraction, but he still questioned—what was he attracted to, his gender or his heart?

"You know," Nate began, "Coach kinda didn't want anyone on the team to, well, do this—" he pointed between the two of them. "It supposedly steals focus or kills the competitive instinct or something. But fuck it. I want this. I want you."

It was now or never in Nate's mind. No better time. If he liked it, he'd stay. If he hated it, he'd stay anyway, because aside from home, with no one waiting for him, Spencer was the only one who wanted him, not just his body, or his pride—of which he had virtually none left.

"When you left in a hurry, I didn't know if you'd want to do... this," Spencer said. "I mean, fuck, you were ridiculously so hot last night, and it was about two of the best hours of my life." Spencer's eyes roamed over Nate's face. "Baby, you look like hell."

"Been a bad week," Nate rumbled. "Two, if I'm honest." He held out his hand, and Spencer took hold by his fingertips. "You've been my only bright spot." Despite Spencer's part in his degradation, Nate couldn't blame him. He had zero idea of the truth. And because Spencer had been pretty much the only person in the world who cared for him, he couldn't begrudge him the pleasure Spencer took from his body.

Nate pulled Spencer onto him. The two struggled a bit—toying with each other like wrestlers testing the other boy's strength. Nate won out and ended up on top of the long and lean man as a consequence.

He thought back to the girls he'd been with. There were commonalities—places on their bodies that made them squirm with digit-curling delight and shudder with sex-addled laughter. While the plumbing may be different, he had to give it a try, and truly please the one guy who cared for him. In turn, he might find his own sense of self. Not the asshole that he had been, but the real man he should have been instead.

Nate's mouth began over Spencer's. But a trail of little licks and kisses led him to one of Spencer's ears. When he sucked a lobe into his mouth, Spencer gripped him and arched his back. When he left a wet trail from the base of Spencer's ear to the tender skin over the jugular, the man groaned something unintelligible, grinding his groin against Nate's own.

Nate all but ripped Spencer's Henley off, making slick trails like beelines over Spencer's leanly muscled physique. Each large, dusky nipple and the firm, fur-dusted flesh that surrounded it had a turn in Nate's mouth. Nate kissed and tickled Spencer's sides. While he made the young man squirm beneath his lips, Nate deftly undid Spencer's fly. In one smooth movement, Nate shucked both Spencer's pants and briefs. The lifeguard, in his haze of lust, quickly and blindly toed his socks off.

Then, at last, Spencer was wearing little more than a goofy smile. The basketball jock straddled the college swimmer, taking it all in. What did he feel? Spencer had one great body, he couldn't deny that. Naked, there wasn't an inch of him that wasn't exposed, all taut, tanned muscle, soft golden hair and humongous cock. He was unmistakably masculine. But was Nate attracted to that? He couldn't make up his mind.

Nate himself remained fully clothed, sweat soaking up in faint blotches randomly on his tee-shirt. Spencer moved to lift Nate's shirt up, but Nate caught his hands, his eyes focused on Spencer's knowing green ones. The boy on top of the other boy lifted those large hands to his mouth, placing a kiss on each one before he stretched out on top of Spencer, luxuriating in his warmth, pinning his hands above the blond's head. Nate traversed the long, soft, golden-down path of toned, tanned, defined muscle, through the well-groomed, dark gold thicket that began inches above his navel, flowing down to the mound surrounding the base of Spencer's straining, wanting, massive and long cock. His lips pressed and his tongue flicked on further to taste the remarkably clean, slightly sweat-dappled musk of the strip of skin beneath the bottom side of his ample sac to the involuntarily twitching skin that was Spencer's little sphincter.

Nate lifted Spencer's well-defined legs up and spread them, giving him access to Spencer's prize and treasure. Compared to his previous experiences, Nate saw, at just a glance, that Spencer kept himself as clean as he could. It helped Nate get past his previous revulsions. Well, mitigate them, anyway.

The blond-haired boy moaned at length as Nate's soft, wet lips, his mouth surrounded the skin around the hole and licked deep, long, and wet.

Starting with little licks, Nate was pleasantly surprised at the texture and scent of a clean, sweet ass at the tip of his tongue. The tastes were different, too. Sweat, a hint of soap, and a more concentrated musk that was the essence of Spencer's scent. Taut here, delicate there, incredibly sensitive in places that surprised Nate, it wasn't unlike dragging his tongue across a girl's skin. And while it wasn't a pussy, Nate knew from experience that there was pleasure to be had in being rimmed.

Nate took what he learned from his torment, hell-bent on applying it in a good way, for Spencer's pleasure. The sounds the tall, sexy guy made were full and enticing, and they spurred him on to keep driving the poor boy towards insanity. It wasn't the same music as what he got from women. He enjoyed that. While his tormentors had groaned their pleasure as well as their taunts, Spencer only knew hissed and groaned encouragements and lust-driven, brief, staccato declarations of approval. Nate was surprised when he realized he didn't hate rimming in this moment, likely because of the person he was with. He was amazed at how much he didn't hate any of this at all.

Nate was encouraged by the sounds Spencer made, because they were a valid and definite indicator of Nate's ability to please another guy with his tongue buried in the man's ass.

Spencer held onto his legs at his knees. He whined and laughed and jerked and twitched. Nate clearly was affecting him in a good way. Digging into Spencer was like putting his face in a bowl of flowers compared to the guys who—

Nate shook his head, disguising it as a slightly comical, wriggling attack on Spencer's ring. He wanted to give Spencer something good, not gag on his memories of abuses past. The naked boy at his mouth gripped the sheets in agonized pleasure as Nate used his fingers to seek out the thing, that bundle of nerves, the prostate that he discovered all throughout the past two weeks as an erogenous shortcut to explosive satisfaction. Spencer's immense dick burbled up a shot of clear fluid with every graze of Nate's finger, every press of the tips of his digits to the knot of flesh that set the boy's heart and mind on fire each time.

Nate felt a sense of dominance, of control. Those aspects came to the forefront as Nate realized he wasn't controlling Spencer, he was controlling the pleasure he gave him. Spencer submitted to Nate because he trusted him, not feared him.

The masculinity he thought he'd lost had itself lost its appeal. Before, he always had to prove who he was, what he was.

The masculinity he needed for himself was simply to accept, to know, and prove nothing, safe in that knowledge for himself.

That was a heady thought. It turned Nate's world on its axis.

Nate looked up at his sweaty, heaving lover. His combination of fingers and tongue had the young man panting and pleading. The look in Spencer's eyes said he was ready for the next phase of pleasure.

"Lube?" Nate asked as he reached for the bottle on the nightstand. Spencer shook his head.

"Want you now, like you are," Spencer breathed. He continued. "But Nate, what about your Coach's edict? You know, no sex the night before a big game?" He chuckled.

"Too late," Nate said. "We're doing this." He needed to do this. Spencer must have seen the determination in his eyes.

"I'm all yours, baby," Spencer said softly.

Nate nodded eagerly. With one hand, he made Spencer moan as he hooked his finger against the young man's prostate. The other hand caught the spit he let fall from his mouth. Nate slathered his cock, applying a mouthful of more spit to try and provide some lubrication for himself and for Spencer. He positioned himself, the tip of his dick, slick with pre-cum and spit, kissed Spencer's hole, twitching and wanting, moist with Nate's spit.

"Ready?" Nate growled. Spencer's head bobbed frantically in agreement. He got to his hands and knees.

Nate shoved his spit-slicked dick against Spencer's anal ring. As the crown of his cock pushed forward, he was overwhelmed by the warmth and tightness. This moment was a first for him in a number of ways. It was Nate's first time engaging in sex without a condom. It was Nate's first time penetrating a man. He wondered how it was that he was even here in this motel room, having sex with a man, no less, when he'd usually ring up any number of girls to ride his dick before the big game.

Except the hell the boys put him through probably made him a joke to every girl in school. Melanie wouldn't have done that, but Nate wouldn't have put it past her friends. Though when he thought about it, maybe it was time to let that part, the girl-chasing, punk-jackass trying to fuck anyone whose cherry was still intact, go for good. The guys worked hard to fuck Nate over in every direction, including depriving him of what he once considered "normal" sex.

The thought had frustrated him. Sex had been taken from him. Twisted. Perverted. Made an act of shame and pain. He wanted that to go away. He wanted to reclaim the things that had been stripped from him.

He began his descent into Spencer's depths. It wasn't long before his brain practically short circuited at the insanely sensual feel of the smoothest, tightest orifice he had ever put his dick in. The pleasure overrode his senses, and the primal animal within had latched on to this moment in a terrifying way.

He had just slipped a couple inches in slowly when he slid all the way without stopping. Spencer grunted in surprise, but he acclimated quickly to the sensation due to the lust that fogged his brain.

"Nate," Spencer murmured.

But Nate didn't hear. A flop sweat broke over the boy as a switch flipped in his brain. He could have it again. His bravado. His being. He could be that fucking stallion he had been. The pleasure his dick was pulling in was too much, yet not enough, and he needed more. He wanted to take, and take more, and keep taking, all for himself. Nate pulled back quickly, withdrawing everything but the tip, and he hammered to the hilt again. Spencer grunted.

Then Nate did it again. And again. And suddenly, he was hammering like a madman unhinged. Like all his other conquests, he was taking his pleasure. It was about him and what he was feeling in this moment.

After eight more rapid fire slams from the crest of Nate's groin to the crown of his dick, Spencer yelped far too often for his own taste. He jolted to his knees and shoved Nate's hands off his hips. He turned to a wild-eyed, sensually single-minded Nate and put a firm but friendly hand on his muscle-capped shoulder. The tall and tanned boy was panting, flushed, but he also looked pained and a touch concerned.

"Baby, slow your roll, okay? Hang on, wait... Whoa," Spencer huffed, the over-aggressive hammering of his ass had winded him. He winced as the pain ping-ponged back and forth through his nervous system to his brain and his freshly battered hole. "It's not a vagina back there," Spencer said, pointing his thumb down behind himself. "Different things going up in my... this thing. I know this is your first time at bat, so... it's—"

Nate snapped out of his lust-crazed haze as his eyes widened. "Oh, fuck! Did I hurt you?" Spencer saw the shine that threatened to turn into tears in his lover's eyes.

"Yes," Spencer said truthfully. "But it's okay. Just... Go a little easy at first, alright?"

Nate nodded. He was ashamed to look his friend in the eyes. He had to make this right. Nate took Spencer's face in his own hands and pulled him in to kiss him. It was slow, and sweet—a heartfelt apology made physical with touch, taste. He knew what it felt like to be hurt—he'd never do that to anyone in light of what he learned. Nate helped ease Spencer on his back.

This time, Nate would pay attention. This time, Nate would do something right for a change.

He slid off the bed. Silently, he motioned for Spencer to watch him as he began to strip off his clothes. It was a show. Just for Spencer. The prone boy watched, entranced, as Nate's sweaty torso flexed and undulated. The shirt came off Nate's upper arms, revealing the definition of his broad back, his beautifully muscled shoulder caps, the exquisite definition of his biceps, triceps, forearms. Nate's vascularity was just right—even his veins were sexy, and not overblown. His chest, dotted with the stubble of shaved hair growing back, was glistening with beads and trails of perspiration that Spencer longed to taste.

Nate danced and gyrated over to the nightstand with the lube on it. Before he picked it up, Nate playfully shimmied out of his jeans, hiding his front from Spencer. When Nate looked over his shoulder, he saw the boy was literally drooling at the sight of his ass, still under his boxer shorts.

Nate popped the cap on the lube and pulled open the front of his underwear. He drizzled a generous amount of lube onto his aching cock beneath his clothes and beckoned Spencer to move closer. Spencer did as requested. As he approached, Nate saw the boy's eyes were blacked out with a thin ring of green around the dilated pupils.

"Reach under my sleeve," Nate said, pulling one leg sleeve open from the bottom. Spencer slid his hand under the leg of his boxers and let his fingertips graze Nate's hot, firm, sweaty skin until they ran into the root of his rock-hard cock. Spencer's heart pounded in his ears as he took hold of the hot length belonging to Nate.

"Touch me, baby," Nate moaned. "Get me ready."

Spencer's long, strong fingers curled around Nate's length and thickness, and he proceeded to give Nate a wicked hand-job. Those same fingers danced over Nate's glans, beneath the crown, tracing the edge of his helmet, caressing the length and girth of his cock. Spencer even took care to involved Nate's nuts, fondling and rolling them gently, tugging on his sack. Nate's eyes practically rolled into the back of his head while Spencer played with him. Spencer was turned on by the fact he could feel Nate's dick, but it remained tantalizingly unseen beneath his conservative boxers. Just the telltale thick outline of his cock pressing against the fabric.

Nate slicked up his fingers, reaching to slick up the hole he planned to breach. Spencer moaned at Nate's probing touch as Nate's own digits worked frustrating magic on the long, lean, tanned blond.

"Lay back, okay?" Nate whispered. Spencer nodded. He reluctantly withdrew his hand from Nate's boxers. The sadness would be quickly replaced with enflamed lust as Nate turned his back and began stripping off the garment, making a show of revealing his ass. Spencer wanted to lunge forward and bite it.

Finally, the boxers were off. Nate used them to hide his cock from view as he turned to Spencer. He played with his underwear, stretching it across his groin, keeping the main event under wraps for tantalizing seconds. Spencer was lost in the dance as Nate approached until he was at the edge of the bed.

With a flourish, the boxers flew off, fluttering until they hit the floor. Nate's cock was out for Spencer's viewing pleasure. His eyes went from the straining, hard-as-steel dick to Nate's incredibly blue eyes.

"Need you to fuck me, now." It was not a request. It was a whispered, desperate command. Spencer was on fire.

As he climbed on the bed, Nate poured a generous dollop of clear liquid onto his fingertips, spreading the slick stuff around. With a little nod, Nate got Spencer to hold up his legs and expose the poor hole Nate just abused. Nate slathered it with even more lube, sure to spread it around inside and out. Nate poured another thin layer of lube onto his dick, slicking it up from the crown to the root. It was a shocking sensation—pleasurable, like someone gently raking their long fingernails gently over his scalp. He also applied lube to Spencer's cock, treating it with the same deference he would treat his own.

When Nate finished all the preparations, he positioned himself and looked at Spencer tentatively, as if he was waiting for a sign or signal. Spencer gave Nate the warmest of smiles, then a quick nod.

Something about the lube and the preparation made the sensations that much more vivid. The two were far more in sync than when they first began. Nate was as exposed as Spencer, and the thought no longer scared him. As he began a steady, solid press into Spencer's smooth, skintight, gripping channel, Nate felt as if he was sliding a hand into a toasty warm glove. The first time, he barely registered what the act of penetration felt like to Spencer, but with the boy facing up, Nate definitely had a clear view.

A string of reactions and emotions skittered across Spencer's face in rapid succession—some pain, plenty of pleasure. Spencer's tight but elastic flesh, slick with Nate's saliva, slick with lube, seemed to pull Nate in willingly. Nate slid along slowly, hoping he wasn't hurting his friend and lover. And when he saw Spencer loving what he was doing, he began to love it, too.

Spencer took over for Nate, making his first, real time at bat as hot and memorable as possible. With a couple of undulations of his hips and abs, Spencer had impaled himself to the root of Nate's cock. Nate groaned, and Spencer squealed in pain and pleasure, grabbing hold of Nate's hands. He tugged the young athlete down to his face and kissed him desperately as he acclimated to the hard length and girth inside him.

"Fuck me, Nate," Spencer hissed, his mouth just millimeters away from Nate's. Sweat dripped off of Nate's nose as he obliged Spencer, withdrawing almost completely then driving his dick home, earning him a rumbling moan from the aroused young man beneath him. Another sense of self sprung into Nate's awareness: going by Spencer, manhood had nothing to do with who gave, who received. "Top" and "bottom" were merely sexual position preferences in a situation between two men who sought intimacy with each other. Spencer could play the passive role as well as the aggressive—and the whole time, he was definitely all man as he brought Nate off.

And vice versa.

Nate alternated between hard thrusts to switching angles and long-dicking Spencer, drawing out the moment. Spencer cried out whenever Nate's dick brushed against his prostate and judging from the half-hour Nate spent sawing in and out of the guy, Spencer's brain must have been on fire from Nate's barrage. He himself was turned on by a number of things—the novel warmth, tightness, moisture of Spencer's gripping hole, the sounds his lover made, the soft but firm feel of the young man's skin.

Spencer's eyes flashed wild. Without breaking the connection between them, he pulled Nate down onto him and rolled until he was on top of Nate. He straddled Nate so the boy could watch. Spencer then began to grind down, his body undulating like a field of seaweed off the shallow shores of the ocean. He was so fluid, Nate was hypnotized by Spencer's gyrating hips, his beautifully defined abdominal muscles with their light dusting of golden whorls, the tapering of his waist that culminated in a dark blond bush surrounding that obscenely large dick, waving in the air and splashing pre-cum over Nate. Nate whined as the pressure built within him.

"Look at me," Spencer demanded. The two locked eyes. They were so intently focused on each other—on the pleasure they simultaneously took and gave. Nate pulled Spencer down for a desperate kiss as he took control of Spencer's cock with two fists. He gently twisted and tugged, hoping he hit some, if not all, of Spencer's hotspots. From the look on his face, it was pretty clear Nate was on it. Nate wasn't pleasuring Spencer like he'd pleasure himself. He wanted more than for his friend to shoot his shit and be done with it.

He wanted Spencer to shake. To tremble and quake long after the pleasure decimated his heart and mind.

"Shit baby, you're gonna make me cum," Spencer babbled. The telltale flush of blotchy red climbed up Spencer's chest to his neck to his face. Nate nodded, his face dripping with a sheen of sweat.

"I'm here, baby. I've got you. Give it to me," Nate growled as he continued to grind into his lover.

Spencer had become insensible in the fleeting moments where he stood on the precipice of his own climax. He ground his body down, feeling how each shift and sway caused Nate's insanely hot erection to hit different marks inside him. Nate thrust as he could, meeting Spencer halfway at every turn, his own grunts becoming strained with the sound of pending release. And when Spencer finally went over, he grimace-smiled, groaning at length as he painted Nate's damp, hot-to-the-touch, sexy body from navel to nose with ropes upon ropes of his sticky white seed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cum so much without even touching his cock.

Even in the onslaught of spunk, Nate kept his eyes open and focused on Spencer. Rather than take, he was learning quick that giving was just as rewarding. He focused on the warm, tight sensation of the squeezing sleeve of skin around his dick. He was losing it, losing himself to the sensation. The glowing pulse of pleasure had become all consuming, and Nate couldn't tell where he ended and Spencer began. So when Spencer came, his spasming chute, the sounds he made, the sensation of sweat and muscle beneath Nate's fingers—all of that managed to throw Nate overboard, and he came hard, flooding Spencer's insides with his own molten-hot ejaculate.

Nate pulled Spencer, uncaring of the slickness between them. In fact, Spencer had run his hands and fingers through the cum his cock exploded onto the basketball jock beneath him, rubbing his essence into Nate's slightly stubbly skin. Nate knew he had experienced worse ways for cum to be used, and it wasn't as if Spencer would force him to clean off his cum in a degrading manner.

Because he knew Spencer wouldn't.

Spencer's moans shook Nate as the two lay entwined in each other's arms, practically fused together with sweat and semen.

"Fuck, baby," Spencer cried. "Ohh, fuck!" He pressed down on Nate's dick, forcing the last vestiges of cum to spill out as he softened. Spencer shuddered erratically, smiling the whole way. Nate felt his frisson for himself. "I guess that's what a whole-body orgasm feels like." Tears were streaming from his green eyes, and he was laughing and kissing Nate all the while.

Nate smiled, kissing his lover back fervently in return. Spencer's semen-slicked hands caught Nate's, intertwining fingers. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling. Nate related it to the wetness of a girl's climax. At the end of the day, fluids were fluids, right?

"Let me just..." Spencer said. "Oh shit!" Another little laugh escaped him. He lifted himself up slightly to get a look at the boy who lit up his world, dabbing the handsome guy's nose with his cum-slicked pointer finger. "You are incredible, Nate. Dear fucking god I didn't know I could feel like that." He pulled his blue-eyed boy in for a kiss, which Nate returned dutifully.

"I'm glad I could do that for you," Nate said softly with a little smile.

"Can you... can you do one more thing for me?"

Nate knew he would, no matter what it was. It's not that he was without limits, it's that he just wanted to keep the guy shaking as long as possible. "Absolutely."

"Really? I haven't even told you what I want!" Spencer remarked.

"Ask me, Spence," Nate said calmly.

"Okay. I feel you in me, and I don't want to get off you just yet. Would you... would you eat your cum out of my ass, and kiss me with it?" Spencer asked, a blush overlapping his flush.

A request that would previously have caused Nate to recoil in disgust barely engendered any hesitation on his part this time. He tapped Spencer's rump, shuffling down. Spencer crawled on up, facing so he could watch Nate in this act.

Nate was face to face with Spencer's much-loved hole. The cum-matted hair around it left Nate no delusion that it might be a woman's pussy. But Nate didn't care.

He pulled Spencer down a bit so he could have an easier time maneuvering his head. With the first lap of his tongue, Spencer shivered and exclaimed in pleasure. It didn't stop as Nate licked and nipped and deeply-tongued Spencer's hole.

Nate tasted himself, which he was more than used to by now. He also tasted what was distinctly Spencer, with no accompanying unpleasantness. When the slick fluid that was Nate's cum no longer dripped out from Spencer's hole, when Nate could no longer coax any more of himself out of that steamy orifice with his tongue, when every last hair was licked clean, Spencer slid over him and rolled over again so that Nate was on top.

Nate slid up Spencer's body until they were face to face. He stroked the sweat-soaked, blond hair away from the young man's golden-tanned face, away from those vividly green eyes. Nate dipped forward, his lips tightly pressed against Spencer's own waiting, open mouth. He let them part, chased by his tongue. Nate's essence, with Spencer's taste, locked the two boys together as they licked, sucked, and enjoyed the feel of the inside of the other boy's mouth.

The kiss trailed off comfortably, and Nate pulled back to see a smile on Spencer's face.

"Did I do good?" Nate asked. He hoped so. He was eager to please, and he wanted Spencer to be pleased. From the bliss oozing from the blond boy's face, Nate saw just how pleased Spencer could be.

"Mmm," Spencer replied intelligently. "Let's do all that again." He shuddered deeply and laughed. "I'm still fucking feeling it!" He squirmed, flexing and curling his feet, running his hands through his sweaty hair. Nate did this to him. For once, he focused on someone other than himself, and gave them a feeling they weren't likely to forget. With a sense of accomplishment and pride, both of them were basking in the effort.

Nate felt warm at his core. Straight or gay, Nate's pre-conceived, destructive notions of masculinity and power buckled in the last forty-five minutes he spent inside Spencer.

And knowing he made the guy happy started getting him hard again.

And Spencer felt it.

"Oh my god, are you serious? Round two already?"

"Technically round three," Nate said with a gravelly grumble. "For me, anyway."

A wicked glint in his wily eyes and an almost creepy grin slid over Spencer's face.

"Guess we gotta keep at it until we're even, then."

"Spence, we're not gonna stop until I've fucked you on every flat surface in the room." It was power that fueled Nate's statement. But it was power derived from knowing he had a whole lot more pleasure to give. The blond gave him a smile and a kiss that said:

"You're on, champ."

It was 7:30 PM when the two achieved their first mutual climax of the evening. Roughly six hours later, Spencer was gasping and trembling uncontrollably, and both he and Nate was slick with sweat and cum. They fucked against every flat surface, just like Nate had said —the walls, the floors, even the window (facing the woods where passers-by were not as likely). Spencer was even invaded on the remarkably sturdy dining table—after they put the food he'd picked up earlier on the bathroom counter. They had tallied up five mutual orgasms, and for good measure, Nate brought Spencer to a finish with the oral skills he acquired, even swallowing his copious, hot cum by choice.

So finally, they were even, 6 for 6.

Incidentally, they moved the food back to the table when Spencer demanded to be taken on the bathroom counter, too.

Nate found his stride. Bringing Spencer to climax after climax had become its own reward. He still couldn't answer the question that had dogged him since his humiliation and degradation began, but for the moment, he couldn't be made to care. The only thing that mattered was making his friend cry with joy and ecstasy. A huge plus was that Nate had nowhere else to be but the room he was in, in the company of someone that craved his presence. The only issue Nate had was that he still felt the sting of his electro-torture from earlier in the day. But when he thought about the pleasure he saw in Spencer's face, heard in his moans and sighs, Nate bit down and swallowed his discomfort whenever he let go inside his lover.

The room smelled of their wild, intimate interactions. Hunger overtook them both, and they sat down, naked, sweaty, enjoying the food Spencer bought, despite the fact it had gone cold. They chased down the food with bottled water, and another bottle to rehydrate after their strenuous, sustained activity. Nate got one more wind, taking Spencer against the door in a sane, healthy version of the event earlier that afternoon that left him wishing he could curl up on the floor and cry the pain of violation away. Nate was sure that every thrust was one of connection instead of hate, of keeping Spencer together rather than trying to tear him apart. Nate railed Spencer with the long man's long legs wrapped around his hips. The basketball jock practically drilled him off the ground in an amazing display of stamina, and he managed to hold off until Spencer had one last explosion between them.

Nate even slid down and set Spencer up for another snowball. The glazed smile on the blond's face made the raven-haired boy that much happier to be alive and in this moment.

But, as with any strenuous, sustained activity, seven rounds of sweaty, toe-curling, ridiculously raucous sex would eventually take their toll. The two brushed their teeth together like an old married couple, laughing at each other's goofy looks with mouths slathered by foamy toothpaste. After they had cleaned up, Nate took Spencer by the hand and lead him to bed, letting Spencer get settled first before he slid into bed behind him.

As they spent the evening together warm, naked, smelling of sweat and sex, it only made sense to sleep the same way. Nate sighed into Spencer's hair and held him against his own body, Spencer's fingers were interlaced with Nate's as he held the gorgeous, sexy young man's hand close to his own heart. They ended the night with Nate as big spoon to Spencer's little one.

***

Troy left an unnaturally reticent Finn at his dorm. The pale-skinned young lad hadn't even looked back as he left the truck. As much as he wanted to go in with him, Troy knew Wes was calling a meeting, and that would happen right soon.

As Finn disappeared behind the dorm's main entry, Troy's phone beeped. It was a group text from Wes. The usual suspects were addressed: Jason, Drew, Ethan, and Troy himself.

"Meet tonight. BB park, bleachers, 7pm"

Troy didn't have to imagine what Wes had in mind to talk about. The park wasn't too far away, and 7:00 PM was around the corner, so Troy decided if he was early, then he was early.

Most of them were already there when Troy arrived. Wes and Jason hadn't shown up, but that was likely because the two best friends were driving together. Troy, Drew, and Ethan sat on the metal bleachers and waited in silence.

There wasn't much for them to say to each other at the moment.

Wes and Jason strode up to the others not long after. Jason sat down in the front row, and Wes stood on the ground. He opened his mouth to speak, but words didn't come out. He took a deep breath and tried again.

"We're all on the same page, right? Nate is officially off limits." Wes looked as serious as he sounded. Everyone gave a verbal acknowledgement. The captain turned to Drew.

"Did you get rid of everything? The photos? Videos?"

Drew nodded. "There's nothing left. I triple deleted everything, and I ran it through a smasher about seven times to be sure. The website is down, the domain was reset, so any search of Nate's name outside of the stuff he's already on the net for is a dead end. But that's the website. Did any of you guys upload things to your private computers?"

A murmur of denial rippled through the other four.

"How about your cellphones? Did you delete everything off of them?" Drew asked.

Immediately, all five boys pulled out their devices and spent the next few minutes typing and swiping. When everyone was finished, Drew chimed in again.

"I'm gonna have to send you my smasher app so that way you can make sure those videos and stuff are really gone."

"What do we do about Owen?" Ethan asked. Wes shook his head.

"I think I'm gonna call him later and ask him to sit the game out," Wes replied. "If it comes down to which player I'd want to have on the court, it's definitely Nate. And I don't think either of them would play nice if they're out there together."

"Sure, that handles the game," Ethan agreed a little too flippantly for Wes's liking. "But what about the rest of the school year? He's a fucking loose cannon! He's gonna get us all locked up! We'll end up in prison!"

The boys erupted into a verbal melee. It took Wes smashing the metal seats with a big rock from underneath the stands to get everyone to shut up.

"We can't afford to piss him off any more than he already is," Wes yelled. "Honestly, I don't know what he'll do. He almost killed Nate from what Troy told me, and the guy had zero remorse. He didn't give a fuck. So if he's willing to go that far, then we just need to stay the hell out of his way, but do what we can to keep him off of Nate, too."

"We should call the cops on him," Ethan said. "I don't want him anywhere near me." Drew yelled his agreement. Troy looked at Wes worriedly. As he opened his mouth to speak, Jason stood up.

"We can't do that," Jason said firmly. "Whatever they find out from Owen, it'll lead back to us. If that happens—"

"If that happens," Wes interrupted, "you blame me. All of you, do you understand?"

Jason's face darkened. "Wes."

"Look, I'm responsible for this. As team captain, I should have stopped it. I could have, and I should have. But I didn't. I encouraged it. And I can't live with myself if your lives are ruined because of my bad decisions!"

The group fell silent. The enormity of Wes's request was heavy, and life-changing.

"What about Nate?" Drew asked quietly.

"What about him?" Wes responded.

"Do you think he'd go to the police?" Drew clarified.

Wes didn't have the energy to shrug. "I don't know. I don't. I don't know if it's an issue of him having anything on us, or if he'd actually come forward and say it," Wes said as he straddled the bench closest to the ground. "We just... We should probably treat Nate with kid gloves from here on out. I think it's likely he won't say anything. If anyone but us saw those videos, he'd probably kill himself, after everything we all did to him."

The guys were quiet. Myopia made their individual torments easier for them to stomach, but when they linked what they did up with what the other guys did, it painted an ugly picture of who they really were as human beings. Wes spoke up again.

"If anything comes of it," he reiterated, "I want you to blame it all on me. I let it get out of hand." Wes ran his fingers through his hair. Uncertainty weighed one half of his heart down, and the other half was being yanked to the sky with hope.

No one said anything.

It seemed like the best thing to do. Troy, Ethan, and Drew filtered away quietly, one by one.

Wes had his head in his hands when he saw the tops of familiar shoes standing at the edge of his periphery.

"Bro," Jason's voice said.

Wes stayed quiet.

"Wes," Jason said.

Wes squeezed his eyes shut. His heart weighed like a bag of rocks, and it twisted in his chest.

"Owen almost fucking killed Nate," Wes hissed at last. A hand shook his shoulder.

"Let's go, dude. Let's get out of here." Jason pulled his best friend up by his shoulders and held onto him as he walked him to his car. He knew that his day was shot, just as he knew Wes's day was totally blown. When he'd placed Wes in the passenger seat, Jason hopped into his car and drove off. He also knew this was a conversation best held away from random, eager ears.

"Where are we going?" Wes asked.

"We're going wherever long it takes for you to let it all out," Jason said. "I got a full tank, and we've got a couple hours until we have to head home, so..."

Wes realized Jason left a lifeline hanging for him. He admired his friend/brother for that. But Wes crashed headfirst into a wall of realization when Ethan screeched the word, "prison". Unbeknownst to him, Troy already had this revelation spoon-fed to him by Finn. For the time being, Troy was resigned to a "wait-and-see" attitude. Wes's brain lit up with a storm of possible consequences—and to him, all roads pointed back to the moment he let things get out of hand with a bet and a dare.

"Jase, you gotta promise me that if shit goes down, if the cops get involved—"

"Wes, you're overreacting—"

"Listen to me, Jase."

Jason was stunned into silence by Wes's tone. "Okay."

"What we did—you realize it was like a whole raft of felonies, right? We blackmailed Nate and violated him-"

"Hang on," Jason snapped. "Nate deserved it!"

"So we're his judge and jury?" Wes sighed. "We mete out the law? Do to him much worse than he ever did? He's never raped anyone."

"He violated Jessie."

"Are you sure that's what happened?"

"Are you telling me my little sister would choose to lose her virginity to that jerk if he hadn't manipulated her? And then invite him to blackmail her with nude photos he took without her consent?" Jason barked. Wes recoiled.

"I'm not saying she lied," Wes said. "I'm saying a lot of people made assumptions. Whether they're true or not remains to be seen, but if Nate really did that to that many girls, odds are one of them would have reported it if he went out of line. He's a guy, Jase. One who had sex with a lot of girls—and none of them has said anything bad other than what a bastard he could be when it was all over."

Jason stewed in silence. His brain was at war with his heart over the issue. Wes addressed him logically, evenly—but in his heart, he sided with his sister, as family would do. As family is supposed to do.

"Rape. Several counts of it," Wes continued. "I'm sure there's stuff on sodomy with foreign objects. We recorded everything we did to him, and while I hope Drew did what he said he did, you and I know that if something goes on the Internet, it's likely to stay, and it's likely to be found."

"Oh god," Jason whispered.

"Prostitution. We basically sold Nate at Claude's. It may have been in a business, but we set it up, and we took money for selling Nate's body. Add to it more assault. Coercion. Owen gave us assault with a deadly weapon. Each one of us is guilty of at least one count of a whole list of things individually, plus whatever else we did to him as a group." Wes cast a worried look out his passenger window.

"I should have stopped it," Wes murmured. "I saw it in Owen's eyes. He was practically screaming to me that he wanted to fuck Nate up—and he convinced me it was the right thing to do. I knew better. I should have known better."

They continued to drive in silence. The drive pushed on until the sun disappeared below the horizon.

"Promise me, Jason."

Jason threw a worried look at the boy he was about to legally call "brother". "What do you need? Anything. I'll do it. I'll fucking do it." Emotion clogged his throat as he spoke. Wes was scaring him, but he would, in fact, do anything for him.

"If the police get involved, blame everything on me."

"Fuuuuuuuuuck," Jason groaned. He pulled over on the side of the road leading out of town. "Wes, man, come on—"

"I can't do it, Jase. I can't see everyone's lives get shit down the drain because of my mistakes."

Wes put on a brave face, but Jason could see he'd been crying, too.

"Promise me." Wes didn't bark, or yell, or snap. He said two words with earnest conviction. Jason struggled to respond. It killed him to say the two words Wes needed to hear.

But he'd do anything for Wes.

"I promise."

***

Comments and questions welcome! This is a first project for me in many ways, so I'm happy to hear from the readers! kitfortier@gmail.com