Warning: this story contains scenes of violent, non-consensual sex.
Steven could not believe that he had a fat quarterback’s cock driving into his throat. A relatively skinny, splayed out like a roasted pig on a locker room bench, with a fat dick plowing into his mouth. It was juicy and veiny, everything he had imagined from the porn scenarios he had grown up on. Even the gagging felt sexy him, but he especially loved the pubic hair hitting him in his face. And the feeling in his own cock, which had never been so hard. He stroked it and felt squirts of precum leak from the tip of his wide and long cock, so big it seemed ill-fitting on his svelte frame.
His partner moaned in delight. “Fuck, it feels so good, faggot.”
Even this term faggot—which had been a word of derision for his entire life in school was transformed by the act of cocksucking. It made him feel sexy and slutty, as if his porn fantasies had come out of his imagination and to life. With the word faggot, it was almost fitting that he had to wait until the last week of high school to fulfil his destiny and stick a toe out of the closet. He had always lusted after Kevin the quarterback’s built frame, smooth skin—everyone in the school had—but never assumed that one of his primary bullies would actually be masking his homosexual urges. But it just sort of happened that day, as they were the last two out of the shower in gym class. He looked over at Kevin as they were changing and noticed the quarterback sporting a hard-on, which instantly made him hard. And even he was the target of derision, they all k new Steven had a huge cock, so he could do little to hide it. And without words, Kevin came over and stuck his cock in Steven’s face, to which Steven knew exactly what to do.
He opened his mouth wide, and somehow knew to relax his job. The saliva flowed. The taste was incredible. Clean and sweaty, meaty and fleshy. The salt of Kevin’s thick precum dripping down his throat. Kevin’s balls, hot from the shower, slapping his chin. Kevin moaned, and Steven wrapped his hands on Kevin smooth, toned thighs, gracing them across his bubble butt.
Eighteen years of torment in a small town, graduation one week away. This was almost absolving the torment.
“What the fuck you faggots?”
Jared, one of Kevin’s best friends, walked in on them. They had been too engrossed in their sucking to hear the obvious sound of footsteps.
Kevin immediately pulled out. “Jesus faggot, don’t fucking attack me like that again or I’ll kill you.” He reached down to pick up a jock strap and lobbed it onto Steven’s face.
“Yeah, sniff crotches, faggot.”
“What the fuck did he do to you bro?”
“I was changing like I always do and he just dove toward me and pinned me against the lockers. Cock-hungry faggot.”
It made no sense. Kevin clearly wanted this, as he was standing there naked with a hard-on, just like Steven.
“We need to teach this faggot a lesson.” The two football players lunged toward Steven and grabbed his body, lifting him over their heads. “I can’t believe we’ve waited this long to give this fucking faggot what has been coming for him. Thinks he can suck the quarterback off and get away with it. We don’t want his fucking AIDS.”
They marched Steven, his body squirming and squealing, toward the showers where they threw his body against the filthy wet tiles. His body made a heavy thud. They could hear tiles crack. Still naked, and a bit hard from the renewed excitement, Kevin walked up to Steven’s clenched body, hiding from his attacker but also caught in pain, and smacked him with his fat cock.
“You like that, huh?”
Jared cackled. “Faggot. You nasty faggot.” He brought a big wad of phlegm to his throat and spat it toward Steven. It landed right on his face, which had begun to drip blood from the impact of the toss.
Kevin and Jared noticed this and, knowing possible repercussions, each uttered one last faggot, and fled the scene. Steven would lie there for an hour, ashamed, scared, in pain. He knew how bad this would be, but it would only be worse when people asked. He knew Jared would spread word of his misdoing, and the last week of his high school experience, which only moments ago had been a moment of awakening, had come crashing down to what would be his worst.
He was right. The teachers joined the mocking, his parents refused to come to his defense, and the beatings only continued, verbally and physically. He received his diploma with a black eye and a limp, which of course was attributed to his homosexuality, not the virulent homophobia that poisoned his town, his life. The only silver lining for him was that in a matter of weeks, he would enrol in NYU and never look back. And he did.
Fifteen Years Later.
Steven did not want this to be his Wednesday. He did not want this to be happening any day of the week. But sometimes the past reckons with you and the closing the sale of his parent’s childhood. He had not been home since his graduation; had barely spoken to his parents after they distanced himself from him. But it was their untimely death that called him back.
Without a will istanbul escort and as the only child, Steven was the next of kin. He had inherited everything—what little they had—which he had no interest in. He wanted to unload his childhood home and get back to life as quickly as possible. There was a certain sadness to the whole thing, losing one’s parents; but he had really lost them years before when they had given up on him.
It was marked by morbidity too. His parents had been brutally murdered, their throats slashed in the middle of the night. It was part of a string of murders that had beset the town that fall. Another factor that made the visit harder.
It had made the national news at that point: five people dead in an otherwise boring southern town, far enough away from everything that no one had ever bothered to pay attention to it. There was a certain sense of shock: why had this idyllic place been befallen by violence. But Steven understood differently. He had been a recipient of that violence his whole life. He knew the horrors that were embedded in the landscape of that place. And as he drove his rental car from the Raleigh airport into the backwaters of the state, he could sense it too.
He was less scared this time though, if only for reasons of his physical prowess. After the senior year shock, he avowed to make a change in college. He traded his skinny frame for a built one: defined biceps, molded pectorals, sculpted legs like a Michelangelo marble. His body hair shifted from a marker of shame to a sign of his riotous sexuality: everyone he slept with loved it, relished in it. Worshipped it even. He had gone from a sad puppy to a proud lion, he chest puffed out, peacocking his fur. And Halloween in New York always gave him a chance to show it off.
But not this year. It was packing boxes, signing paperwork, and dodging the many signs of his past he knew he would have to lay eyes between the train depot and his childhood home. It was most frightening thing he could have on Halloween: a reckoning with ghosts of his Southern childhood.
He wanted to avoid this as much as possible. He planned to meet the realtor, sign paperwork, pack up the last few boxes, and, meet the movers the next morning. Steven wanted it to be that simple. In and out, once last time, leaving his Southern past where he had left it all those years before, this time for good.
As he pulled into the home of the small town he had left behind in a rental car, Steven felt a chill come over him. It had little to do with the Halloween spooks of a fading sunset and autumnal crisp and much more to do with all the memories he had tried to run away from. The look of exurban idyll was still on full display, but it’s trashy homophobia, it red-state bigotry was felt by him. The blue collar working community, which had taken the night off to party and take children trick-or-treating, might have exuded a certain charm. But he knew better than to be seduced by it. He also knew that a serial killer lurked out there. He needed this to be quick, and he needed his guard up. One night in the house of his childhood, and then back to life as he had worked so hard to build it.
Steven did not expect to find much of himself in his parent’s home; he had already arranged for the furniture to be taken. He was planning on odd trinkets, and several bags of trash. But his whole life had flashed before him up to that point. He would get to it.
Steven brought his small suitcase into the home, and surveyed the situation. Not much to deal with, just high school yearbooks, random clothing, posters, some dishware. It was that last bit of moving everyone hated, but this was much worse. Ghosts of the past, and the stench of bleach from a home cleaned by the police following a violent murder.
In tight designer jeans and a crisp white t-shirt that drew attention to his defined body, Steven got to work. Nostalgia nor sympathy for the past were operative for him. Everything must go. He did not have time or energy to deal with memories or the people parading on the street for Halloween. This was business.
Of course, business mean he forgot the world around him, forgot to hide from it. His rental was parked in plain sight in the driveway. Children would never miss a chance to interact with a murder house, especially on Halloween. The doorbell rang, twice in quick succession.
“Shit,” he muttered to himself. He had left the light on in the kitchen too. His anonymity was interrupted. He knew it was Halloween, but forgot that meant trick-or-treaters. He sat there still, trying not to make any noise, waiting for them to leave.
The bell rang again. And again. Ten-year-olds and their sugar cravings. A rapping on the window. “Hey! We want candy and we know you’re in there!”
Steven sat there in silence, waiting to hear them walk away. He couldn’t hear what they were saying—muttering contempt and expletives probably. He waited until they left, and quickly turned off all the lights that could be visible to the street. He just needed to focus on the task at hand, no interruptions. That would of course be easier said than done.
His cell phone rang, esenyurt escort an unidentified number. Who could be calling him? It was as if no one wanted him to get out of this town on his own schedule.
“Hello Steven,” the voice on the other line said.
“Who is this?”
“Don’t you recognize my voice?” A bad question: the voice was imitating Ghostface from Scream.
“I don’t have time for Halloween pranks. Who is this?”
“I’m so glad you came back to town, Steven. I’ve missed you. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Listen, who the fuck are you?”
“I’m here to make all your dreams come true.”
Steven hung up the phone. No time for distractions. But as soon as he had, an alert popped up. A new notification from Grindr. Too focused on getting out of this shit town, he had not even thought of looking at the app, even out of perverse curiosity. But he opened the message nonetheless.
“Head-less tonight?” No photo attached, appealing stats, five miles away.
“Ha,” Steven replied, half-heartedly. “Always headless on Halloween.”
He put down the phone and went back to packing boxes. But the phone relented.
“I’d like to check in on your head. How is it.”
“Never had any complaints.” Stephen replied. An Elvira camp class. Probably not something the Southern simpletons would get.
“Ah, a mistress of the dark. I’ll take you in the dark. What do you say.”
“Ha. Kind of busy here tonight. Besides, I don’t do blank profiles,” Steven replied.
“But we’re so close.”
Stephen checked his phone again. In the space of a few messages, this headless stranger had gone from miles away to five hundred feet away.
Whatever, he thought. Some hot torso was not going to be the thing that got in the way of his escape. It was probably just a glitch in GPS anyway. Service was notoriously bad in these small Southern towns. He was going to use the sale of his parent’s house to finally invest in a house on Fire Island; the future was good. Back to packing, and then back to sleep.
He kept at it for about an hour, plugging away and the decided it was time for bed. Which meant a sheet on the mattress that his parents had been killed on. Not exactly an appetizing way to fall asleep, but he needed a good night’s rest. Steven threw the sheet down, slipped out of his t-shirt and jeans, only wearing a pair of tight black briefs that shown his thick cock and bulbous ass. “If those jocks could see me now.”
He picked up his phone to set the alarm and saw that his phone had been blowing up with messages from Grindr. The headless torso had been particularly persistent.
“Come on man, we’re so close. Just a quick blow job.”
“Dude. I’m so horny.”
“I’ve got weed. Come on.”
“Fuck you man. Such a cocktease. I fuckin hate guys like you.”
Steven couldn’t be bothered. He would normally use some of the many photos he had received to jerk off, but tonight he was too tired. He would just slip into bed and fall asleep. Not even the trauma the house had seen would keep him awake. The trick-or-treaters had passed, and he could rest. And that’s what he did. As soon as he reclined, he was out, in the still of the southern night.
Steven jolted back to consciousness, thinking it was his alarm. But he was quick enough to tell it was still dark and there was a leather glove over his mouth and a body on top of his. Was this a wet dream, a BDSM fantasy? Facedown, he could feel an erection growing in his briefs, touching against the mattress. And there was a weight on his back.
“Shut up you faggot. You think you ignore just because you’re from the big city,” the voice on top of him said with a drawl.
Steven squealed and squirmed. This was no fantasy.
“Yeah I bet you like it rough you faggot.” He had not realized it but in the middle of his sleep, someone had cuffed his hands and locked his legs in a plastic spreader.
The body on top of his was smooth and muscular. Steven couldn’t see who was up there, but he could tell it was someone hot, and that turned him. His body relaxed some knowing this was more erotic than he thought, though he knew he was still in some kind of peril. With his back arched, he could feel his attacker’s muscular torso against his. And he could tell the attacker was shirtless. No, that wasn’t right—there was something cold. A nipple ring? No, a leather harness. It was the metal rings he felt. Kinky. The force of the attacker’s muscles kept him pinned and submissive.
The attacker let his hand off of Steven’s mouth, and, incredulous, Steven said nothing. But he barely had a chance to before he felt a ballgag shoved in his mouth and tied firmly in place behind his head. “Don’t even try to scream, faggot. You think yer so clever, cleanin’ up after my victims. No faggots gets to escape from this town alive. Not ’til I have my way with him first anyway.”
With his body totally suspended, Steven just laid there, face down. He felt his attackers weight shift over his body, the leather gloves forcefully but sensually run over his muscular shoulders and down his back beylikdüzü escort where they stopped on his briefs. A tug on the elastic waist band, he felt the night air escape toward his ass, and then they snapped back to his body. The leather gloves shifted again and he felt a hard smack land on his ass. It would leave a mark. Another one. Wham. And then he felt the cloth of his briefs lift up from his body. A rip. His crack was fully exposed, as if he was wearing a jock strap. One leather glove caressed the soft hairs of his bottom while the other made a popping sound, as if coming out a mouth. Steven could only assume what was happening, unable to turn on his back. But he knew what was happening the moment a saliva-wet went finger plunged into flexible hole.
“Wouldn’t expect a faggot like you to have such a tight hole. Thought you would be well used,” the voice growled.
Steven’s body tightened as the index finger dug deeper into his ass. It was not a gentle finger but it felt amazing, this warm, well-worn weather in his ass. Involuntarily, his back arched and his butt stuck out, offering his hole to his attacker. Everything about the situation was confusing him. Steven felt terrified, with these promises of death. He had only dabbled in S&M, a bit skittish about it. He had avoided Southerners in his sexual partners, for fear of triggering childhood anxieties. But he also felt incredibly turned on, as if no sex would ever be better than what was going to transpire.
“Oh you like it faggot don’t you.” Steven nodded, unable to speak.
He felt the other leather glove come off his ass and then some piece of skin landed on him. It was a fat cock, growing thicker and harder and as his attacker slapped it against Steven’s ass. It sat there for a moment and Steven felt something cold and hard slide against his ass. The closes association he had ever felt was a metal dildo, but this was finer. It ran up his back, scratching an itch. He became sensitive to the sweat on his back—unsure if it was his own, if it was from excitement or fear—and felt the metal run back down him. It ran across his underwear band and he felt the band removed from his body. Had the attacker bit through it.
No. This was a knife. Steven realized this and his attacker’s cock got even harder. And oddly, so did his.
Suddenly, the attacker, snatched Steven’s head and pulled him up on his knees, his back mashed against his attackers soft, muscular flesh. His attacker’s cock wedged tightly between Steven’s buttocks. The attacker’s arms wrapped around Steven’s hairy muscular chest, and the blade now pushing into the flesh of Steven’s cheek. He could feel something wet against him. Blood?
He could also see the blade. He imagined a steak knife, but this was much bigger. A chopping knife, sharp and gleaming in the light of the moon.
The attacker’s hand reached down Steven’s torso, brushing all the hair that ran from his chest down his six-pack abs. Running through his thick pubic hair, he grabbed Steven’s engorged cock.
“Yer a really nasty faggot, aren’t cha,” the attacker growled in Steven’s ear. “Liking it nice and rough.”
In lieu of noise, Steven’s eyes widened. He didn’t know what to do.
“Answer me faggot,” the voice barked.
Steven moaned through his ballgag, as if to say yes.
“Yeah, that’s right. You want my big cock to seed you don’t you.” His attacker pulled him close, the knife pressing into his skin. He could feel some kind of mask over the attacker’s face, something leather, but nothing to muffle his voice. It was too hot for the horror that was going to ensue.
The attacker forced Steven’s body back onto the mattress with a shove, and Steven went down softly. He felt him lunge for his ass again, the leather gloves parting his hole and something cold and thick went wedged there. God this can’t be a knife Steven thought. He was wrong, sort of. It was the hilt of the knife, thick and hard. Would this be it? Would he be ripped open from inside?
Steven felt the hilt of the knife move around in his anus. Squishing in and out, lodged behind his tight muscular buttocks. It was oddly pleasurable, almost as good as a cock. This must be why people enjoy knife play, he thought amidst images of his life flashing before him. Bu with no warning, his attacker grabbed the knife and snatched it out of his hole, leaving an empty feeling. He took Steven by his the chains of his handcuffs and snatched him off the bed, throwing his body against a nearby wall. His body smacked loudly against the drywall, and for a moment, he couldn’t move.
But the change in position benefitted him; his cheek pressed against the wall, he could see his attacker coming at him out of the corner of his eye. He had a strong build: like an aged football player, his muscles masked behind a slight layer of fat. He had a sexy dad bod, and it was on full display, save for the studded leather belt around his waist that held a leather jock pouch his cock had long since freed itself from and a leather mask across his eyes. The kinky fucker slowly stepped toward Steven and grabbed him by the shoulders, flipped his body around willingly with his available hand, and forced him to the ground by Steven’s defined shoulders. Steven’s face was at the attacker’s hard cock: he got his first good look at and it was raging hard, red from pent up energy. His balls were engorged, as if he had months worth of cum inside. No wonder this man was on a murderous rage.