BDSM Library - Story: Nick\'s Summer, Chapter: Part 4

Nick's Summer 4 - College Fund

by Emile

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Nick wasn't feeling too great - maybe from the pills that made him flushed and dizzy, maybe from the overpowering tang of dried cum as the blunt cockhead forced its way through his lips. The dude's foreskin was longer and thicker than Nicks, and even rock hard, the skin hugged the head. Now it was slowly peeling back as it pushed into his mouth, gobs of dickdrool bubbling out from underneath. More sap burped from the head, trickling down the back of Nick's throat as the clubbed cock forced its way down. Nick looked up at the random dude the farmhands had given him over to. He was a stocky, swarthy guy, 6'2", rippling arms and tree-trunk legs, pumped wrestlers body and a thick dick to match. His chest, arms and legs were covered in dark hair he kept clippered, a little shorter than his sweaty pits and pubes. When they'd wrestled he'd taken pleasure trapping Nick in armholds and scissoring his legs, driving Nick's face into his bush. The thick hair had scratched against Nick's smooth body, and caught in his remaining chest hair, reminding him of his own masculinity denied. The dude had easily, and brutally, won the wrestling match, slamming Nick down and restraining him until he couldn't resist. Now he was claiming his trophy.

The dude grabbed the back of his head, pulling it up and back so he could get a better angle to facefuck him. Nick was propped against the end of the bed, arms and thighs spread wide and tied to the bedposts. The ropes around his thighs strained his legs wide, lifting him a little off the ground, which was lucky since the wrestler had claimed victory by stuffing a baseball bat 12 inches up his chute, and every time he slammed down into Nick's face, the bat's grip scraped against the floor, forcing the hefty wood another inch deeper. The warm grease lubed the path, and Nick was powerless to stop it. The wrestler's thick log pumped further and further with every thrust, cutting of air and making Nick light headed - his mind wandering back to his one sustaining thought - if only I can make it through the summer, and to college...

Last Summer...

College applications were due. Nick's father made sure he brought home forms for all the 'proper' schools - those with lots of teams, frats, hazing and other 'mens stuff'. He had no intention of forking out cash for his "faggoty son", but since Nick had a good chance at scholarships, he gave him a sporting chance. First task, after he picked him up, was a medical, required by the forms. He was led into an examination room by a young, handsome doctor, who was warm and friendly, reminiscing about football and college girls, until his dad interrupted, saying Nick wouldn't know about collage girls, that he liked to take it up the arse instead. Nick turned red, stammering something, but the doctor stopped listening and he pushed him forward forcefully, his voice turning cold.

Dressed in his best gear, Nick was roughly thrust onto an examination bench and his shirt was peeled open, pants stripped off, his whole body from the cleave of his chest to his wide spread thighs open to the doctors penetrating gaze. The doctor stepped forward, forcing Nick's thighs uncomfortably apart either side of him, and injected him with a drug, telling his dad that faggots were considered high risk for colleges, not just for disease, but because they were prone to injury. This, he explained, wasn't just the beatings they invited by parading around like sluts, but their obsessive need to cram huge objects up their arse. Unless properly trained, they could have weeks off the field from injuring themselves. He stretched a glove over his hand, telling Nick he was going to check that Nick's hole was elastic enough to take that abuse. Nick tried to protest, but his tongue was thick and body tingling, and he could barely move as the drug overtook him.

The doctor casually commented it looked like he had already been fucking himself quite brutally, enraging his dad, despite the fact that the damage was mostly the permanent stretching and scarring from the previous summer at the farm. His dad swore he'd need to ed-u-cate him more forcefully this summer. Meanwhile Nick had struggled with his own body, and with great effort had move his hand up to cover his hole to avoid the doctor's probing. The doctor slapped his hand away, telling him to stop playing with his arse. He pushed Nick's hands high above his head, making him strain as he secured them to the top rail of the bench. His shirt fell away from his body, exposing his shaved armpits to the young doc. His muscular arms and naked pits seemed to incense the doctor, who made a comment about hairless fagboys, even though he only submitted himself to the humiliating weekly body shave at his father's orders. He put down the speculum he was going to use to investigate him, telling his dad perhaps the "more traditional" method was called for.

Nick scrunched his head up on his chest, only to see through his abs what the test was - the doctor moving up between his wide thighs, spreading his cheeks and pushing his fingers against his anal ring. The doctor was rough and quickly wormed two fingers in, then three, four, until all five were pushed in. After months of recovery, the stretching was intense, and Nick tried to scream but couldn't make a sound. The doctor pushed in, the fingers widening the hole massively, until he'd thrusted up to his knuckles. With his free hand, he picked up an irrigation pump, a big brass tube at least 9 inches long and 7 inches diam, pushing it between his fingers and into Nick's tight hole. The sphincter clamped down on the brass barrel, but couldn't close, and the doctor forced the tube deep, stuffing Nick completely, before beginning to pump the handle. Nick hadn't noticed the tube from the end of the pump, but with each action, a jet of cold liquid was forced up his innards, until he was uncomfortably full. Still the doctor continued, until the pain was unbearable, and each new pump sent squirts of liquid out around the sides of the pump. Still, the monster barrel stayed firmly lodged up his arse. The doctor left it in, telling Nick's dad he'd have to leave it in for an hour or so to make sure. The doctor explained the liquid was dilute human growth hormone, which the body would slowly absorb. The doctor felt the HGH would release more testosterone, which might make a man of Nick yet, or at least might make him look man enough to keep the fags away. "Of course" he continued "he's quite muscular already, since he probably pumps iron to attract guys to fuck him, but in my studies I've found subjects with excessive growth - er, what you might call 'freakishly big' bodies - lose their ability to attract most normal men. A different kind of aversion therapy. Of course it may also affect his cock, but I think with some surgical modifications we can always cut it down to size when he's 21, so it looks right at least." Nick's head swum with images of his already buff body swelling out of all proportion, his big dick becoming even more unmanageably large, and then the idea of these guys cutting him open and downsizing his beautiful cock.

The doc rolled Nick's balls in his hand, and Nick groaned loudly, as they throbbed painfully at the touch. "Ah well, unfortunately the HGH sometimes penetrates the ballsac and makes the gonads irritated and sensitive. I'm afraid Nick will find with low hanging balls like his, a constant dull ache from the weight of the balls, unless well supported. Under no circumstances should they go unsupported, the swinging would make them unbearably painful - at least until the HGH wears off - about a month or two from now." Nick groaned again, not just from pain as the doctor let his balls drop back down beside the tube, but from the knowledge that the satin shorts he had to wear - only clothing he was allowed on the farm - offered no support, letting his cock and balls flop free.

By now Nick's body was wracked with sweat, and tears rolled down his cheeks as he helplessly looked on. The doctor noticed his long dick had swollen, flopped against his thigh, and pointed it out to Nick's dad as further evidence of his faggoty ways. In fact, with his bladder crushed between the liquid and his tight abdominals, his dick had pumped up with piss, which he tried to tell the doctor. His voice was barely a whisper, but for once the doctor heard, only to pick up a long, thick catheter from the table. He unceremoniously shoved the oversized tube in Nick's pisshole, ramming it down until it was stuck in his bladder. The pressure was intense, but instead of releasing it, he left the stopper closed, The doctor then said he'd make sure the catheter was properly in place before releasing it, which to Nick just felt like him slowly massaging his dicksleeve, jerking his fat cigar until the foreskin peeled back from the head and his nuts began to tighten. Nick closed his eyes, feeling half crazy, in part from the pressure on his bladder and arse, part from the arousing slow jerk, when the doctor suddenly stopped, and there was a flash of light. He slowly willed his eyes open as more flashes dazzled over his eyelids, only to see his father at the end of the bed, taking pictures of him, legs in foreground, overstuffed hole and bloated, plugged dick clearly visible against his pulsing muscles. "Smile boy, these are for the college forms. We wanna show them lads you bin properly examined now, don't we." More flashes rippled across his body as his father captured every filthy angle. "Stop blubbering boy, that's no face for military college! They're expecting these photos - I phoned ahead already - so don't you be fucking em up or we'll have to do it again later. Now doc, can you push the catheter up, so I can get a close up of his dong and shaved balls?"

So despite his school record on and off the field, Nick's applications were strangely turned down one after another, except two. One, for Fort Mead Military College, enthusiastically accepted him into their "Combat Research Program". The other was from "Nashville Football Academy", offering a full scholarship into their Sports Psychology major, as part of their team draft. He'd never heard of the academy (or the military college), but they'd been on his father's list, and of the two, the academy sounded infinitely better. The farmhands decided unilaterally to put his future to a secret ballot, their choice would be his graduation present. If he could survive this summer, he hoped he could go to Nashville and start anew. Lewis had already suggested, in a piledriving session on the tractor, that he might even be really lucky and get both - freshman year in Nashville, before transferring to Fort Mead. Nick thought otherwise, that starting Sport Psychology and dropping out would be worse than not studying at all, but with his arse jammed on the rattling tractor gearstick and mouth suctioned around Lewis' big dick, he was in no position to argue.

But, for the moment, all that was ahead of him. He was whipped back to reality as the wrestler pulled his slimy cock out of his mouth with a pop, strings of precum dangling from the head to his lips. "Look alive dickwad" he barked "after I fucked you, you gotta go earn your keep. Motel guy said if you wash down the men's john he'll organise your trip back home. Don't look so scared - you'll get to keep your greasy clothes, I'll even hack off the handle so you can keep that baseball bat. One thing, though, you gotta clean the floor on your hands and knees - with your tongue. And to show your 'preciation, I want your dick out and hard the whole time. I don't care how, but if I come in and you ain't face down, arse high with your dork drooling, I'll slap your nuts so hard you won't be able to walk for weeks. Understand?" Nick nodded, his throat choaking on dickslime as he tried to say yes. Satisfied, the wrestler released his taut thighs and hauled his legs up, pinning Nick's thighs to his waist. With one hand, the dude grabbed the grip, and pulled back, scraping the bat out of his arse. With the other he lined up the drooling cockhead, grinning at Nick. "Now boy, I ain't gentle, so this may hurt a bit." His cock was so blunt and thick it looked impossible to fit it into Nick's winking hole, despite the baseball bat. But with determination, the wrestler dude thrust his monstrous cock in to the hilt in one hard ploughing action, pistoning into Nick's hole with the copious dickdrool leaking from his cock. He was made to fuck, and Nick felt every thrust as the dick pulsed and expanded, before flooding his guts with cum. As always, Nick's own cock throbbed helplessly, burping sap from the arousal of his overstimulated prostate, but he wasn't there for his pleasure, and his dork remained stubbornly hard, unreleased.

"Awww, fuck yeah" the guy grunted, as he eventually pulled out. "I'm gonna enjoy knowing my batter's lubing your bat as you crawl round that bathroom floor." He picked up the wood, bringing it up to his knees and slamming it down. The timber splintered, leaving the 12 inch fat end with only a jagged edge. He pushed the smooth edge against Nick's hole, catching the first leakings of cum as they dribbled out, and stuffing them back in to him. He fed the whole bat in, until the sphincter tried to close against the jagged edge, catching on splinters. The splinters stabbed the raw flesh, even worse when the dude released him and slid the grease stained long pants up to his narrow waist, hugging his arse and clinging to the curve of his cock, except the exposed bare root above the waistband. "There you go, those sharp edges should stop it slipping out before you're good and ready to get it removed. Now scoot, there's a bathroom to lick clean." He tucked Nick's greasy shirt into the waistband at the back, sliding the fabric between his arsecheeks. He was like a filthy party boy gone wrong. "You just leave your shirt there for now, or it'll just get in the way."

Nick stumbled out of the motel room, into the blazing sun, and scurried around to the johns before anyone saw him. The bathrooms were warm and rank, and had clearly not been cleaned for months. Stale piss was splashed around the urinals, slimy puddles in every stall. It looked like a local haunt, as the cesspools were clogged with slugs of cum floating in spilt toilet water. Nick sank to his knees, and got on all fours, using a push-up position to lower his head over the tiles. He stuck out his tongue so just the tip would touch, and began haltingly lapping at the tile. Even here in the cleanest part, he could taste dirt and piss. He lapped the tile again, before a kick in the arse sent him flying across the room, sprawling him in one of the stalls. He scrambled back into crouched position, and the bodybuilder came up, slamming his boot down between Nick's wide shoulder blades, forcing his chest and face deep into one of the cummy puddles. The dude leant down, pressing his head down side on, so the cum clogged in his hair and trickled into his mouth. "This is how close I wanna see you lick them tiles boy. Nick grunted assent, and the swarthy guy took his hand off Nick's head, and foot off his back. Nick started licking furiously, but still felt a blinding pain as the wrestler swung back and kicked him from behind, hooking his toes up to slam against his balls. "Just a taste of the ballbashing you'll get if you disobey" he snorted.