BDSM Library - Story: You Can Never Go Home, Chapter: Part 3

You Can Never Go Home 3 - Remedial School

by Emile

Greg put up his hand again, revealing his sweat stained pit to the class. The shirt was too small for him and clung to his massive frame, hugging his biceps and cutting in to his flaring chest under the armpits, and when he sweated, which was most of the time thanks to the pills he'd been given, it soaked through immediately, the damp material going translucent. As his hand went up, the top button popped open, revealing the cleft of his pecs and the itchy hair that had begun to grow back.

"please sir I gotta go to the bathroom"

"that's have to go young man, and there's still 20 minutes left of class. all the others can control themselves until break, I don't see why you should be any different. And button up your shirt, this isn't a sloppy pinko school like your used to"

"but please, I really really need to go. I, uh, drank lots of water before class..."

Mr Jones glanced down under Greg's table at the thick log straining against his tight grey uniform pants, unsupported since he wore no underwear. As the new boy in class, he made him sit at the front, and enjoyed seeing the kid's swollen cock struggling against the undersized school pants he was forced to wear. He'd been in shock when they'd reminded him that in this state, it was mandatory to finish twelfth grade, and as far as they were concerned, he had left before the end of tenth. Of course as an adult he could do as he pleased, but that was still precious months away. The 20 year old was horrified he'd have to attend school with guys 4 years his junior, guys who'd seen him butt naked and stretched out in hospital only a few weeks before. Juvenile jocks that had screwed with his body and written obscene messages all over him. Now he was sitting in class in an ill fitting uniform, barely able to squeeze in to the smaller desks, his tight arse pushed back over the edge of the seat, legs bulging out apart in front. The kids were constantly dropping things down his shirt, making him buck as they tickled his shoulderblades, so he jerked up in the seat, banging his crotch against the underside. He was wedged to tightly he'd lift the desk up with him, so most the class called him "The Hulk", and not in a kind way.

That was minor though, and his greater struggle was to adjust to the new pecking order. Not just teachers controlling his school hours - when he could stay or go, what work he had to do, when he could piss, but also the seniors, who had free reign to order about the lower years. And if they lorded over the others, making them pick up papers or kicking them off benches, then they saved up their worst for Greg. Especially the school captain, Austin. Before class, he'd cornered Greg in the corridor with three of his mates, handing him a full two quart water bottle. The water was cloudy, and Greg could see hairs swirling about in the mix.

"drink this douchebag"

"I gotta get to class, the bells are going"

"Well then little fuckface, you better start chugging..."

"Please guys, this stuff doesn't look right, I don't think you can..."

"Shut the fuck up and squeeze your pretty lips over the top. Atta boy. Of course it's not your regular juice, but who the fuck cares. We hooked it up to the overflow in the gym showers. The basketball team just finished practice, can you taste the jig sweat?"

The taste was foul - the overflow drained the duckboards between the showers and the changeroom, where the sweaty athletes stood waiting for a free shower head, and after showering shook off their bodies before towelling down. While they waited, the guys would have jerk off competitions, making the anteroom a sweatbox of testosterone. Greg chugged the mixture of sweat, soap and sperm, gagging whenever a prickhair caught in his teeth or slug of cum trickled down his throat. The bottle must've been there for days, slowly filling with crud suspended in filmy water. He coughed and choked two thirds of the way, and a mouthful of slop covered his chin, slaking down his neck and pecs, soaking into his hair and shirt.

They didn't let him go until he'd finished, and they were the last in the hall. He'd had to run, the mixture still coating his tongue and churning in his stomach, narrowly missing detention for Mr Jones' class. He couldn't afford another detention, if he missed the school bus, it was a 2 mile walk home, and he had chores to do. Old fashioned chores like clipping the grass with a sickle, and chopping wood. His dad said it was manly, but really he was too cheap to pay for fuel for the lawnmower or chainsaw, what with his son back and all.

But that was 10 minutes ago, and now his most pressing problem was the pressure on his bladder as the funky juice had percolated out of his stomach, making his dick swell with a painful piss hard on. Worse, the foreskin stretcher his dad made him wear, pulling a new hood over his fat cockhead, was a bitch to manage, and it would take him precious minutes with his dickflap just to get it free. If he didn't get it back on in time afterwards, his hooting skin would leak precum all over his pants, and he'd be in extra trouble from his father who wanted a nice long foreskin "just like the lord intended". Already the veiny skin hooted over the tip even when he was half hard, dong arching out of his body (which was most of the time), and all the guys laughed at him in the showers after gym. Envy drove them to ridicule his hulking buff body, his sparse regrowing hair and, of course, his scarred, but still impressive, unrelieved aching dong. His father insisted his foreskin stretch longer. Worse, the new found sensitivity of his glans drove him mad, especially when he was hard and it rubbed against something, like it was rubbing against the plastic clip now.

But tonight in particular he couldn't be late home. A pretty blonde senior, Mindy, had been flirting with him (apparently unaware of her classmates actions) and with his father's grudging approval, tonight they were going on a date. He knew he should just keep his head down until his birthday, but his dick lurched whenever she walked by, and what straight 20 year old guy wouldn't take a chance for a busty 18 year old like her. He just had to do his chores so he could pick her up at 6pm for dinner and a drive-in movie. In other words, some long needed action.

His cock was pretty bloated now, not just piss hard, but erect thinking of the upcoming date. Mr Jones slyly watched as the plum head pulsed against Greg's thigh.

"Okay Greg, you can go to the bathroom, after you finish this equation and explain it to the class."

Greg struggled out of the seat and to the board. The class tittered, a mixture of lust at his swaggering frame, and laughter at the clothes clinging to his body, sweat marks from his shoulders to his crack. And when he finally worked out the problem, distracted by the class and his own increasing need to piss, he had to stand, facing them, dick in clear outline, and slowly explain until they'd all gotten a good look at him, and Mr Jones had let him go. He tore down the corridor, bustling into a stall and ripping at the fly, desperate to free his cock. He yanked the stretcher off, grimacing as it pulled at his sensitive flesh, letting he head pop out and begin dribbling piss into the bowl. He let out a sigh, starting what'd be a long hard piss.

Unfortunately for Greg, he was interrupted before long. The bathroom doors banged open, and there was banging on his stall door, as someone began jimmying the lock. He barely had time to cut off the flow, splashing his shoes as he tried to turn around, before the door was flung open, pushing him back onto the exposed rim. Austin and his gang were standing there, fists balled.

"You ran straight past us, dickwad. Don't you know to show the proper respect when you see your seniors?"

Greg stammered, fumbling with his fly since his horsecock was still drooping out, head dripping, but Austin was in his face, and slapped his hands away. He could feel piss from the rim soaking into the seat of his pants. He was angry they'd barged in, humiliated by their stupid rule that he say "Hi Austin" every time he passed him. He looked like a pathetic groveller to the rest of the school, especially since they all publicly ignored him. Anyway, he hadn't seen them, as they were probably skipping class themselves. But he figured the sooner he placated them, the sooner he could get back to pissing, and class.

"Uh, sorry Austin, I guess I didn't see you..."

"That ain't good enough. To busy playing with your mule cock to care eh? Okay then, cumbreath, keep playing..."

"Uh, I was pissing man, I wasn't..."

"Sure freak, and I'd bet they're just naturally bald pubes too. Now shut the fuck up and get jerking, before we get really mad"

Greg burned with humiliation, it was true, even though his chest and pit hair had begun to grow back, around his cock and balls the hair was still ridiculously sparse, probably from the number of shaves and salves they'd applied. His fat cock did look freakish thrusting out from his bald crotch, but not nearly as bad as when it was fully pumped, his balls hanging smooth and shiny below. Reluctantly, Greg took his long cock in his right hand and began pumping. The oversized salami didn't take long to plump up, he hadn't cum in weeks and the sensation as his hand rubbed over the exposed head was ecstasy, almost too much. His dicklips burped precum like a leaky soda fountain. His breathing grew heavy and his body tensed, focused on the rock hard tool in his slick hand. He half closed his eyes in the haze of fucklust, tuning out the embarrassment of jerking off in front of the bullies, but the sound of Sam, the stocky quarterback's voice brought him back to reality. To his horror, all were groping their own bulges and grinning evilly.

"Told you he was a fag, Austin, look at him creaming over us! Can't have dickwads like him gagging for it all over us, I think we should teach him a lesson..."

Sam pushed Austin aside, sliding his finger down the cleft of Greg's chest, popping the buttons open until his fingernail caught against the silver chain around his neck. The short chain was a gift from a girl back east, which he treasured, and he'd only convinced his dad to let him keep because he used it to hold his locker key. The seniors had thought it was a hoot to knock him in the hall as he unlocked the padlock with it still around his neck, half choking him, and he'd been very protective of it since. Sam grabbed it, wrenching the chain up over his head and carrying it off out of the room. Greg cried out, but was held back by the palm of Austin's hand planted firmly on his chest.

Please guys give me my locker key back, I need it for school...

Don't worry Greggy boy, we'll make sure your locker's open for you.

Uh, right, it's just the chain's ... uh ...

What about the chain? Is it something special dumbfuck? A pwesent from mommie?

Uh, no Austin, it's nothing, I'm just used to having it, that's all, and people would notice if it was gone, and ask questions. Maybe notice that you took it...

Oh, you got balls, fucker. You're threatening me?

Austin was leaning in, his chiselled face only inches from Greg's own. Greg could probably match him for strength, but not all of them, and he wondered if it was worth the gamble. But Austin smiled, breaking the tension.

Well Greg is a man after all! Who'd have thought?

This was good, Greg thought, perhaps really good. But then Austin kept going.

So the real question is, how much do you want your precious chain? What will you give us? You know Rey, Greg? He's one of the basketballers. Asked what we were doing with the bottle when we were in the gym. When he heard there was this oversized tenth grade cuntface, he grinned, said his brother had told him all about you. Jacob. Something about you sucking cock in the clinic...

His grin grew as fast as Greg's faded, and he finished by popping the buttons of his fly, letting his own fat and none-to-clean fucker flop out. His hose was already half hard and growing, a thick purple cigar, the head popping out of the smelly foreskin. The gang may have been two years younger but they were still fully grown men, each sporting an 8 inch bruiser, except Austin whose hefty schlong came close to rivalling Greg's formerly impressive porn cock, the same tree-root shape they'd hacked out from his. Austin knew it, standing close enough that when he unbuttoned his fly, the head sprung out inches from Greg's face, spraying cockcheese across his lips. He opened his mouth to protest but the spunk trickled in, and before he could wipe it away, Austin's hands had grabbed his own, his bulbous helmet pressing against his lips. Austin held his wrists tightly with one hand, pinning them up against the back wall, and used his other hand to grab Greg's mop of hair, forcing the blunt cockhead into his mouth. To the hoots and cheers of Toby, the other jock, Austin leaned in and facefucked Greg, standing between his naked spread legs, his pants grazing Greg's embarassingly hard cock with every thrust. In a few minutes he started panting and swearing, dick leaking junk down Greg's abused throat, until with a hard thrust that almost gagged him, he pumped volley after volley of thick spunk down Greg's gullet, clogging his throat with cum.

He slowly calmed down, still pinning Greg's arms up, but rather than releasing them, he pulled his wrists higher, grabbing the toilet chain and tying his wrists together. This stretched Greg's arms up, forcing him to sit up and stretching the half open shirt up so scratched against his chest and pit stubble, and exposed his entire midsection. Greg squirmed, not only was the shirt pulling at his chest, but the starched fabric was frustratingly itchy against his big nipples, which were still extra sensitive after all the prodding and creams that the nurses had insisted on applying. As if sensing his frustration, Austin gave his left nipple a painful squeeze, making the itch worse, before tucking himself in and slinking out of the stall.

Toby, still wearing his football gear, shucked the pants over his tackle and took Austin's place. Without more than a grunt, he began facefucking Greg with the same careless brutality of Austin, his shorter 8 inch cock jabbing against Greg's tonsils instead of sliding down his throat like Austins. When he came, he pulled back, so cum exploded into Greg's mouth, coating his tongue and dribbling out the sides. Greg's biceps ached from holding his hands aloft, and his mouth ached from the pain of two rapes. Humiliated, his cock drooped to half mast. But there was more to come. Sam had returned, and hauled his own stocky cock out to join the party. Greg had heard rumours Sam wasn't his father's son, and to see his dark brown hooting latino dork, he realised he might not be the all-american boy he pretended. The face fuck was as passionate and angry as the mexican cocks in the clinic, and his cum was strong and acrid. But when he finished, wiping his cock off on Greg's face, Sam's real humiliation began. He'd brought back not only Greg's key and chain, but the padlock as well, saying nothing of what he'd done to Greg's locker. He reached down and slid Greg's foreskin back, looping the sliver chain around his glans a few times, before letting the skin slide back. He dangled the other end into the bowl, and let go. Immediately the heavy lock tugged down on Greg's cock, pulling it into the toilet water, the key and lock at the bottom of the bowl.

Okay Greg you can have your chain back. But if you flush now, the water will rip the chain away. If you can stay that way until the end of period, we'll let you go. Oh, better make you more comfortable...

Sam unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, so he was completely exposed from neck to knee, his cock pulled savagely out from his waist and into the bowl, legs spread wide to support him since his arms were pulled so tight. Sam's cock was still half hard, and he held it firmly, letting out a stream of hot piss which splashed on Greg's cock and ran into the bowl. If he lowered his arms, the toilet would flush, splashing all over his hanging dork and belly, and pulling his silver chain down the drain. They each pissed in the water after Sam, so the acrid yellow pool swirled ominously around his tackle. As a parting gift, Austin scrawled in marker across his chest "Target practice" with a big target symbol drawn over his abs. As if to reinforce what they meant, Sam slugged him in the belly, winding him as he hung there in the stall.

They left the stall door wide open, so he could be seen from the moment you stepped in the bathroom. They'd come back between classes to release him, they said, but that was still 15 minutes away. For 10 minutes he fought a private struggle, getting his breath back, trying to keep his meaty arms up against their own weight, and in holding back his full bladder, all the while exposed to the door, fearful of every footstep outside. Finally he could hold his bladder no longer, just the pressure was making him sweat again, and let out a long piss into the already filthy bow.

And as he did, the bells went, and the bathroom doors burst open as guys raced in to take a leak before class. Their surprise quickly turned to glee as they saw the pissing jock and the sign on his chest. To his horror, they took Austin's sign to mean piss practice, and guys started lining up, ignoring his pleas to piss on him. He couldn't believe it, guys much younger than him just laughed when he begged them to let him go, hauling out their cocks and pissing directly on him. Some were shy, averting their eyes as they nailed his chest or waist, others glared into his eyes with malice. Either way, he was soaked in no time, his shirt splashed with urine. When the piss hit the exposed dong, it made it lurch, something the guys quickly noticed and aimed for. Some even tweaked his sensitive nipples or put their fingers in his mouth as they pissed, treating him like their personal toy. News spread, and soon half the school was lined up - not just seniors but guys from his classes and lower as well. The bowl filled quickly, almost overflowing, his balls and drooping cock immersed. But the bigger embarrassment, he discovered, was not the filth, which he couldn't avoid whether or not he flushed, but the humiliation of seeing dozens of guys dicks up close as they voluntarily pissed on him, ignoring his plight. How could he be friends, or even look at a guy, without thinking of his fat stinking tool drooping down pissing on him? He felt himself sinking to the bottom rung of the school hierarchy. Eventually his hands gave up their struggle, and to a dozen guys' cheers, the toilet flushed, splashing everywhere, not just his thighs but slopping over, soaking his pants as well. The pain was excruciating as the chain was wrenched from his cock, pulling at the delicate lining as it scraped free. The chain disappeared, sucked into the vortex of the flushing water.

The bells went and the line dropped off, until the last few took their leaks in the newly refilling bowl. He hung his head down, horrified to see his precious key and chain had disappeared, only the lock remained at the bottom of the bowl. There was still no sign of Austin when the last guy lingered in the bathroom. He was the basketballer Austin had talked about, a tall black dude called Rey. He almost looked sheepish as the last guy left and unhooked Greg's beefy arms from the toilet chain, letting them drop to his sides at last. He even grabbed him by the waist, slinging an arm over his shoulder, helping him shakily up on his feet. He was a mess, clothes ruined, covered in piss, mouth still aching and cummy, his hairless cock sore and throbbing. Greg thought he was helping release him. Boy was he wrong. The arm around his waist dropped, and before he could react he felt Reb's thick finger worming in to his tender arsehole. His sore sphincter had only just begun to regain its elasticity from the rough cucumber rape and medical exams, his cherry red and inflamed, and he knew it might never again be normal. Until now, he'd been spared actual anal rape, but he realised this was about to change.

"Hey hey I knew I'd find you soon. Jake and Austin bin telling me all about you. Jake didn't let me come to the clinic, he's got a real problem with me doing guys. Sez splitting cunts is just fine, but he don't know the pleasure of ramming big daddy dong leg inna tight bung hole. See cunts is too moist, an I like it rough!"

He dragged Greg over to the sink, letting him drop so he had to put his hands out to stop himself slamming against the porcelain. This suited Rey fine, as it gave him prime access to his hole, and when Greg tried to turn he slapped him back, facing the mirror so he could see everything going on behind him. Rey kind of pouted, thumbing at his pants, which throbbed from an obviously enormous bulge. As he pushed down with his thumbs, Greg's attention went from the familiar features of the young guy, to the wiry bush emerging from the waistband, and then the long black cock that inched out.

"Oh yeah man, they don' call it big daddy dong leg for nuthin. You gonna feel this good!"