BDSM Library - Nick\'s Summer

Nick's Summer

by Emile

__________

Nick got into his dad's SUV, dreading the next three months of summer holidays. Only minutes before they'd been in the airport, his dad joking along with his lacrosse teammates, slapping him on the back, but now they were on their own.

"Get out of them clothes boy" he barked. "I won't have no uppity college blazers in this car - think you're too good for me, is that it?" He pulled the blazer and shirt over his head, revealing his taut, tanned torso, muscles rippling from a solid year of sport. He'd thickened out quite a bit over the year, and his bulging pecs had sprouted a thick covering of fur. He quickly slid his pants down his tree-trunk legs, until he was just in boxers. "All clothes, boy!" he said, yanking the shorts so they ripped off his tight waist. His thick uncut dong flopped out, the foreskin hugging the glans. Last year he'd already copped flak for his 'garbage hose' and he realised sickeningly that it had grown even larger and thicker since then. His big balls were also hanging lower and covered in fuzz, despite his dad's strict rules. "What's that filthy horsecock boy? You some mule, wid your ugly veiny shit. You ain't shaved boy - big trouble. I'd bet you jerk off every day, pumping that filthy prick - eh?" His dad was strict about coming, said it was the devils work, and he'd gone though the year with aching blue balls, in constant fear of cumming for what his dad would do. Still driving, his dad told him to assume the position. Reluctantly, Nick crouched on the seat, his big feet arched to support his butt, thighs spread wide, and reached back to grab the headrest. Not only did the position leave him completely exposed to his dad and any passing viewer, but to keep balance he had to grip the headrest tightly, to stop him rocking on his feet. Within a few minutes, his body was covered with an oily sheen of sweat from the exertion, and sweat poured from his exposed pits. His dad screwed his nose up at his armpit sweat, and grabbed his dork with one hand, slipping his thumb under the sensitive glans, massaging the foreskin over his nub. His thick dick hardened. It was so meaty that he got light-headed when it was fully erect, and his dad watched gleefully as he struggled to keep balance, his breath and cock under control. It only took a few moments for the thick dork to get rock hard and start drooling pre-cum. With the constant aching need for release, once he was hard he could drool for hours, in throbbing agony. Just as Nick seemed to be getting close, his dad pulled away, wiping his sap covered hand on Nick's thick chest hair. Nick was still bucking against the air, eyes closed, when his dad slipped his hand back, this time under his thigh, smacking his drooping balls out of the way so he could finger Nick's tight hole. Nick hated arseplay - how many other jocks had their pussies fucked hard all summer - but still pushed back on his dad's hands like he was taught. And that's how summer started, Nick drooling scum and impaling himself on his dad's thick roving fingers while they sped down the freeway to the house.

After about an hour of exerting driving, they pulled into the drive. His dad slipped his fingers from Nick's tender hole, and he slipped from his embarassing fucklust, opening his eyes. As usual, the place teemed with people, mostly farm and stable hands, who were all looking forward to Nick's annual visit. Since his 16th birthday, he was fair game on the farm - any of the men no matter how greasy, young or old, could do as they pleased with him, observing only the usual pecking order of the farm. Now getting fucked by and sucking off a dozen guys was pretty bad, but most of them delighted in making Nick really suffer, especially with constant cock control. As they drove in, his dad let him sit back down, the seat squelching with sweat and precum, and threw him his only clothing for the summer - a pair of red satin micro-shorts. The shorts had no elastic, and stayed up only by resting on his dickroot and the curve of his arse, which was fair since there was only enough material to just support his balls from there anyway. The pouch was small, so small that his dick kept sliding out, slapping against his thigh for all to see. House rules were that Nick was to 'be decent' at all times, although he was also forbidden from touching his dick or balls without permission, so if he slipped out, he had to ask a farmhand to tuck him in. Of course the farmhands always demanded payment for the service, in addition to the humiliation it caused, and the free feel-up. He fumbled for the short, his bag and the door, but not fast enough - the door was wrenched open by Lewis, the lead farm hand, who grabbed him by the neck, forcing him to fall to the ground. He landed heavily on all fours, arse in the air, cock dangling for all to see. "Welcome home dickface."he grunted. "You stay like that til I say." He heard the men talk, but didn't dare lift his face from the dirt. Then he felt Lewis' powerful presence next to him, crouching over his naked body. Lewis' hand slid down his back, caressing his wide lats, his buttcheek, fingers just grazing his butthole. Nick gasped in anticipation, but Lewis just chuckled, letting his hand slide further down so he could wrap his fingers around Nick's dangling sac and beerbottle dong. As he closed his fist and pulled down, he leant in and whispered in Nick's ear - "The boys and I have spent all winter comin up with things to do to you boy ... and your daddie's given us a free hand." He was pulling down hard now, and the pain on his heavy nuts and dicktube was intense. "Now school's out, its open season on your sweet body..." With a tug he let go, getting up and ordering to two of the farmhands - "Take this cumdump to the outhouse, we got some work to do!"

The outhouse was a rank shed near the barn - an old corrugated iron toilet block, it was hot and musty and unused - except when Nick visited. The guys grabbed Nick under the armpits, half dragging him to the outhouse. They dumped him in the first stall, above which was scrawled "Shaving Room". They were both at least 6", solid bruisers with hairy chests and leering grins. "You proud of your chest hair boy?" the bigger one asked, scratching his pec. Nick knew the guy - Reb, to be one of the most sadistic fuckers on the farm - who really enjoyed mentally screwing with Nick. Whatever he said Reb would twist it, so he meekly nodded, trying not to show how much his body hair meant to him. Reb backhanded him, saying "Be clear boy. Are you proud, boy? Like you want us to keep it?" Nick desperately wanted to, and so even though he was reluctant, he looked up and said yes. The other grinned. "if you say so boy, then all we gotta do is shave 'Cunt' into the chest hair, and you can keep the rest." Nick was horrified, and blurted out "Agh you'll humiliate me - shave it all off." Reb just grinned. "Whoee boy, you don't get to choose now. It's cunt for you, and just for that, we're not gonna shave, we got some long term hair remover instead. So there's 'CUNT' for the chest, and then your crotch, pits, arms and legs. Thems orders. But first, you can do us a favour..." Reb sat on the throne, legs spread, and hefted his meaty cock out of his pants. It already was leaking tangy precum. He told Nick to blow him, "gym-style". Nick got to his knees in push-up position, fists planted wide so his pumped arms were akimbo and rippled chest exposed. He took the head of the sticky shaft in his mouth, and began rocking back and forward on his fists, deep throating the farmhand. The guys loved it, not only was his sexy jock body on display, arms, chest and tapered back straining, but this way he fucked himself for them, so they could sit back and relax and let him do the work. The guy groaned in esctasy as Nick began vacuuming his dick, and scooted forward, resting his arms behind his head, while Nick laboured to take his long cock all the way down his windpipe. His high tight arse was too much temptation for the other farmhand, and soon Nick felt his wet blunt cockhead pressing against his hole. With no lube but his clear pre-sap, the second guy fed his thick cuntstuffer into Nick's tight hole, letting Nick do the work on his backstroke. Soon they were in a rhythm, fucking Nick hard from both ends as he rocked his musclestud body between them. This was going to be a long, hard summer.

Ten minutes later, their cumslop still leaking from his mouth and arse, they sat Nick on the old toilet spread wide, put on thick gloves and began smearing the gel all over him, except his chest where one artfully traced out the humiliating word. The gel stung his skin, especially his dick and balls, and he cried out. The guys grinned, and slopped some more all over the veiny shaft, slipping goo under the wide foreskin so it was trapped against the sensitive head. To keep him from crying out, one of the guys took off his singlet and shoved it in Nick's mouth. "You can pay for that later". The singlet was dank with sweat which trickled down his throat, joining the stud's cum. The other massaged his dicksleeve, bringing Nick to painful hardon, and played with his sap burping dicklips, making them sting as well. "Welcome home, boy"

Half an hour later, they threw water on his naked body, and his hair fell away, until only his chest with its obscene message was left hairy. His dick and balls looked even bigger without hair, and still ached from the trapped gel under the dickflap. He begged the guys to wash it off too, and Reb reached down, gently frigging his cock with his gel covered glove. "Cumdumps dont get favours". Then the other guy had an idea - hey Reb remember the brown cream Lewis got? - and they began smearing this thick brown lotion over his exposed body. They explained the cream would tighten his skin - so his veins would be in high relief. They even smeared it on his dick and balls, making them painfully contract. The cream was banned in the US - had some pigment dye - but they didn't care. They didn't put any on his chest, so the message would remain his light honey skin colour, and traced around a big arrow starting at his navel, over his abs, with the arrow head ending on the root of his dick, just where the two veins came in. They did the same on his lower back finishing at his arsecrack.

The effect was obscene - when they scaped off the excess gel, he was dark as a mule, except a light tan "cunt" on his chest and two huge arrows pointing at his veiny horsecock and bubble butt. Reb took out a marker pen, and scrawled "Keep me droolin" on his abs, and "Stretch me" on his lower back. "You'll be a busy piggie" they chuckled. Nick, not having permission to speak, could just grunt in humiliation, his hazel-green eyes wide. The farmhands liked it when he was dark tan like this - usually at the end of summer, he looked a bit like a nigger, and they'd have fun taking him places, like the rough bars in town, and letting (other) rednecks have their fun with him.

It was getting late so they threw him the shorts and told him to get ready for dinner. Nick was starved, it'd been hours since he ate, so he pulled on the shorts quickly. The flimsy material slipped from his waist almost immediately, so from the front his smooth abs were exposed to the root of his cock - a good 2 inches of veiny cockflesh arching away from his waist and holding up the cloth. The large arrow showed proudly, pointing out his half naked dick from 20 paces. The line of the cloth was not much higher on his bubble butt, an inch of crack showing, perfect for wandering hands. The rest of his fat fucker hung loosely down one leg, every ripple visible through the cloth, while his low hanging balls dangled down the other, unsupported, they would painfully swing and be slapped by his thighs as he ran (he was pushed all the time to stop him slackening). His smooth, dark tanned body looked even more obscene against his hairy barrel chest - half man's body, half punk's.

The men looked at their watches and told him it was 6.27pm. Since he wasn't allowed in the main house anymore, he had to eat with the farmhands. As the bosses son, he still could eat with the leading hands, but they sat down at 6.30, and if he wasn't there on time they'd turn him away. That meant eating with the ranchers and workmen, who were roughest with him. If he ran, he could make it, but as he turned to leave, Reb grabbed him, holding his arse with one hand, and his head with the other. He gave Nick a long, probing french kiss, kneading his arse through the shorts until Nick's dick began to rise and leak junk. He kept this up for a few minutes, and then let Nick go. Nick bolted to the leading hand's shed, his nutsack bashing against his legs until it was numb with pain. He arrived too late, and they turned him away. He then had to run back to the workmen's shed, on the lower field. By the time he got there, most of the men had eaten. He went to the kitchens, but the men began coming for seconds, shoving him back in the line. He could feel their eyes on him, reading the obscene messages, and the shoves were more calculated - one pushing his jaw, knocking him away, another grazing his chest, scraping hair and dragging on his nips. Soon the guys had finished the food, and he was forced to begging for scraps. The guys had fun with this - Reb gave him a tray and made him ask every table for their scraps. The rough workers showed their contempt for the owners by taking it out on Nick, hawking spitballs into pie and softening up bread crusts by mopping up their armpit and arse sweat. Once his plate was piled high, the guys manhandled him to a place, groping at his unprotected body. It was filled by a burly guy, Jay, and they made him sit on his knee, his arsecheeks pressed into the guy's crotch, and his legs spread so his tackle flopped against Jay's thigh. They decided to play a game - guess who's meal - and so they blindfolded him and tied his arms behind his back. Every guy he got right had to leave him alone for a day. Every one wrong he had to suck. Jay held him in place, his hand cupping Nick's sac, which he carelessly kneaded in his palm, while he fed him the leftovers. Each gross body fluid drenched morsel Jay forced into his mouth, pushing his fingers in until Nick gagged. As Nick chewed and guessed, he idly kneaded Nick's big aureoles, making him arch his back and thrust his tits out. The stimulation and heat of the press of bodies was making him hot and horny, and it became impossible to concentrate on the game. By the time he was finished he was slick with sweat, tits puffy and dick leaking copiously all over Jay's thigh. Jay's iron rod was pressing against his hole, but thankfully he'd guessed right for his sweat streaked piece - he knew Jay's 10 inch cuntstuffer would make him sore for days. By his count he only had to suck off 10 guys.

They pulled the table away and Jay slid him down his knee onto the floor. He was still blindfolded and tied, and Jay made sure his knees were spread wide on the floor, by tying his balls to the chair leg with a shoelace, and then lacing it to his wrists. Pulled tight against the thin lace, he couldn't sit up or move much, his shoulders and balls pulled back painfully. This way his head was pulled back, so the guys could straddle his chest as they facefucked him. Every drop that he didn't swallow of their copious tangy loads slopped onto his chest, matting the hair and coating his tits. He counted 10, 11 cocks, and tried to tell them to stop, but the cocks kept coming. Then he felt Jay's wide fucker sliding down his gullet, and gagged on his dickmeat for 10 minutes, as he thrust balls-deep, until he pulled out, spraying volleys of scum onto Nick's lips and face, chest and abs. By the time they'd finished he's sucked 25 cocks and was coated with rancher cock juice. His stomach was full and churning, his throat raw, lips swollen, and he almost collapsed when they let him go. Jay took off the blindfold and Nick saw him smiling over him, monster cock still hanging half hard and drooling. He tried to plead to stop, but Jay had a spoon, and began dragging it up Nick's body, feeding him load after load of sweat mixed cum. He tried talking but his mouth just burped cum - it clogged his nose, leaked from the corners of his mouth - he was stuffed so full of cum he had trouble breathing, and he passed out.

When he came to, most of the guys had left, and jay had dragged him to the kitchen for the night. He was draped on the chopping block, legs dangled over the edge, spread, his ankles tied to the table legs. His wrists were cuffed to the side rails, so he was completely exposed. He was worried - Jay had no concern for his safety, would try anything. He tried to call out for the other guys, but his voice was hoarse, and Jay just stuffed his rank shorts into his mouth. He scrunched his head down on his chest, as Jay caressed his body, sliding down unimpeded until he grasped his cock. Grinning, Jay revealed a bottle of Tabasco sauce, and he gently frigged Nick until his cock head peeked from its flap. Jay squirted a generous dose down his pisshole and under the skin, thumbing the skin to rub it in, and as Nick squirmed in agony, he squirted more on Nick's puffy aureoles. Nick screamed into the gag but the only noise that came out was a muffled cry. Then, slowly and methodically, Jay pried his arse open and began sliding in large, thick cuke. The cuke pushed at his guts and stretched his arsehole tightly, but with steady pressure, it eventually slid all the way up his chute. Grinning, Jay found another, thicker cuke, and despite Nick's muffled screams began forcing it up his gut alongside the first, until his hole was stretched wildly out of proportion. He smeared more Tabasco on the stretched ring, making it spasm and twitch around the bloated cukes, and then pulled Nick's balls down between his body to hide his handiwork, tying a tight rope knot around them. When he let go, Nick felt a gut-wrenching tug, like being repeatedly kicked in the nuts, as a sack of oranges tied to the rope dropped down, dangling off the edge, cinched to his ballbag. The stretched ballsack also prevented him pushing out the cukes,even if he could muster up the strength to eject a blockage 5 inches at the widest point, unlubed, and tightly pushing against his anal ring. Jay grabbed a roll of saran wrap and wound it tightly around his body and the bench, from his chest to his knees, wedging his itchy tits and cock against his body, and preventing the slightest relief. He walked away and flicked the lights, leaving Nick in darkness and in agony. As he lay there through the night, the maddening itch only got worse, for hours, and the constant pain in his stretched balls and pucker was unbearable.

Lewis found him that way the next day - he'd been sent to track him down, and slapped him awake. He chuckled at the obscenities through the Saran wrap and slowly unwrapped him, ungagging him and uncuffing his wrists at the same time. He stood by and watched as Nick desperately swabbed off the burning sauce and tried to free himself from the other torments, straining forward to untie his nuts until they finally came free, jerking up with a howl. Then, to Lewis' delight, he moved away his dangling sac to reveal th two cukes, and tried desperately to dislodge them. They'd slipped out a little in the night but the sweat made them slippery, and at their widest part they'd both become wedged dry against his arsering. After a few minutes of grunting pain, Lewis came forward and jammed them both back in with one hard thrust. Nick screamed but then Lewis yanked the first out, then the second, leaving Nick's ripped arsehole gaping wide. The ring tried to pucker but a cavernous hole remained, and Lewis whopped at the sight of the ruined hot jock stud arse. He freed his legs and helped him down, but Nick just collapsed, screaming as he hit the ground, arse first. Lewis leant him up against the table, letting him get air. As Nick recovered, he said "The boys all chipped in to buy you a present." He pulled out a thick metal ring from his pocket. "We werent sure of your size, boy, so you'll just have to make do..." It was much thicker than any steel ring he'd seen before, more like a cuff, and squeezed his balls through it, one at a time. It was so wide it stretched the ballsack, and when he let go, the tug on Nick's nuts felt like his balls were at his knees. "We had it made special. The guy said that you can't leave em on long, or they'll stretch the hell out of your pretty nuts, but we just figured, fuck it." Nick let out a moan of frustrated pain, and Lewis laughed, slapping him on the arse. "Now dumbass, get your cunt down to the middle field, Jack wants to fuck you." Nick slipped on the red shorts, his dick pushing them out from his crotch so they covered almost nothing.

Jack was a junior farmhand, only a little older than Nick, and it was particularly harsh submitting to Jack's every whim. Jack was stocky and shorter than Nick, sweated like a hog and spoke like a hayseed. He'd been 17 when he arrived on the farm, and had engineered Nick's downfall, from star son to cum dump in three short years. Now Jack was working on Nick's dad to get Nick's first tattoos - he wanted to cover his shoulders and triceps with pictures of guys getting dicked and fisted. But most of all, he wanted a tattoo high on the back of Nick's neck, just below the hairline - "FISTPIG". It would ruin Nick's life - college, sports - he wouldn't be able to go out in public without the world seeing it. His dad had resisted, and he desperately hoped to get through this summer without any permanent marks.

"Hey dickbreath" Jack greeted him, "your dad's agreed to your first tat! Don't look so down. It's very private, so your college football is safe for now. Just a little picture of a stinking trash can, on your pelvis next to your dick." Nick moaned, and Jack grabbed him under his pit, dragging him to the outhouse. "No time for slacking, the guy's already here. He told me if we hurried he'd chuck in a piercing for free. Now what should it be, ballbag or piss slit?

Nick's Summer Part 2 - The Backstory

by Emile

I am indebted to ponyboy_g and dale10's 'older' stories.

__________

Life hadn't always been like this. Being from a farm, he'd boarded since he started senior school, quickly filling out his bulky frame with football, cross-country and rowing. He trained almost every night and his weekends, away from home, were spent on the field or in the water, working and playing hard, with a winning smile and an endless list of admiring friends. He worked hard at being everyone's buddy, in part to make up for his absent and exacting father. His door was always open, and guy's would wander in at any hour just to chat, share some time with the school hero.

In fact, he noticed most of the time would be when he was underdressed - sitting in his boxers doing homework, or towelling off after showering. It was if they had a sixth sense about it. Every time he posed naked in front of the mirror behind his door, flexing his guns or clenching abs, the door would fly open, exposing him to a gawking teammate and the guys in the hall beyond. He'd get raging hard-ons in class, and wait hours to get back to his room and beat off, only to have guys wander in a few minutes later, just as arousal was peaking, forcing him to quickly stuff his leaking dong back in his pants before he was caught. Or worse, he'd reach that rare, ecstatic moment of cumming only to have his coach bellowing down the hall, forcing him to squeeze his cockhead and cut the pleasure short, before he burst in the room. Each time the coach caught him, forcing him to change out of the sticky shorts in front of him, bellowing at him so all the hall could hear, he would write a letter to his father expressing his disappointment that his son had nothing better to do all day than jerk off. It seemed the older and hornier he got, the less opportunities he got to jack off, and the more often he'd be caught out doing it.

Even when he wasn't hard, his dick was bigger than most of the guys, and he was embarrassed by the attention it drew. More than once, a dozen seniors had barged in after showers, sitting on his bed, chatting, eyes casually drifting over the handsome jock as he ran his ragged towel over his bulging pecs and chiselled stomach, the flecks of new body hair still moist and glistening as he hurried to finish and dress in their presence. More than one guy had joked around when he inevitably had to drop the towel to dry his legs, or slip on some jocks, revealing his thick mule cock and meaty balls. His dorm nickname was Horse, and not a week would go by without some guy in the showers poking him in the chest or abs at his "pelt" or the "mane" of hair sprouting on his stocky body, from his nipples to his crotch. On hot evenings on weekends, when he had nowhere to go, there'd always be some guys back at the dorm willing to ball around with him, but he was uncomfortable when the jokes always wound up as wrestling him to the ground, or a circle jerk, with everyone starting at his fat purple knob as it pulsed with fucklust. Even then, his orgasms built slowly, his dick getting thicker and more engorged until it was almost painfully hard, and they guys would cum before him, splashing his hands with their spunk, while he still drooled precum. He wasn't sure if it was because he leaked so much thick precum, or because the guys got impatient after they came, but the circle would always break before he climaxed, and he'd be brought back from his daze by their sticky hands on his back as they pulled him towards the TV room. The rest of the night he couldn't concentrate, as his stiff dick and the inevitable conversation about chicks and tits kept him horny as hell. But he could never refuse them - they were his friends, after all.

Then the trouble with his dad had started, only 3 summers ago, when Nick went on rowing camp. Rowing camp took up the last 2 weeks of term, before they broke for the summer, and they travelled around a lot. This year the camp was on Lake Redrock, only a couple of miles from his dad's farm. They pitched tents on the lakeside, and both his best buddies Tyler and Ethan wanted to share with him, so the tent was crowded as they packed three beefy bodies in the one room. Their wide shoulders filled the tent from side to side, so either side of him, the guys had propped themselves on their sides, faces only inches from his. He woke up often in the night as the small tent jostled the three together. Tyler would prop his head on his arm and drop down onto his stomach, jamming his pit in Nick's face, or Ethan would roll forward onto Nick, his hard-on jabbing Nick in the ribs, or Tyler would knee him in the side as they curled into a ball. Several mornings he woke to find they'd both collapsed on top of him, pinning down his arms, Tyler's veiny forearm nestled between his thighs, pressing down on his engorged hard-on.

Coach had a no-jerkoff rule at camp, which drove the boys mad. On the fourth night, Nick was woken by the coach bellowing outside the tent. Inside was hot and sticky, the trapped air thick with the smell of cum - both his friends had flogged off either side of him, He could feel the cooling blobs of dickslop, as their orgasms had splattered his torso and back. He only caught their sheepish grins for a second, before Coach ordered them out into the cool night air. They stood side-by-side, and Coach was livid when he saw the spatter in the moonlight, seeping down Nick's body and soaking his thin silk boxers. Despite his protestations, and his friends volunteering that it was no his fault, Coach hauled him away, leaving the culprits behind. By now Tylers load had coated his dick and balls, making the whole of his boxers damp, and it was hopeless to argue it wasn't his own. Ethan's cum too had seeped down his back, between his tight arsecheeks before getting caught in the light hairs around his hole. Coach dragged him to the mess tent, to do sit-ups in the harsh gaslight. Most of the scum on his back rubbed off as he lay down, but he could feel a pool squelching in his crack, tickling his hairs, and kept wiggling as he leaned forward. The coach noticed and ordered him to stand up and turn around. When he saw the sticky patch on the back of his boxers, he whistled, and ordered Nick to grab his ankles. As Nick bent over, humiliatingly exposing his arse to the coach, he felt his boxers whipped down, coach's thick finger prodding in his sensitive arse ring. At least half of Ethan's mega load had got caught in the tight curves of his arse, pooling around the hole and covering it with milky scum.

He heard the coach mutter "faggot" and push his thick finger deep inside, before working in a second one to Nick's pain and embarrassment, holding his back down with his other hand. "Please Coach" he begged "it's not what you think", but the Coach was single minded, and took a dim view to lying schoolboys. "You're still tight, which explains why I hadn't heard our star rower was a pillow-biter. So how long you been taking it up the arse, boy?" he demanded. Nick protested, and felt a stinging slap to his arse. "No lies boy, how long" Nick said nothing, and for a second there was silence. Nick wasn't sure what it meant, either Coach believed him, or else he was in big, big trouble. Coach answered his thoughts by taking his other hand away. For a moment Nick thought he was free to go - except Coach's fingers were still buried painfully in his butt, stretching the sphincter. Then he heard with the slow sound of a zip being lowered. "Well boy, I guess you want this to be our little secret, eh?! I guess we can do that, but first I want to see some of that arse for meself. Lean back and spread em, and if I hear a whimper, your dad will hear about his pansy son in the morning!"

Nick was in shock, but had the sense to try and get away. Not an easy task when skewered on two thick fingers, arse in the air. Coach just lifted his fingers slightly and the gut wrenching pain as the weight of his brawny legs tore down on his sphincter made Nick stop struggling quickly. He pleaded with the coach, but Coach's hands on his back and up his arse immobilised him. Worse, the Coach told him if he kept it up, he'd make sure his dad knew he was a boy cunt. His exact words - boy cunt - resonated in his brain. He couldn't imagine the horror of his stern dad if he heard that. Already he was on strict watch from Coach's letters about him masturbating. His last letter from his dad had warned him that "if he dissapointed him again, there'd be hell to pay over summer".

With this on his mind, and powerless to resist Coach's hold, Nick kind of slumped, giving in to the inevitable humiliating rape. Coach wasted no time lining up his fat cockhead and impaling him on his beer-bottle thick stalk, a massive effort for even the most practiced big-titted cock slut, let alone a virgin jock stud like Nick. Pushing relentlessly into Nick's virgin hole, until he could push no further, he split his tight arse wide. Then he fucked him with deep strokes that made Nick grunt, driving his porker the last few inches into his muscle butt. Between Coach's moans and Nick's grunts, half the camp could hear them. Coach was well practiced in the art of punish fucking, and kept slamming into him, hard deep strokes that took the air out of him, lubed only by the drool from Coach's wide dicklips. He was a seasoned cocksman, and as he felt his cum rising, or Nick's rock-hard cock throb, he withdrew completely, popping out of the recently-virgin cherry, letting his dick juice baste the hot hole until they were ready for another round. Half an hour, forty minutes, the fucking was relentless, until finally Coach picked up his stroke, burying his meat deep and pumping a flood of cum into Nick's gut. The pressure on Nick's overheated prostrate was too much, and Nick began to cum in synch. Coach roared, yanking down Nick's balls as he came, cutting of the flow like a vise. Nick's dick throbbed helplessly, stinging and unrelieved. After a few moments, Coach pulled out his half-hard, cum covered cock with a pop, ropes of dickdrool hanging from the battered hole to his dick. Despite the long hard fucking, Nick's hole squeezed tightly shut, trapping the churning bull milk in his guts. As Nick discovered that night, he was blessed with a tight young sphincter to match his tight young body, and it would take hundreds of hard fucks, each as painful as the first, for that elastic ring to be stretched wide.

Nick was broken, but Coach wasn't finished yet. Forcing the stud to his knees, he brought him face to face with his invader, still pulsing, slimy with precum, cum and arse-lining. Only an inch away from his wide eyes, the cock looked impossibly thick and wide, and the jolting pain from his arse with every movement confirmed it. Before he could resist, Coach grabbed the back of his head, and began forcing the throbbing head into his mouth, filling the void until Nick choked and gagged. Coach was undeterred, and kept going, each time waiting until Nick almost passed out, then pulling out, waiting for Nick to gasp before forcing it back in, and a few inches deeper. His body already wracked with pain, the slow facefuck was even worse, stretching his mouth wide and rubbing his lips as Coach pistoned in and out, finally sinking his bulbous corona half way down Nick's throat. He stiffened and began fucking hard, grinding his pubes against Nick's face, rubbing his lips raw. Another long, hard piledriving session, and Coach came again, still fucking as he came, so the dickjuice splattered everywhere, squirting out of the corners of his mouth with each inward stroke. Only then was it over. When he pulled out, Nick looked like a deer in headlights, horrified but trapped, unmoving. His face and thighs were spattered with cum, his chest heaving, nipples and dick erect with fear and unwanted arousal. Coach fished around for Nick's boxers, and began gently cleaning up Nick's abused body, sopping up the sex juices that covered his body. Finally, he came to wipe the last drools of cum from the corners of his mouth. Nick could smell the rank odour of cock as the boxers rubbed under his nose - the scum of his best friends and Coach, and his own precum and arse lube all mixed together. "I'll keep these" Coach said "You come back tomorrow night to fetch 'em".

He limped back to the tent in the morning light, dawn glowing off his sculpted body. He slipped inside, praying his pals were asleep, not counting that they'd also be sprawled over his bed. He was naked, tired and sore, and when he saw them, pumped arms and tree trunk legs draped over his sleeping bag, he didn't have the energy to push them off. He crouched, naked and in fear, in the mouth of the tent, until the camp stirred and the call came to get up.

Then came the slow decline. His friends said nothing, no-one did, but their faces were clear enough. When they woke and saw him naked, leaning over them for his towel, their looks said "We know you were dicked!". Their hero grins, the lack of the usual banter, no mention of being caught out last night. In the showers was no better. There was a hush as he entered, all eyes following him as he slowly made his way to a shower head. He was still limping, although he tried to hide it, the pain was enormous. The only sound was the hiss of the water, and Nick's occasional involuntary yelp as the water grazed his mouth, his arsecheeks. He towelled off quickly, avoiding his face and arse, and went to brush his teeth. In the mirror, he saw his face - his nose and upper lip red, mouth slightly swollen, from Coach's wiry crotch. It was unmistakable, like the chicks the guys joked about back at the dorms.

Word must've spread through the camp, because after that, he was pretty much on his own. Everyone still respected his athletic prowess, so it was like a truce, the whiff of fighting in the air. He was jostled a bit, but when the coaches assistant took them onto the water, the real punishment started. Nick was tired and sore, and the motion of pulling the oar through the water sent waves of agony shooting from his sphincter up his spine. Twice the assistant stopped their practice to yell at Nick for slacking. Finally, he hauled him out of the boat, giving him a loud dressing down.

That night he waited until his friends sounded asleep and crept back up to the coaches tent. The coach was sadistic and relentless, all the bottled-up rage over the boys and their antics seemed to be channeled now into Nick. He made him do all kinds of disgusting things - 'tea bagging' his hairy balls into Nick's wide mouth, as Nick pulled on his nipples and jerked at his dick. If he didn't pull or jerk hard enough, Coach told him he would piss in his mouth. Putting him on hands and knees, punish fucking him across the tent, each stroke designed to slam his body forward, all weight on his arse. Jamming a pen in Nick's wide pisshole, stretching the dicklips and burning his urethra. The sessions lasted from night to dawn, and each morning, as Coach slept off the activities, he was forced back down to his tent, and onto the water, where the assistant would grill him, and his teammates got increasingly hostile. Everyone saw his pouty nipples, his limp, his swollen lips, but said nothing that would incur the wrath of the coach. Instead, they took out their disgust in little petty ways, stealing his clothes, tripping him up, or avoiding him like a leper. His own best friends were awake when he came back the third time, both flogging their meats now coach was not around. The air smelt thick with cum, and when he opened the tent, they both stopped, Ethan stretching his foot to stop Nick's head entering the tent. "No way man, you can't come in here. We don't want you getting off starin' at our dicks! Get back outside!" Ethan jerked his knee, slamming Nick backwards out of the tent flap. He fell on the grass, naked and miserable, hunching there as their groans got louder, and they came in unison. A few minutes later, the tent unzipped and they threw out his remaining clothes and equipment. The clothes were a mess, most covered in cum from their nightly wanking. Not that it mattered, the next night the rain drenched all his stuff, by the following it'd all been stolen except his training gear (which he wore until reeked from sweat), an old singlet, and the cummy boxers Coach made him wear when he wasn't fucking him.

The final days came, time for the races, and almost as if nothing had happened, everyone pulled together, focused on the prize. Coach told him not to come back again, and after a night's sleep on the grass, he was feeling almost alive. They all pushed themselves in the water, Nick especially, and when they made their time trials, guys slapped him on the back, cheering, like old times. They still avoided talking to him out of the water, but he felt maybe his ordeal was over. Then the races. They won their heat, and everyone cheered. His friends grabbed him by the shoulders like old times, talking about "their team" and "all for one" like it was all a bad dream. Late afternoon, they called the finals, and they all got in the boat. Nick felt on top of the world. Maybe the adrenalin, or the practice of nightly sessions, but his butt barely hurt at all, and was ready to give 110%. The starter gun went off and they all rowed at a cracking pace, like a machine. They were less than 10 strokes from the end, and a length ahead. The shoreline was abuzz with cheering. Nick glanced up at the bank, a momentary feeling of glory, and his eye caught his father, on the crest of the hill, arms folded, standing next to the coach. The coach was leaning in, talking, and his fathers face was getting grim. It was only a split second, but it shattered Nick's rhythm, and he struggled to keep pace. The cox screamed, and he faltered back into line, but their lead was lost, and they crossed the line third. As they reached the pier, the mood on the boat was black. No-one said a word, no-one looked at Nick, but he knew, he was top jock no longer, couldn't look them in the eye, and would have to quit the team, or be dropped.

They hung back for the awards, but third was no consolation for the coach or his dad, who came up, ordering him to get his stuff, he was taking him home. Since Nick nothing clean to change into, he went to jump in the car. "You're filthy boy, and you stink of sweat. You're not coming back like that!" Nick protested, said his stuff had been stolen, but his dad just shook his head. He reached into the back of the car and pulled out some old overalls. "Put this on" he barked. Under his stern stare, Nick undressed, revealing his abused body to his father. If he saw anything, he said nothing, and soon Nick was sitting in the car, the overalls showing off his pumped chest and flat abs, straps scraping at his nips. His long fat cock hung down one leg, easily visible against the rough fabric. His dad disappeared for a moment, before getting in. Nick's uniform and singlet were no-where to be seen. "I chucked em" he said, answering his thoughts. "You can wear that for now." The long car trip was in silence, and Nick sat uncomfortably as the denim scratched his sore raw skin with every bump. He hoped and prayed he was just angry at the race, nothing more. But as they pulled off the road, towards the farmhouse, his dad began to talk. 'We got a new farmhand now, Jack, from Redrock. Smart boy, he's my right hand man, you could say. Funny thing though, he been telling me the strangest rumours. So tell me, boy, and think carefully what you say. Is it true that you, my son, brought up to be tough, strong and masculine, god fearin like the rest of us, is it true you would do such a filthy disgusting thing as take it up the arse? Are you truly a faggot?" Nick hesitated, but his dad went on. "Cause if you are, I have half a mind to beat you within an inch of your life, til you realise the right path, and mend your perverted ways. But Jack, well, he has another idea. He said you bin schooled wrong, with them fancy ideas, says its just a matter of ed-u-cation. Jus like a dog, he said, if it licks its balls and you kick it, it'll just come back and do it again. But if you ed-u-cate it, you coat them balls with glue, so when he licks em again, he sticks fast, then when you let him off he won't never do that again! You give it to him so bad, he'll never even think of going back to his filthy old ways. So tell me, son, is it true you in need of an ed-u-cation?"

Nick's Summer Part 3 - Back to Work

by Emile

__________

Photo time. The gauze bandage was off the tatt, and Jack insisted on taking some happy snaps for Nick's photo album. He stood there in the bright lights, tense muscles glistening in the heat, as Jack directed him - legs apart, pierced donkey dork drooping between his thick thighs, the large fresh tatt emblazoned on his pelvis. The 'little' trash can was 4 inches high, easily visible above his waistband (if he was allowed to wear anything). The wafting stink at the top grazed the message "Keep me droolin' on his abs", now smeared with slugs of cum from the cameramen. They were townies, friends of Jack, and had already been paid for their work in advance - two hours Nick spent on his knees, choking on greasy cockmeat, swallowing their tangy cum in the sum. Some had pulled out early, shot all over him, and their warm juice was drying against his dark mule skin. They made him lift his arms behind his head again, to expose his sexy pits to the camera, and make him look more vulnerable. Already his veiny biceps ached from holding his arms up for so long, and trickles of sweat coursed down his forearms, around the tricep, making his shaved pits glisten. On command, he thrust his chest out, pouty nipples jutting towards the camera, the "cunt" message shining in the sun.

"Cool man" one camera guy said "smooth as a cunt, eh!". The guy was fully clothed, making Nick feel more naked, and had enjoyed slamming his long cock down Nick's throat so hard he still had his pubes in his teeth. He'd shot his load all over Nick's chest, matting the hair with so much dickjuice it ran between his abs, coating his hefty package. The camera perfectly caught the dripping milk, the closest Nick'd gotten to cumming all week. They'd kept him hard non-stop, of course, taking it in turns to sit Nick on their laps and stroke his fat cock until it strained against the new piercing - a thick ring through the glans that stretched out his foreskin, revealing dickslit to the camera - until he panted with fucklust and pain.

They also kept him drooling constantly, feeding him pills that made his already fuck-bloated dick stand stuff and spew junk until his red shorts were so heavy with sap they sloughed off his body altogether. His dad hadn't been happy about that - beating his balls so badly they still jutted out, swollen and purple, from behind his swinging dick. That was four days ago, two hours crouched on the leading hand's table, legs spread wide and held by two men, arms spreading his buttcheeks, straining to keep himself in balance. Two hours of pain, of having his nads whacked so hard that even the lightest touch or squeeze, even being lightly nudged aside so his father could finger his crack to make him squirm - sent waves of agony though his gut. He begged his dad to stop, told him it wasn't his fault his dick drooled, that the men were keeping him on heat, but that just made him slap all the harder. "Don't you be blaming my good folk for your filthy habits, boy" he bellowed "You think you so hot with your he-man chest and your mammy's titties, parading around in front of the men, you just asking for trouble." He fingered the jock's swollen nads, eliciting a groan and causing his dick to lurch. You best be learnin some respect for your superiors, like Jack here! He'll teach you manners, boy". Jack had his shit-eating grin on his face, and was watching from behind, arms folded over a muscle singlet stretched over his barrel chest.

The singlet had been Nick's once, before Jack had taken all his best stuff, and thrown the rest out. What clothes he was allowed to take to college would be Jack's hand me downs now, threadbare, ripped and worn, mostly his trashy clothes from when he'd been a drifter. Nick guessed he'd been pretty fucked up before he came to the farm, and had done some pretty disgusting things in his life, which he confirmed when his dad and the men left him, heaving on the edge of the table. Jack approached, leering, and pulled something out of his back pocket. "Here's your new uniform dickbreath, sorry I've not washed it in a while". The material was balled up in his hand, the bundle as small as a tissue. With horror, Nick took it, and it unravelled in his hand. It was light blue spandex, so thin he could see his hand through the gauze material, a long narrow cup with strings. Jack lifted it out of his hands and helped him into it, slipping it up his tree-trunk legs, until the material caught on his fat cockhead and began stretching up with Jack's tugs. The thong was even more obscene than his shorts had been, the pouch stuffed with his oversized tool and puffy balls clung to every inch of skin, every vein, the top resting on his smooth crotch, just revealing the main vein to his cock. The straps were different lengths, the first tight around his narrow waist, the others looser so they draped over his hips and arse, barely covering anything. The strings holding the base of the pouch split at the base, so anyone could touch him from behind, run their hands down his back, finger him effortlessly from his crack to his balls. His blue balls throbbed from the pressure, and dick leaked more sap, staining the material dark blue, although swabs of lighter stains showed this pouch had been drooled in more than once before. As a finishing touch, he produced the 'punisher' - a rotating dildo Jack had bought for Nick last summer. It was 12 inches long, 3 inches thick and black, and Nick could barely walk or move without it punching up his gut, especially when Jack cinched it to Nick's cockring with a wide leather strap, that pulled his balls apart and his dick downwards.

But at the moment, in front of the cameras, Nick was naked and unplugged, and very exposed. Two guys brought out an old claw foot bath. The bath was short and half filled with light yellow liquid. He grimaced, thinking it was piss, but it was far worse. The guys grabbed him, each holding an arm and leg, and lowered him in, so his knees and arms were over the edge, arse first. The liquid was warm and viscous - like thick oil - and clung to his skin like rubber. They kept lowering, until the oily liquid lapped at his tits, leaving a thick layer around his chest, clinging to the hair. Hot oil trickled into his arse, lubricating his cheeks and invading his gut. His swollen balls stung as they entered, and heaved in the oil as it sloshed around. Last was his dick, oil slowly coating the stalk until it trickled into the wide opening of his foreskin, into his pisshole. Some of the guys had been stretching the pisshole wide at night with alligator clips and U gouges, working the steel up to the handle as he writhed around. The pain was so great they'd had to pin him down with four men, as the fifth worked the wide carving tool down the shaft. Now their efforts paid off, as the slick oil coated the bruised sides of his urethra. "This stuff's cooking grease" Jack told him, as the cameras whirred, "with a few special ingredients. We heated it up, so it'd be nice and wet for you, but its usually just solid fat, that white grease that sticks to everything. Makes a nice piss substitute for the shoot - the boys didn't want to waste anything you could be drinking!" They snapped away as the bath cooled, and began to congeal around him. Jack never said what the "special ingredients" were, but Nick could guess for himself. Even as it cooled, the hot, burning sensation stayed - like when they'd smeared chilli on his dick. He could feel the grease in his gut scraping at the sides, like they'd swirled in some sand or grit into the mix. And there was the unmistakable smell of menthol, which he could also feel making his tender skin feel icy-hot. Soon they hauled him out, the grease was too cloudy, and they had enough for their purposes. He sloshed around a bit as they grabbed him, and the rest of his chest and thighs got coated with grease. The feeling was gross, his whole body slick and greasy, and worse was inside. As he tried to walk, the still warm grease coated his innards, making them churn. He let out a loud fart, unable to stop the air slipping out of his greasy hole, and the guys all laughed. One grabbed his swinging dick, and sent a wave of sensations up his body - pain and discomfort of the sand scraped grease-clogged tube, and pleasure of the fist sliding up his well lubed dork. "Not so fast, boy" he muttered, "Jack's said you need to come into town with us first to see somebody. He's a special fan from way back, a wrestler, who can't wait to get WWF on you." Jack came up and handed him some clothes. "You better dress proper, he paid a lot to spend the night with you, cunt. We'll be watching you, so you'd better be extra nice!" The clothes were pretty regular - a thick cotton t-shirt and long cotton pants, but covered in grease, they clung to him like a second skin, soaking into the material. Every movement and the cotton clung to his rippled torso, making him look more naked than before. The thick cotton kept him warm and uncomfortable, and dark patches appeared wherever it clung to his body. Jack was making sure he would always slip lower on the pecking order - now he was greased up and bundled off like a side of beef, to the highest bidder.

In the car into town, things didn't get easier. Apparently the wrestler, Trev, had wanted him "fresh", so he was spared the usual ride impaled on some dick, but instead they peeled down the pants to his knees and made him jerk off - slow and steady, balls slapping with every pump. Trev wanted him rock hard. Trev was a big fan of muscle jocks, liked to see them strain and beg, unrelieved, as he slammed them down. He told them (he was very specific) how much he liked their faces, looking up, chest puffed out, nips hard, pleading for him to let them go. You see, Trev had a special kind of wrestling, he'd pin them down, and tie them up, slowly immobilising them until they were helpless, then he'd fuck them, making them hobble over and sink down on his dick, pulling their legs from under them until gravity took its course. If they slammed into the mat when wrestling, dick first, he could rope up their hands, and that'd be the worst, since they'd be unprotected from his every move, but sometimes their dicks and balls were trussed first, which could be equally agonising.

It was hardly a fair fight, even though the jocks were tough and strong, Trev was bigger and meaner, plus he made sure they fed his victims a sedative - not enough to knock them out, but to make them groggy and slower, aware of what was happening but unable to properly defend themselves. One guy twisted his nips through the shirt, and Nick groaned, partly in lust from the wank, but also pain and fear of what was to come. "Good" the guy said. "he likes sensitive nips too. Hope your dad doesn't mind a bit of stretching! And we told him to go easy on the new piercing, but he does like to play rough." He was getting really worked up, and closed his eyes, moaning, fucklust taking over. They let him keep beating until his dick was straining against his hand, bloated and purple. Suddenly, he felt a pill being shoved into his open mouth, a finger pushing it down his throat, as another hand grabbed his wrist and pulled it away from his dick, letting the pants slide up the greasy stalk until only the throbbing head was showing. And that's how he was as they pulled him out of the car at the cheap motel, aching blue balls and iron cocked, head beginning to spin. He was jostled forward and into a darkened room. The guys sped off, and the door closed. In the dim light, he started to make out the other occupant, his huge wide shoulders, tapered sides and chest slab, an oversized bodybuilder that towered over Nick. He tried to speak but his tongue was thick. The bodybuilder came up, saying only "We start .. NOW."

Nick's Summer 4 - College Fund

by Emile

_________

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.

Nick's Summer Part 5 - Bathroom Duties

by Emile

---

Nick took four hours to lick the grimy scummy bathroom clean, four long hours of scraping his tongue over tiles and lapping up the sea of piss and cum that covered the floor. There was so much that as he licked one section of floor clean, the crud from the rest would ooze over, slowly advancing to coat the new surface, so he was forced to go back over, and dam the cesspools with his tongue. The menthol laden grease soaked into his pants also streaked the floor as he crawled around, forcing him to ingest the lube, which made his stomach churn. He swallowed litres of tangy scum and piss, until his taut abs were aching with the pressure of his bloated gut, and his tongue was thick with other men's juices.

About half way though, he heard rapid footsteps approaching, and the door swung open. He was facing away from the door, and remembering the wrestler's orders, pushed his arse high and shoulders down in a low push-up, until his biceps trembled and his tits grazed the sticky floor. He waited, scared to breathe in fear, and in part to avoid his hairy pec mounds being pushed against the slick floor. He heard the guy come closer and crouch next to his waist, one arm stroking his back as the other cupped his arse, squeezing tight, fingertips digging into the arsering only millimetres from his stuffed hole. "Wow man, this is intense" the voice said, and Nick realised with horror that it wasn't the wrestler at all. He was out of breath, and went to push up and breathe out, but the hand on his back pushed down firmly, forcing him to expand his lungs, coating his chest with dicksnot. "Please" Nick begged, but the stranger's explorative hands didn't stop, his fingers inching into Nick's greased crack, until they found the jagged edge of the bat. He seemed fascinated by it, rolling Nick's pants down until they were a half-moon across his arse, and he could finger the bat in his hole directly. "I've been coming to this beat for months but you are the sickest piggie I've ever seen!" he sneered, forcing his fingers in around the bat, making Nick grunt. He forced four fingers in, stretching Nick wide, and popped the bat out a few inches, before jimmying it up and down, lightly fucking his hole. Nick groaned more, his dick hardening despite the circumstances.

His arms were shaking now, and after a few minutes, they gave out from him, his face hitting the tiles just on the edge of the approaching ooze. The guy stood up, and told Nick to do the same. After so long on his knees, it was difficult, but finally he scraped and hauled his sore body off the ground, standing bow legged as the bat still jutted out of his abused arse. Nick took in the biker - rough and unshaven, with lean hard muscles that bulged from his black singlet, and a glint of violence in his eyes. The biker also took in Nick, his face almost handsome if it weren't for the smear of scum and piss around his swollen lips and filth in his hair, his broad chest with the shaved obscenity and chest hair clogged with cum, the trash can and "Keep me droolin'" tattoos arching over his swollen donkey dong, jutting out from his body, stretching the greasy pants so tight he could see the pierced head even through the foreskin and cotton.

The biker grinned, and for a dreaded moment the air was silent, until his strong hand shot out, grabbing Nick by the jaw and marching him backwards into a stall. Every footstep dragged slime behind them. In the stall, he threw Nick back against the toilet, peeling off his pants and throwing them onto the floor. He hauled Nick's knees to his hips so his whole body was on display from his heaving pecs to his plugged pussy, his shaved dick throbbing helplessly against his scrunched abs. Pinned as he was, Nick just looked up pleadingly, arms hanging slack by his sides. The guy slapped him about, ordering him to play with his fat tits and cock as he prepared him, and Nick did, reluctantly. The biker began slowly fucking his hole with the bat, just enough to gently stimulate his prostrate. After a few seconds, Nick unthinkingly closed his eyes, giving his body over to the wave of pleasure from his tits, his hard dong and his stuffed hole. The pleasure grew, his breath ragged, foreskin retracted and burping precum.

He heard a zip and opened his eyes to see the biker haul out his own veiny cock, and begin pumping it in time. In seconds, wads of precum began dripping out and on to Nick's beating hand, and Nick could smell the dickcheese as he drooled. Despite the humiliation of being fucked with a baseball bat in a toilet by this horny stranger, Nick began to groan, ready to shoot. Just as he neared, the biker jammed his legs wide, making Nick support himself by his toes against the stall walls, and slapped Nick's hand beating away. He quickly wrenched the bat from his arse and replacing it with his own hard cock. He grabbed Nick's balls, using them as leverage to thrust deep and hard, while he barked at Nick to keep tugging his nipples. Nick grunted helplessly, his cock throbbing with each ball-burying thrust, squeezing his pouty nubs, his big feet sliding helplessly down the walls until he was skewered on the guy's cock as his only support. The guy thrust harder and tugged harder, until the pressure on Nick's balls made him scream and pass out, just as he flooded Nick's guts with cum. After a few moments of recover, he pulled out, taking in the sight - Nick was sprawled on the toilet seat, cum seeping from his hole, his dick still hard and horny, body covered in juice and sweat. His arms were slack by his sides, stretching his chest from pit to pit and making him look even more vulberable and abused. The biker whipped out his mobile, aiming it at the spreadeagled jock, snapping a couple of pictures.

When Nick awoke, there was a card on his matted chest, which he groggily picked up. It had a website, nothing more, and Nick had the horrible feeling he'd be splashed online for all to see. He wouldn't know for sure until the end of the summer. The floor of the bathroom was more than half covered with oozing filth again, not to mention the puddle under the stall. He was fucked.

The rest of the dirty job Nick carried out with the stabbing pain in his arse each time he crawled about, his own heavy cock bouncing below him, still swollen from the jerk-off, stubbornly refusing to go down. His pants and shirt were soaked, and he draped them over the washbasin, strings of slop collecting at the plughole while he finished, buck naked. He finally finished up, pulled the sloppy clothes over his skin and opened the bathroom door, thankful for the fresh air replacing the constant stench that filled his lungs. But his freedom was shortlived - a beefy hand shot out - Trev pushing him back inside, so he fell sprawling on his sore tail. He inspected the room, which shone from Nick's ministrations, and for a moment, Nick through he'd pass. That is, until he got to the washbasin, still clogged with grease, cum and piss from his sodden clothes. The soupy mix had caught on thick hairs in the basin, filling the bowl with 4 inches of creamy gunk. He grabbed Nick by the hair, shoving him face first into the soup, filling his mouth and choking him. Nick grabbed the edges of the bowl, pushing up with all his might, shoulders straining, but only managed to lift himself a few inches, Trev holding him there with a firm grip on the back of his head. With his free hand, Trev grabbed at the pants, popping the buttons off the fly. The pants fell, letting his mule cock and babymakers spring free. Trev whacked his balls with a frenzy, clipping Nick's fat dong with a few bruising blows as well. Nick howled, sending a wad of cum into his face. Trev pressed his face down, forcing his lips into the soup. He swallowed a mouthful of scum before he stopped, his stomach churning all over. He fought his way up for air, fighting the urge to gag as the wrestler kept pummeling his balls until his tree trunk legs collapsed in pain. The wrestler grunted, giving him one last kick in the groin. "Right faggot, now you can crawl home". He walked out, whistling a self satisfied tune, leaving Nick sprawled on the floor.

In agony, Nick managed to pull the stained white cloth up his legs, screaming in agony when the tight crotch hooked his swelling balls. His already oversized babymakers were throbbing, already sensitive from the constant abuse on the farm. The skin was purple and blotchy, angry welts on the sensitive nutflesh. He wasn't allowed to haul his balls and horsecock into his pants, even if he could get the swelling package into the ruined pants. In desperation, he pulled the shirt through the belt straps, tying it over his throbbing crotch, and began to hobble out of the motel. Outside, the low sun was still searing hot and dry. He looked like a used fucktoy, and all the world could see his obscene tattooed body. Passing guys cheered and hooted, pelting him with beer bottles so he fell in the dirt dozens of time as he headed up to the farm. His cock, balls and arse were mountains of pain, and when he finally hauled himself past the front gate, he slumped down, unable to move. Lewis found him, splitting tobacco on his cramped body. "You're late cunt! " He kicked the shirt aside, whistling when he saw the obscenely swollen balls and misshapen bruised cock. "Yeah man, that guy worked you good! Now get your arse to the barn, you've got new duties now. Making the stallions happy, and milking the bulls. Whoa yeah, your punishment ain't even started yet." Breathlessly, Nick stammered "What for?" Lewis smiled. "You were late boy. Not get that arse up, and start walking."

Nick 6 - Wrangler

by Emile

Nick was lounged against a wall in his football gear, exhausted after a long game. He panted against the cinderblock wall, his chest heaving with exertion, football shirt clinging to every curve of his muscular body. One of the cheerleaders, with big tits and a sunny smile, was bounding up to him, shaking pom poms in time with her jiggling breasts. She called out his name and he went to embrace her, but his hands were too tired to lift, aching from the game. She came to him, her body against his, her intoxicating scent, her ample cleavage in his face. She sighed, her honey breath warming his face, as she sweet-talked him, proud of her man. He felt himself getting aroused, and she dropped the pom poms, grabbing his stiffening dick. "Give it to me baby" she purred, squeezing harder. He leaned forward but she pushed him back, still squeezing his cock. Her grip was like iron, and the pleasure of her sweet caress was turning to pain. She was rubbing herself against him, he could feel her cunt against the head of his dick even through her skirt, but with her hand tightening around his dick, he couldn't get closer to her snatch. She was panting, but wouldn't let go - tighter and tighter until ...

Nick woke up screaming, his fat cock bulging against the cock-cuff. Three weeks into the summer, three weeks of constant stimulation, drooling day and evening without relief, and his cock was permanently basted with goo. They'd taken to strapping his hands above his head, and restraining his dick with hard, unyielding steel hoops, making the inevitable wet dreams into nightmares. Two tight steel rings, one below his knob, one at the root of his cock, bit into his skin, as his cock arched up towards his face, throbbing against his skin like a well fed carpet snake. His boy boy balls never shrank from their beating, still clogged with unreleased sperm, and his veiny sac was now stretched from the cockroot by a heavy steel cuff, 2 inches wide and 1 inch thick of solid steel. The weight tugged his nads tight and low, swinging at least 3 inches below the curve of his dong. As with most nights, he lay in a horse trough, naked, his hands stretched to the column behind, legs draped over the sides. The Punisher was jammed up his well fucked arse, although with the night's exertions he'd managed to push 3 inches out, the slick ribbed plastic tool sticking out his tight buns like a stumpy tail. The remaining 9 inches still churned in his guts, banging his prostrate hard, making his cock burp more scum in beat.

The constant stream of dickpaste had been leaking over his tanned abs, oozing between his pecs, clinging to his chest hair, before leaking over his neck and filling the trough around his neck. Combined with the slugs of cum and piss from the farmers' late night visits, he constantly lay in a thick viscous scummy bath. This hadn't been good enough for Lewis though, who had taken a long shoehorn and wedged it in his mouth, horn holding his tongue down, the base tucked under his distended cock. The metal horn was tilted slightly down from his cockhead to his lips, so the stream of nutjuice rolled relentlessly down and into his mouth, coating his tongue and rolling down his throat. The tangy taste of cock was permenantly on his lips, although he could still sleep, eventually, until his dreams made him pump out too much gunk, or one of the grungy hick's hands pumped a load of his own cock batter into his mouth - which most of them aimed for as they shot their nightly loads. His dad hired men for their stamina, not just in the fields but afterwards, each equipped with an ever ready hose which could pump three or four thick loads a day, often into Nick's unwilling holes.

Reb was lead wrangler, and heard his scream from the other side of the stable, where he slept. He strolled over sleepily, still scratching and yawning, giving Nick a glimpse of his dark sweaty pits. Reb was all fur and muscle, his only baths the tonguebaths he made Nick give him at dawn when he untied him, and he reeked of man and horse sweat, overpowering the scent of cum and sex that permenantly lingered around Nick. He stood between Nick's spread legs, towering over him, idly stratching a hairy pec and taking in the scene. In the dim light, sunkissed and dirt streaked, Nick's dark skin shone, muscles glistening beneath his own oily sheen, contrasting with the white lake of cum around him. Slugs of mens loads slashed his body like brands, around his biceps, across his chest and mostly over his face. Reb guessed that in a few days, the ever rising lake of cum would reach reach his cheeks, and Reb would have to make him swallow a litre every morning to stop him drowning himself in the night. But for now he just stood back and grinned, enjoying the helpless expression of the spreadeagled jock, tense muscles bulging as his oversized tool bucked against the cold steel restraint. Reb's own fat sausage lurched in response, pushing out the front of his flimsy boxers, making Nick's eyes bulge. He hadn't fucked Nick all week, telling him he was saving up for something special, and Nick's fear grew with every swelling visit. He reached down, squeezing his hardening cock through the pants, and asked Nick if he wanted to get up early.

Nick hesitated, unsure of the trap. There was a chance an early start would mean he could clean himself up before the chores began, maybe even get up to the big house. Ever since the motel visit, Lewis and the men had him working from dawn to dusk, backbreaking work like hauling hay bales and mucking out stables. Every chore was delayed as gringos randomly wandered in, forcing him to drop everything and service them, whatever their demands. Three of the mexicans had a game - two would stand in his path as he hauled hay, forcing him to lower his heavy bale so they could make him swing on one greasy dick, while another ploughed his arse. The third guy stood a little apart, just waiting until they'd spurted their cum, and he'd picked up the bale and began stumbling forward. He'd get maybe 10 feet to find the third guy blocking his path, making him drop the bale again and get back on his knees for another creaming. By the time he'd battered Nick's tongue, the first two were standing a little further off, ready to go again - a symphony of back breaking work and fucksauce. As a result, he was lucky if he was finished before the men bedded down, and had to shovel food scraps into his lean body before they tied him down for the night. Only his father could release him from the cycle, but he didn't have a free moment to see him.

Nick began to speak, his voice croaky, rubbed raw by dick. He had trouble forming his words, his swollen lips, the shoehorn and his own dicksap on his tongue all working against him. "Please Reb, I've got to see my dad. If you untie me, will you let me go?" Reb grinned. "So, what's in it for me, boy?". He was still fingering his thickening dick. The tool was a monster, bloated with arousal, his balls bulging with gallons of unreleased cream. He straddled Nick's waist, squatting down until his own dickroot pressed against the cuff. Nick moaned involuntarily as Reb rocked back and forward, grinding their cocks together, yanking his stretched balls between Reb's iron cheeks. Reb let one hand rove over Nick's chest, knocking the shoehorn aside and tracing the word 'cunt' that he'd carved into Nick's hair. The pressure pushed Nick deeper into the trough, straining his arms and pushing his head down, so that cum seeped around his jaw. He rocked back on Nick's crotch, stretching his balls further, and with his free hand he pushed on the dildo, slowly forcing the huge dong back inside him. Nick was afraid, but desperate. "Uh, you can do anything you want." Reb smiled, keeping a firm hand on the dildo so the widest point stayed stretching Nick's sphincter. "Boy, I can already do what I want. It's what you'll do I'm interested in." Nick's gaze was locked on Reb's throbbing beer can thick tool. Seeing him transfixed, he went on. "Your hole is getting sloppy, the fuck's gone out of you. When you get back from your dad, I want you to fuck yourself on me, hard, until I cum." Nick sighed, it was almost too easy. Gratefully, he nodded his consent.

Reb got up and started unshackling him. "I figure, with that pussy whip inside of yer, it should be nice and tight against my ponystuffer again." He'd just hauled Nick out of the trough, and despite the agonising pain, Nick froze, cum slopping off his back. He was already bow legged from the enormous dildo, cramps wracking his body. There was no way he could get Reb's cock up there as well, his legs were jelly thinking about it. His strong thighs quivered, shivers shooting up his spine. He looked up pleadingly into Reb's eyes, knowing the sadistic fucker would only deprive him of this sliver of freedom if he protested. "Look, I know a young calf like you thinks it'll be a struggle, but I've broken bigger bulls en you. Hey, to loosen you up, how 'bout you leave that tickler up there while you visit your papa?" He reached down, caressing Nick's arse before pressed on dildo base, turning the rotating motor on. The fake cock made a sickening hum and began churning up Nick's arse. Nick almost doubled over, from the combination of pain and pressure. The grinding on his prostrate made his trussed cock drip rivulets of scum, basting his dusky six pack with goo. Reb clipped the base to his ball stretcher, restraining the dildo and pulling his nads down and his cock out. There was no way his father would give him an inch of clemency now - the minute he saw his stiff dick and stuffed hole, he'd send him back for a double dose of "education". Horrified, Nick begged to stay. "No sir buckaroo, we can't have that. Now pull on your pouch there, best you can, you only got half an hour, round trip, or we won't be done fucking before dawn. I'm gonna call up to yer daddy, make sure he's ready for you, so I'd trot off or he'll be waitin'."

Nick pulled the flimsy pouch up, almost falling over as the dildo punched up his innards while he bent. The posing pouch only made it to his hips, and without permission to touch his cock, best he could do was pull it half way, so the elastic cut into the arching shaft. The cock cuff bulged out the sides, and the whirring motor was sure to draw his father's attention to his rear. Reb strolled away, picking up the bakelite receiver hanging on the wall. He watched, laughing, as the young buck capered out of the barn, jogging awkwardly, one hand on his waistband to stop his dork flopping about, the other hand on the seat to stop the dildo from wiggling. To his cowboy eyes, he was a colt in the ring, bucking away, on breaking point. He couldn't wait to tame the stallion himself. Reb figured that after this morning, Nick might be finally ready for his special treat. His first penetrating fuck from a real horse cock.

Nick 7 - Trip to Nashville

by Emile

---

Lying in the filth in the early morning sun, cock still straining against the tight rings, Nick realised with dread that another milestone had come. The evening before they'd reached two others - the first time his dilated manpussy had stayed a gaping inch wide unplugged, and the first time his pisshole had taken a half-inch round steel rod down the full length - with the rings still strapped around it. But this milestone was, in Nick's mind, worse. Jack had decided to take him to the Nashville Football Academy's orientation day, just the pair of them, for the whole day and night - the academy putting on a bonfire and sleepout with the frats. Jack said he'd help him choose a frat, meet the guys - all the things Nick had desperately hoped to keep separate from his agonising life on the farm. But it was not to be, and in the weak dawn light, Jack came in to unstrap Nick and haul him to his feet to prepare for the long trip ahead.

Jack had already prepared the truck, and was wearing preppy college clothes, even putting some for Nick in the cab. Jack was looking hot and clean, like a college boy should, with a trim goatee and trucker's cap. He let Nick stand, shakily, and let him ease out the humungous dildo, the sliding make Nick groan and Nick's dick pulse uncontrollably. Outside the barn, Jack turned a hose on him, spraying off the filth with a hard jet of icy water, flashing him his white toothy grin as the jock put up his hands to fend off the spray. Jack stood back to admire his handiwork, Nick's muscles were tight from the cold and shone in the sunlight, nipples hard and pouty, cock soft for once, still long and fat, draped over the steel cuff like meat on a slab. He made Nick turn around and grab his heels, aiming the water jet at Nick's winking hole, the penetrating water making him squirm. For that Jack let the hose drop slightly, to make sure his big swinging balls were battered too.

After 5 minutes, Nick was soaking wet and dripping like a sheep fresh from the dip, his cropped hair glistening, rivulets of icy water still cascading over his hard pecs and down his bulging arms. He wasn't allowed to dry himself, not even wipe the water from his face as it dripped from his soggy fringe. Jack motioned for Nick to kneel in the dirt, mud clinging to his thighs, and wiled away the time it took him to drip dry with a long slow facefuck, making Nick maul his own nips and pull at his foreskin until he was frustratingly hard and drippy.

Finally after Jack slammed in balls deep to cum in Nick's throat, he deemed he'd drip dried enough, and hauled Nick out to the truck. He threw Nick his travelling clothes - the baby blue pouch from Jack's stripper days. Nick pulled on the silky material, instantly clinging to his damp curves, and began scrambling into the cab, despite the humiliation of exposing his damp body as he stretched up, and the dull pain of his raw arse. Jack just stood outside, laughing. Once Nick had finally managed to climb in, he sneered "You can't ride up front all wet like that - get out and into the tray where the sun can dry yer out." Nick looked back at Jack disbelieving, hanging at the door a second too long, and Jack hauled him out by the scruff of his neck, so he had to scramble to follow him up to the dusty tray table. Jack hauled him all the way to the grille across the window, and grabbed his wrists until he was in a low sitting position, his wrists forming a V above his head. He lashed them apart, and tied his ankles up on the sides of the tray, so his whole body rested on his tail. Anyone high enough off the road could see his whole muscular body, spreadeagled and shining in the sun.

Jack got in and gunned the engine, heading out of Colder Farm at speed. The truck kicked up clouds of dirt which began settling on Nick's moist body, covering him with dirt, matting his hair and forcing him to shut his mouth and eyes. He heard Jack calling back from the cab "Hey Nicky, just us boys eh. Here, why don't you get comfortable to dry. Flex those guns, let everyone see your pits. Now stay like that - I know it might be a little uncomfortable - just for an hour or so until the moisture drys. Try not to sweat, Nicky, or you'll just have to stay back there the whole trip. Yeah, and once you're good and ready, we can worry about plugging that sweet arse of yours with the extra-large vibrator I brought. It's a noisy tool when it's on, so if you don't want it drilling your arse in front of your new fratmates, you'd better be on your best behaviour. I know it makes you all hard and leaky, so I brought some rubber for you to wear under your shorts. But we'll wait until we're near Nashville for that. Relax, it's only a few hours. Oh, and remind me to pump up those big boy balls of yours, don't want them calling you a sissy..." Nick groaned, already perspiration was trickling down his lats from his moist pits, and the thin pouch was soaked with crotch sweat and precum. He'd be oozing the whole way.

They got on the road, and as they sped down the highway, the heat turned his sweating to max. He squirmed in the hard tray, his tanned body covered in the sheen of exertion, juice pooling under his arse. He opened his eyes, looking down at his brown body, tanned and dirt streaked, his dirty blonde hair almost black with dust. Like this he looked like the latino farmhands his dad often hired, and knew from their fierce revenge fucks that the look was a magnet for redneck abuse. Most of the townies around, Jack included, were especially cruel to the handsome young gringos, and with his tan and filthy body, they'd treat him no differently.

A truck came up behind them, and the driver leaned forward in the cab, copping a good look of the hunky jock lying prone, legs apart and dork drooling. Through the dust, the growing wet patch on the front of the pouch shone clearly, his insatiable dork still burping precum. He saw the drivers gaze travel up from his dicklump to his carved waist, taking in the trash can tattoo still visible through the grime. Smiling knowingly, he honked and leered. Nick's eyes were wild at the embarassment, which turned to fear when Jack swung off the road, and he realised the truckie was going to pull over too, for some action.

They pulled on to a hot dusty track behind some trees. Jack killed the engine, and stepped down to meet the trucker on the track. They stood away, and Nick scrunched his head onto his chest, watching as they nodded, and the trucker passed Jack some notes, before heading up to the tray, grinning. Jack lit a cigarette and wandered out of sight.

The trucker was about 30 and big, solid as the truck he drove. He easily jumped up on the tray table, the sun behind him. Nick squinted, just making out his bulky frame as the trucker shucked off his dungarees, letting them slip to the ground. He was naked underneath, and Nick vaguely made out his blunt monster dong swinging in the breeze. The brute advanced on him in a couple of steps, blocking out the sunlight and filling his vision with the bulbous headed cock. He just had a few seconds to make out crusted dickcheese on the plump head before it brushed against his lips, the acrid smell hitting him simultaneously. The swarthy bear smelt as if he hadn't washed in days, and as he began pistoning into Nick's unresisting throat, the taste became worse, as clumps of dried cum and other, fouler tastes, filled his mouth. But it wasn't a facefuck he was after. Once his dick was good and hard, stretching Nick's mouth and leaving the lingering taste of cheesy cock, he pulled out, a gob of drool spluttering out and stringing down Nick's chest. He reached back and unhhooked Nick's leg ropes, hefting Nick's thighs up to his haunches, jabbing the blunt tool against the strip of fabric protecting the last shred of Nick's dignity. "Ok fuckboy, get ready for some serious arseploughing" he barked, grabbing the strap running over his balls and yanking it aside, making his tackle flop out and exposing his arsehole. Just as his own thick cock flopped down, the truckers own pierced his arselips, easily penetrating deep into the fucked jock arse. He lunged forward, mashing Nick's balls between their public bones, thrusting deep, hard and quick like a bronco. As he thrust, he grabbed Nick's tackle, thumb hammed against the bulging dickhead, pushing away the unwanted reminder that the arse he was fucking belonged to another man. In less than a minute he slammed in so hard Nick thought his waist would snap, shooting slugs of cum deep inside Nick. Nick was ashamed to remember when he was a kid, helping his dad inseminate the cows on the farm. He too took cruel delight in jabbing the basters in, squeezing hard to shoot the bull milk deep and fast. Now he, the man cow, understood what they felt. As the guy came down from his orgasmic high, he let Nick's legs slide down, finally dropping him completely, sticky juice leaking from his tail. He sneered at Nick, disgusted, calling him a 'fucking trash whore' and spitting on his grimy face. He pulled up his dungarees, lit up a cigarette and jumped off the tray, leaving Nick sprawling and fucked. He'd carelessly grabbed at him, so his body was covered with dirt smudged hand prints, skin bruising red. He hoped the marks wouldn't show in Nashville.

As the truck revved up and began pulling out, Jack appeared, grinning even more than usual. He hopped up onto the tray, strolling up to Nick's filthy spattered body. He unhooked Nick's hands, letting him rub his wrists for circulation. "We're almost in Nashville, so now's as good a time as any to get ready." He handed Nick a towel to wipe off the grime. His sheen of perspiration mixed with the tangy cum made his body glisten, and the sweaty mixture helped him clean off the visible crud, even if he smelt a little funky all over by the time he'd finished. He was still a mess, dark brown tan, smears of dirt here and there, a few bruises and welts that'd be hard to explain. His dick and balls still hung out of the posing pouch, fat and heavy, and he asked Jack if he could tuck them back in. "Fuck no! In fact, why don't you start rubbing, show me how much you 'preciate my company." Nick reached down, fumbling with his own throbbing tool. Reluctantly, he began sliding back his foreskin, the sweaty tool getting covered in dirt and trucker dickleak from his hands, which was getting trapped against the head. Seeing Nick's dork swelling, Jack guided Nick to his knees, hauling out his own slimy fucker, slipping it down Nick's throat for facefuck number two. He began with slow strokes, but soon was fucking furiously, bruising Nick's lips, at which point Jack made him stop jerking, the dork arching up desperately. Instead, he made Nick reach back and finger his freshly fucked hole, coating his hand with cream as Jack fired a second volley down his waiting throat. Both were sweating, and Jack climbed around, into the shade of the cab, leaving Nick kneeling in the blazing sun. A few minutes later he came back around, telling Nick that now he could tuck his tool into the pouch, and put on his college clothes. The hard stalk barely fit in the tight material, and as he pulled on the jeans and plaid shirt Jack had handed him, they clung to his moist body like a second skin. Jack coiled up the ropes and told Nick to get down. It was hard, he couldn't jump off like the others, what with shooting pains up his arse, and the humiliation of knowing another guy's seed would leak from your butt with every step you took, and slowly lowered himself down onto the ground. Jack jumped down effortlessly, clasping him around the shoulder like an old friend, hustling him to the cab. "Hurry up, or we'll miss the action". Worse than the dread now was the pain, he just wanted to curl up and wait until his arse and throat felt normal again. But as they got to the front, Jack spied one last item Nick was meant to wear. Achingly, Nick had to bend over again, shucking his jeans, while Jack plugged his freshly fucked hole with an enormous ribbed dong he'd brought from home. The vibrating dildo was hard for Nick to swallow (so as to speak) at the best of times, let alone after the marathon night and morning of arsefucking that'd been inflicted on him. When he took his first step he yelped with pain, and could hardly walk without it churning his innards. "No slacking" Jack called from the drivers side "they'll think you walk with a stick up your arse" he teased. Somehow Nick climbed up in front next to Jack, as he gunned the engine.

During the rest of the trip, Jack kept him horny and uncomfortable, leaning over occasionally to squeeze his buns or iron-hard dick, making him moan uncontrollably and burp more sap into the pouch. Two dark patches on his jeans formed, of trucker dickslime and his own, just barely hidden by the hem of the old football jersey Jack had given him. He just prayed he would get through this orientation alright, so when he came to Nashville alone, the terror of the farm would not follow.

Meanwhile...

Reb and Seth were in Brick's bedroom, on the top floor of the towering Adams-style BDT frathouse. Reb and Seth were sitting on the narrow spare bed in their boxers, swapping stories about their dates last night. Brick lay spread out on his king bed, propped up on his elbows, buck naked and sporting a throbbing hard-on that leaked down the stalk, soaking into the sheets. Red and Seth's own fat cocks were straining against the cotton. They'd often shoot the shit in the frathouse like this, getting each other hard and horny with their explicit stories, egging each other on for the next night's activities. For three young, attractive muscular jocks, sex was a game like any other, hard fought competition not just for the most points, but for victory against all odds. Reb continued. "Man it was wicked, especially when I grabbed her tit and held her against the desk, pumping her twat full of juice. Man you should have heard her scream, some shit about me promising to pull out, and her husband, it was full on." Brick groaned in the background, his 10" stalk oozing steadily, still without him touching it. Seth glanced over, secretly turned on by seeing the buff footballer dripping hard. He knew Brick was just delaying his orgasm, and wished he could keep him like that, all pent up and horny. In fact, he couldn't wait for this year's batch of freshmen to move into the frat.

"Yeah anyway, so I get a call this morning, she's blubbering, says she's pregnant!Fucking A!" Seth squeezed his hard stalk, burping dickjuice into the shorts. Reb grinned. "So I told her Seth my man fucked her too after she passed out. Whoa was she pissed..." Brick yelled "fuuuck" from the bed, stroking his hard cock until a jet of cream shot in the air, spattering his thighs. "Awesome dude" he panted between breaths. "So you want me to talk to the bursar?" Reb shook his head "Nah, she was a wicked fuck. Anyway, her husband's a Rican, and she know's my dad's in immigration..." Now it was Seth's turn, his fat stalk was already poking out of the fly, and began pumping scum at the word Rican. The juice sprayed over Reb, who jumped pack, swearing. "Fuck man, what's your problem?" Seth was about to reply, but Reb had jumped up next to the window, and he caught Jack's pickup in the corner of his eye. The truck had just swung into campus, and through the front windshield, he caught a glimpse of Nick squirming as Jack squeezed his thigh. He wasn't one for gay couples, but when he saw Nick wasn't enjoying it, his crueller interests were pricked. "Awesome, looks like first of the the freshmen have come." Seth and Brick jumped up, oblivious to the cum dripping off their bodies - Seth grinned. "Well they won't be coming much longer" he quipped. Brick pulled on a pair of old jeans over his slick cock, and threw a jersey over his rippling torso. He was president after all, and had a duty to personally shake the hands of every candidate. He couldn't wait to thrust his sticky hand into Nick's, he liked what he saw. Actually, they all did.

Back in the pickup, Nick gazed up at the imposing frat houses on the hill. As he already knew, BDT, or Beta Delta Theta as it was officially known, was the kingpin of frats at Nashville Football Academy. Among the sorority girls, BDT stood for Big Dicks of Tennessee, the frat having a reputation for "fillin' chicks with their thick swinging dicks", or so they bragged. It took the (rich, thick) cream of America, the tough jocks that won every game, even if it meant trampling over their teammates. Actually, it attracted the tramplers, and welcomed them with open arms - the distinction between headkicker and future leader being so unclear these days.

Still, in their own unique sense of social responsibility, Nick had read that BDT had a quota of sponsored places each year. It was like a scholarship, but personal between the sponsoring senior and the sponsored freshman. Each year at orientation, the seniors would single out a few lucky candidates, usually poor country boys like Nick who couldn't afford boarding, and offer them a place at the frat. The sponsored freshman was given a bed in the seniors room, and a chance to be guided through varsity life by a seasoned pro. In theory it was commendable, and the Academy praised BDT seniors for their personal leadership and charity. Some of the alumni spoke highly of the special chance they'd been given. But in truth, what Nick didn't know was for most of the sponsored freshmen, the places were little more than legalised slavery, at the mercy of the whims of their senior, on whose good graces they relied for their board, meals and social standing. For those also on tuition scholarships - footballers mostly - the seniors, who captained teams controlled them entirely. Some seniors, lazily spending years to wind up their degrees, had a reputation for churning through freshies, often leaving mid-semester or at the end of the year, never to return to campus - particularly three - Reb, Seth and Brick.

Jack dropped Nick off in front of the fancy buildings and went to park the pick-up out of sight. Down on the lawns, despite the ebbing pain in his arse, Nick looked up admiringly at the lacy dormers, stone and filigree, and the breezy confident airs of the jocks lounging around. If only he could get through the weekend without Jack embarassing him, he might just find a home here after all. Three guys came out of the biggest house, all built like tanks, and made a beeline to greet him. The first was a foot taller than Nick, with a dark crew cut and licks of chest hair sprouting above the jersey neckline. He grabbed Nick's hand firmly and pumped his arm in a strong handshake, flashing him a toothy smile and welcoming him to Nashville with a southern drawl. He shone from exertion, his handshake slippery, and Nick could smell his moist funky sweat as he grabbed him by the shoulder to introduce him to the others. One, about his height and build, with a golden tan below which his muscles rippled like a cat, was Seth, who couldn't stop grinning at him unsettlingly. The other, a golden haired jock named Reb sporting a flannel shirt, jeans and boots, wouldn't have looked out of place on the farm, or a rodeo at least.

Not only were they tanks, but Nick had already guessed from the way their crotches bulged (and many previous experiences) that they were all hung like horses. Well not literally, as Nick now knew. He envied them, not for their looks, bodies or dicks, he equalled them in all three departments, but for the breezy confidence they exuded, something long lost in his soul. Seth slung his arm around Nick's shoulders, guiding him up the hill. "How about a tour of the campus, buddy?" he suggested, flashing Nick a toothy grin. He mumbled something about waiting for someone, but was secretly glad for the excuse to lose him for a while, and meet someone new. The other two hung back for Jack, leaving Seth and Nick to climb the hill to the imposing BDT frathouse. "So, Nick ..." he drawled, hugging Nick's neck tight so his forearm draped over Nick's beefy chest. "... most guys never get to see our place but I'm feelin' generous mood, and y'all came at just the right time." He squeezed Nick's pec in what might have been a reassuring gesture, but Nick couldn't be sure. Still he was desperate to get in the good graces of these guys, he wanted badly to have their lives and not his own, so he pushed the thought to the back of his mind. These were decent southern farm boys, guys his dad could respect, and perhaps if they accepted him, then he would finally leave him alone.

"I can't show you the whole house, see there's an 'inner sanctum', which you gotta pledge with us to see. But I think you'll like it here, we'd sure like more like you." Nick smiled awkwardly, the inner high taking the edge of the physical pain. Just before they entered the house, he caught a glimpse of Jack meeting the two seniors on the road. He noticed the small remote in his hands, and silently begged Jack not to switch it on. They entered, and to his relief, nothing changed. Seth let go of his shoulder, strolling over to introduce a sophmore to him. They stood apart, talking baseball, and he felt relieved - that he'd been wrong after all.

Maybe, just maybe, his luck was finally changing.

Nick 8 - The Wheel of Fortune

by Emile

---

After Nick and Seth wandered off, Brick and Jack had started shooting the shit, and had taken a liking to each other, as thugs frequently do, through a combination of sizing each other up and outdoing each other's stories. Jack had told Brick he was Nick's older brother, although every time he mentioned Nick's name, it was sneering, full of venom. He didn't mention anything about their farm tricks, but Brick soon realised that there was something more going on. Brick suddenly lowered his voice "Hey man, I wouldn't usually tell this to a guy's bro, but it doesn't sound like there's much love lost. You see, we got a pretty strict pecking order here, and, well, you don't get to the top without standing on some heads below you, you know. If, uh, you wanted, we could make sure your li'l bro gets put in his place..." Jack grinned, catching the familiar glint in Brick's eye. "Fuck yeah, that's just what he needs. He's such a tool, I wanna fuck him up so bad..." he stopped, realising he'd probably said too much, but Brick's grin just broadened. Despite his nickname, Brick was pretty cunning, and not only did he see a golden opportunity to take in Nick, he had an idea to 'sponsor' Jack too. He enjoyed breaking arrogant bullies like Jack most of all - slowly and surely. "You know man, you seem pretty cool. Ever thought about going to college yourself...you know, keep an eye on Nick. I mean my uncle's the chair of biology and he's always looking for new recruits." Jack stood there dumbly, he'd always been told he was too stupid and poor for college, and here was a stranger handing him a free pass. "Hey there's a special scholarship - bit of a family secret actually - pays for the frat and all. I'd really appreciate having someone like you around..."

Reb was also taking care of business. He'd jogged across campus, and was sweating lightly under the flannel shirt. As he got to the professors row, he unbuttoned the shirt, exposing his honey tanned, gold flecked chest open to the fresh air. The rodeo coverboy jogged up the stairs of her porch, panting as he rung the bell. He didn't have a game plan yet, but he was pretty confident Jennifer would be home - they'd fucked in the mornings before. Her husband Chico was a hospital orderly, and always seemed to pull the worst shifts - the 10pm to 2pm double shift was a regular - Jenn said the doctors were trying to wear him down, or make him skip a shift so they could fire him. Whatever the justification, exhaustion had taken the macho away from her latin stallion, and absence made her heart grow fonder - of Reb's winning smile, and then his wicked dick. So when Reb waited, sweat glistening, arm braced against the door frame to reveal his sexy pit and torso to her, the last person he expected answering the door was Chico. The swarthy man looked up at Reb, his eyes dark and penetrating. He was handsome and buff, like a panther, and Reb suddenly registered how much he'd underestimated his competition. If Chico knew anything, he didn't show it. "So you must be one of my wife's students, yes? She is sick, you know... but I am sure you are here for good reason. Forgive me, why don't you come in?" Reb hesitated, something in his mind screamed danger, but he was competitive and arrogant, and held all the cards, or so he thought. But as he passed through the door and Chico closed it, he didn't get his chance to speak. He felt a jab in his side, high in his lats where his arm had been propped, and suddenly slumped on the wall, conscious but limp. Chico leant down, his unshaven cheek inches from Reb's. "Oh yes, I know all about you...."

Meanwhile Nick was having the time of his life. Seth really seemed to take a shine to him, and despite the discomfort of the massive dildo, the stickiness of his clothes and the tight thong around his horsecock and nads, he was feeling something like the ease he'd enjoyed long ago, before rowing camp had changed everything. Seth had taken him right through the main house, even handing Nick a cold beer from the kitchen. The beer was popped already and a little flat but Nick didn't care. He downed half and despite the harsh taste he grinned, trying to show bravado. Seth smiled and ruffled his hair, mostly because he knew the beer had been flavoured with a healthy amount of piss and cum from last night's fuck session, ready for his pledge Zac to drink. He'd also laced it with a couple of roofies, which would come on soon enough. But for now, it was just a beer between buds, in the king frathouse on campus.

Seth took him around the frat, introducing him to all the jocks, even waking them up so they greeted Nick wearing only boxers, rank and unwashed, tenting the front with their morning piss hards. Nick had been trained to take in every smell, every curve of muscle and cock, and now had to stop himself staring at the prick bulges of dozens of near naked seniors. He was also feeling woozy, but kept drinking the beer, not wanting to seem like a lightweight. They seemed oblivious to it all, although Nick didn't realise many were too busy drinking in the hunky freshman to notice. Seth took him up to his own room, and when he opened the door, the heady scent of male funk hit him immediately, twice as powerful as the other jock dens. He didn't realise until they walked in but Seth shared with Zac, now a sophmore, who was passed out face down on the bed, stark naked. Nick could see everything - not just his arse but his cock and balls stuck out below - all smooth. Not hung like Nick, his tackle did seem unusually bloated. He couldn't see the guy's arsehole between the tight cheeks, which was just as well, or he might have left the frat screaming. Seth just waved his hand dismissively, saying something about 'Zac having had a big night'. In fact, Zac was sleeping off a cocktail of drugs they'd fed him the night before, before gangbanging him in the dining hall. Seth had dragged him upstairs, barely concious, a couple of hours before, finishing off the pledges night by unloading his third load - into the stud's mouth. He made Zac hold it on his tongue, until he fell asleep and drooled it over his pillow and face. Seth was proud of his roomie, he was so desperate to stay in the frat he took any abuse, even when they extended his pledge period for 2 years now. The reason they gave was he'd flunked first year, so he had to repeat everything - even pledging. Really they just wanted to see how much Zac could take, before their cocks split apart his tight little arse, or his balls burst from lack of cumming.

Nick was having real trouble concentrating now, and felt hot and flushed. He was sweating in the football jersey, and having trouble speaking. Seth saw him sweat and fished a singlet from the floor with BDT stencilled across the front, and handed it to Nick to keep. In was obviously dirty, but Nick thought it was still a big honour, being given one of Seth's own shirts. Seth smacked him on the shoulder, brotherly, and told him he should put it on. He wasn't keen to strip in front of Seth, but saw no choice. He shucked off his jersey, pulling the singlet over his head. It was too small for Nick's beefy body and broad torso, in fact he wondered how it fit Seth, not realising it was in fact Zac's pledge tee shirt, which the whole house would recognise. The thin grey cotton was smudged with stains, mostly cum splatter, and the tapered shoulder straps cut into his pecflesh. The material was itchy against his sensitive nipples, in fact icy-hot ointment had soaked into the material from being constantly applied to Zac's own nips, and the hem hovered an inch above Nick's waist, clearly revealing the trash can tattoo. Seth walked up to him, placing his finger on the tatt, asking what it meant. He was standing close, and left his finger there, only inches from Nick's crotch. The air was electric, and Nick felt his cock harden in the posing pouch. He wanted to say something, or move away, but Nick just stood there dumbly, Seth's hand hovering just above Nick's cock, straining for release.

Nick tried to back away but stumbled, head spinning, and Seth steadied him, leading him to the study desk to lean on. He sat Nick on the desk, hand still under his arsecheek, leaning in so Nick's nose was against Seth's chest, inhaling his musky aroma. Nick was now sweating heavily, like a sauna, and rivulets streamed down his armpits, soaking the singlet, while the posing pouch was soaked through, dampening even the jeans. Seth feined concern, pushing Nick's singlet up until it was a mere strap over his mantits, like a crop top, and unbuttoned his fly, shucking the jeans down to midthigh. Nick's horsecock was straining at the cloth, the drugs and pent up cum making his whole crotch throb, and a good two inches of dickroot were showing, cockring clearly visible above the waistband. Seth lay a hand on the his shoulders and another on Nick's abs, and before he could say anything, Seth was holding the back of his head, french kissing him, while his free hand inched down, grazing his aching meat. Precum welled up in his dicklips, seeping through the already soaked pouch, forming a glistening spot that began dripping on to his jeans. His balls were tightening, even his arsering was squeezing against the fat dildo. There was heavy petting, Seth making his nipples hard and squeezing his aching knob until it burped a steady river of precum, wiping the slime from his hand on Nick's exposed pec. He was a messy kisser, not only rubbing Nick's lips with his clit tickler until they were raw, but slobbering gallons of spit down Nick's throat. A small part of his brain was screaming out, but fucklust had taken over the rest, and he just panted, moaning on the desk as Seth roved all over his hunky body. Seth had even moved between his legs, spreading his thighs wide, so his foot grazed against Zac's hairless pit even as they made out. He made Nick lean back, arms spread, his whole body pivoting on his tight arse, moving his crack up into view. Nick had assumed this position so many times before he subconciously thrust his tool out, thighs akimbo, like a cheap whore.

Seth pushed his chest even further down, until he was almost reclined on the desk. This put his face and upper body in full view of the webcam permanently trained on Zac's bed, and suddenly dozens of 'FratCam' subscribers were treated to a new sight, as the panting young jock grunted and groaned from unseen action. It wouldn't remain unseen for long. Seth was slowly shucking Nick's jeans off, and once they were down, he began mauling the posing pouch, his fingers digging for Nick's hole. Then he hit the dildo. Surprise registered on both jocks faces - Nick from the unexpected jolt of pleasure shooting up his hole, and the humiliation of discovery, Seth from finding his innocent prey's dirty little secret. It was all he needed, and all pretence of seduction went out the window. In seconds the pouch was flipped off, landing on Zac's half turned face, and Seth was lightly frigging the knobbly dong in and out of Nick's chute, just enough to put his prostrate into overdrive. His cock was so close to cumming the precum burped out in metronomic regularity, and his whole body quivered with anticipation.

Seth pulled him up and over to the bed, shoving him face down towards Zac. Nick barely had time to brace, his face inches from the sophmore's pulsing prick, his arse up and on display. Seth fucked the dildo more fiercely, now visible on camera, before ripping the equipment out and letting it drop with a thud. He quickly popped his own fly, plugging the gaping void with his own hard cock, bucking into the colt, making the whole bed shake. Zac was woken from his semiconscious sleep, and seeing him begin to stir, coughing dickslime into the posing pouch, he leaned down, grabbing Nick by the back of the head and pushing down. Nick's face was forced onto Zac's tangy stalk, and trained like a robot, he began to lick, giving the abused fratwhore his first sexual pleasure in months. Zac bucked and pushed back, until Nick's face was filled with crack and crotch. Through the druggy haze, he just vaguely realised he was being spit-roasted by two complete strangers, in a strange place, his whole existence a neverending saga of abuse and humiliation. Worse still, as Zac's crevice rubbed over his nose, he could smell the cum and lube juicing the well fucked hole. He'd leaned back and pushed his dick back further, forcing the head between Nick's lips. As the crusty glans forced its way in, he realised he was even the fucktoy of their fucktoy now! Tear began welling in his eyes, just as both jocks breaths became ragged, ready to unload their fuckbags into him. and unfortunately for Nick, not only was Zac a heavy leaker, but after so long without cumming, he would cream dozens of slugs of thick cum if he climaxed. Which was coming very, very soon.

Nick 9 - Cool Nights

by Emile

---

Night had fallen, and the bonfire was blazing. Dozens of jocks and chicks were gathering around the fire, drinking, making out and showing the newbies what college was really all about. Despite the cold, the front row was mostly empty, tacitly reserved for BDT's. Only Brick and Jack were there, stretching their arms towards the heat. Jack was enjoying shooting the shit, and the brotherly way Brick would sling his arm over his shoulder and share his bourbon, but kept glancing over his shoulder for Nick, who'd been gone hours now. Each time he'd tried to excuse himself, Brick had brought him back in the fold, telling him the other guys were taking care of him. Finally, in the firelight he could make out a battered looking Nick stumbling towards them, between Seth and Zac. They sat down heavily next to them, but Seth separated Nick from Jack, so he couldn't grill him on his whereabouts. "Sorry guys" Seth languidly offered "we got caught up touring the frathouse..." Nick clutched his belly and burped, a milky white bubble over his lips that burst into a slick white drool down his chin, before he quickly wiped it away. Jack just stared, but the others grinned. "Oh yeah, Nick here just volunteered to take over Zac's role next year, didn't you Nicky boy!" Meanwhile Jack could see Zac's hand roving over Nick's thigh, squeezing Nick's hefty bulge through the material, making him wince. Jack started to stand, reaching to grab Nick by the scruff of the neck, and Nick looked up at him pleadingly. but Brick pulled him back down, whispering in his ear "Hey bro, isn't this what you wanted ... for someone to fuck him up bad ... just chill, I'll explain everything later. You're our bud, now, aren't you?" Jack sat back and relaxed, leaving Nick's silent plea unanswered.

Little did Nick know the rage in Jack's gut at seeing his personal fucktoy taken away from him - rage he'd never felt when they shared him on the farm. Soon Nick would bear the brunt of that rage. Fortunately for Nick, if any fortune ever shined on him, Jack was placated a little from the knowledge that in his pocket was a letter from the bursar, inviting him to apply for the biology scholarship. He was pretty much guaranteed it, as the only likely applicant, but when Jack returned with Nick to take it in the fall, he'd soon discover the danger of being at the mercy of Brick's uncle and, by extension, Brick himself. While Nick's hell would come at the hands of the rest of the frat, Jack would soon discover his new friend and roommate could make his life a thousand times worse. For now, though, the letter made him feel bound to the group - bound, that is, to let them do as they pleased with Nick.

Across campus, another golden haired boy, Reb, was also bound tightly to his desires, in the form of the newly pregnant Jennifer. They were both naked, tied in 69 position, her lips wrapped around his fuckbloated cock, his lips around an extra thick strap on dildo thrusting out from her lithe waist. The cocks made excellent gags, and the two moaned and drooled helplessly, their cries muffled completely by the girth of each other's dongs. Already Reb's lips were aching from being stretched, and his voice was going hoarse. From now on, the aching jaw and hoarse throat would be his daily company. The paralysing shots kept them from moving a muscle, but he'd tied them well for when the drugs wore off, mid-voyage, so they could squirm all they like but not escape. He loaded them effortlessly into a shipping crate, relishing their pleading eyes. He leaned in, pouring sticky honey over Reb's crotch, trapping the sticky mess in his pubes, then across Jenn's bursting tits, over her stomach and his, across to his heaving pecs, oozing down through the chest hairs, making his flesh crawl, and finally leaving a dollop to course down over her bush. Then he placed a false lid over them, sealing them in darkness. "Adios lovebirds" he cooed through the box, "but where I come from, this is what we do with people like you". In the dark, they felt the first tickles of insects crawling down from the top of the box, making for the honey and nipping savagely at their exposed flesh. Reb, who's manly body hair trapped most of the sap, was in for the worst. Chico nailed the lid down, just as two UPS guys arrived to take the delivery away. "LIVE BULL ANTS" was stencilled across the box, together with the order sheet for Chico's brother Emilio, back in Puerto Rico. Bull ant bites had a nasty habit of swelling, and he knew they would arrive covered in agonizing itchy marks. The deliverymen lifted the heavy box, staggering under the load, and Chico shrugged, sympathetically saying "Sorry 'bout the weight guys, those guys need lots of dirt to burrow. They can crawl around for days!" The UPS guys just nodded, for them it was just another box, about to join hundreds of others.

Reb, being a young hung blonde American, was in high demand, and was quickly sold into the sickest depravity on arrival. Only a week later, his screams would echo around the halls of his new home "Uh ... please, fuck my arse, PLEASE ... just please stop beating my balls.... please...". An hour after that, when one ball had smashed under a sickening thud, the cowboy's wish to have his virgin hole split apart would be granted, although he was such a blubbering mess he could barely cry out when the unlubed cock ripped through his innards. Chico had wanted him to suffer, and Emilio ensured his new owner would give him no end of pain.

Eighteen years later, when Reb's baby boy was as old as he was now, they would meet again, at Emilio's farm. His son, brought up by Emilio as an overseer, was a cruel and relentless man, his swarthy skin and gringo accent almost concealing his american heritage that only the dirty blonde hair gave away. They discovered Reb in their latest batch of 'returns' - a fucked out mess, gaping and scarred, tattooed and pierced from his forehead to his feet, a smooth fuckpig that had every hair on his body systematically ripped from the root. His smile was none to pretty, broken teeth and split lips, tether hooks through his lower lip and tongue, nor was his once wicked dick, hanging limp and deformed, broken, burned and stretched beyond all recognition. Massive welts over scars over scars told a story of years of abuse of his huge dong, and even now they could see ruby ribs along the shaft like cane marks, that on closer inspection were rods inserted below the skin. Only the hosepipe shoved between his split dicklips kept him functioning. He'd been de-nutted years ago at Chico's explicit request to his new owner, and two heavy steel orbs had been stitched into their place. Years of stretching the sac had taken their toll, the orbs replaced over and over until now they were baseball sized, knocking low against his thighs like a sack of oranges. He was still rugged, with his massive shoulders inked with every obscenity imaginable, but years of hard labour had made him lean and wiry. When he walked it was a limp, not from the legs, but from the brutal double fistfuckings they had subjected him to, the final chapter before his owner tired of him, his imagination running dry. His eyes were cast down, from dejection maybe, or the pain of his tortured body. Emilio, recognising in the face of the broken man the shadow of the once proud teen, whispered quietly to his son. In a loud voice, his son announced "Take this one to my private quarters". Reb looked up, not knowing if this meant reprieve or punishment. Emilio smiled at him, clearly relishing the subterfuge. "Ah, there are many experiments he wants to try. Tell me, are all those nerves in your ballbag still sensitive, even after they've been stretched like that?" Slowly and reluctantly, Reb nodded. "Excellent."

But that is then, and this is now - Nick's Summer, not Jack's Fall or Reb's Reunion. Nick sat uncomfortably on the log, gazing into the fire, trying to make himself invisible. From the daze, he heard his name being called - it was Brick signalling him to come over. He didn't really know Brick, except that he clearly liked Jack, which was dangerous, so he scurried over gingerly, just catching Jack's hiss in his ear as he passed - "you're dead!" Brick on the other hand, clean cut and well dressed, stood up and slung his arm over his shoulder, guiding him to keep walking away from the crowd and the bonfire. As they retreated to the woods, the air was cold and pains stabbed like knives. He was skittish, Brick could tell, but Brick was used to dealing with skittish colts - the trick was to make em trust you, then ride em hard. Brick knew already that Seth had dicked him, but preferred a slower mindfuck - and they had the whole semester ahead of them.

"So I don't hang out with Seth and the boys much" Brick started "thought we could get to know each other alone. Sometimes they can get a bit carried away, but my friends, well, they keep in line when I tell them to." Nick relaxed a little at this tiny window of hope on an otherwise bleak outlook. "Hey" he continued, squeezing Nick's shoulders lightly "quite solid shoulders you got there. You do sports?" Nick mumbled something about rowing, but in no time found himself swapping sculling stories with Brick. Despite the cold, the lingering odor of mixed sweat and juices, the pain of the grinding fuck, basically despite everything, he found himself falling under the hypnotic spell that Brick cast over everyone - the alpha male among alpha males. Somehow, rowing turned to bench presses, turned to strength competitions, and soon they were doing chin ups on oak branches, and crunching competitions on the grass, in their own world. Nick won the first, and lost the second, mostly from the shooting pain up his arsehole when he crunched, but he felt a determination ... a need ... to prove himself to Brick. Somehow, if you were in with Brick, you were right. Brick began running, and despite the pain, he jogged after him, pushing past the pain, focusing on achievement, doing something right that would make the summer more bearable. He sprinted past Brick, and the two raced across the field, stopping only when the reached the gym, both heaving from the exertion. Seeing the cinderblock building, Nick feared further feats, but Brick just clapped him on the back, "Say, kid, you're okay. Don't worry 'bout those other guys, come fall, you stick with me!"

They walked back to the campfire, which in their absence had died down to embers. Some brave souls were curled up near the fire, but few were left, and Jack nowhere to be seen. Seth and Zac, too, had gone. Nick sat down, suddenly exhausted, but Brick stayed standing, surveying the others like a kingdom. "Right, I'm gonna hit the sack. See ya." Brick started up the hill, whistling, leaving Nick in the cold campfire, alone. Somehow, Nick was happy, it was the first time in months he was alone.

Nick awoke to hoots and catcalls. He was lying on the grass, shivering, pretty much where he'd dropped off the night before. Only now he was naked - well nearly naked, except the steel cuff still wrapped round his bull balls and horsecock, and the huge dildo which had half slid out of his sloppy hole. Worse than naked, he was completely exposed. He went to cover himself from the gathering crowd leering at his body, and the thick dildo in particular, and heard Jack at his ear, hissing "fuck yourself with it". He was ashen, lying not 10 feet from the frathouse, Brick could see him at any moment, and now Jack was making him impale himself in front of a crowd! He whispered 'please', hand gripping the rubber stalk, ready to pull out or plunge in. Jack was relentless. "I'm your ride". Agonizingly, he slid the dildo back up, to cheers and hoots from the crowd. This was whack, a bunch of college dudes whistling and clapping, while a naked hung jock fucked himself with a supersized dong. With football cheers they egged him on harder and faster, making him punch the dong up his guts until he was grunting in pain, sweat flying from him, his dork swollen from the friction on his love nub. Dudes were taking pictures! He kept going, faster and faster, fearing BDT discovering him. Finally, to a cheering roar, the bat ground along his prostate, sending him over the edge, and he screamed, as his cock throbbed in vain, dribbling goop, his heavy load caught behind the steel cuff. The crowd hung round, some of the guys sporting big boners jeering 'sick' and 'twisted', spitting on him and kicking him lightly, a prelude to some fag bashing fun. But Jack was there, and had no interest in visiting hospital, so threw down Nick's clothes, and told the group the 'prank' was over.

Unknown to them both, Seth and Brick saw the whole thing from their window, and whacked off in time, hatching plans for when they got their hands on those two studs. They shot their loads, Brick and Seth screaming "SNATCHER" in unison. Snatcher was the frat's unofficial mascot. It was, appropriately, a double headed vibrator, homemade and industrial strength, that the frat boasted could get two girls off like they were on speed dial. On high, it could burn a girls clit off in 30 minutes. The Snatcher was kept in a glass cabinet in the basement, and was almost never used - maybe once in three years. Only the loosest girls on campus could hack it, it was too big, and way too powerful for all but the pros. Everyone knew about it, and sorority chicks would wet themselves if the BDT guys even mentioned it. Secretly, though, what the gang had always wanted to do, ever since they were freshmen, was try the Snatcher on a couple of dudes. They knew it would take months of training - regular butt fucking, constant stretching, hours being reamed out by normal vibrators - for any guy to attempt it without permanent damage. But now they'd just found the perfect pair to train.

Before they even hit the road, Nick and Jack's journey had already started. Everything, from the Bursar's letter to dildo fuck on the grass, was pushing them to the edge of a place they could scarcely imagine. There was no turning back - Nick's scholarship was assured, and the whole farm would make sure he went. The ''character building' roughhousing at the academy would only strengthen their resolve. Jack's ego and possessive nature would make him follow. As the summer fell into twilight, and they would cross from boys to men, a painful and hard transformation, preparation for their life ahead.

Online, an update blinked on to "FratCam". Alongside high res pictures of his outdoor session, and the frathouse video of his earlier skewering, a new thread appeared. "Break our Pledges!" The posts were mounting.

Nick\'s Summer

MORE BDSM STORIES @ SEX STORIES POST