BDSM Library - Mike - A Detective Story

Mike

A Detective Story

by Emile

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It starts with photos. A handsome buff chestnut haired guy swaggering off the gym mats, tee balled in his fists to expose his lightly dusted beefy body, arms defined and abs rippling as he walked, only the loose red trackpants hugging the curve of his tight waist making the image decent. Another of the same teen jock,in the showers now, melon arms bent and buried in his hair, eyes shut against the shampoo, unaware of his fully exposed torso, waist and legs, and front-and-centre, a fat hanging cigar of uncut cock parting two low hanging goose egg balls. The next shot, now half dressed again in pyjama pants that hugged the curve of his semi-stiff dork, capering around with his dorm buddies before bed. A close up of the outline of the plum cock head, focused on the precum stain left by the swinging loose dick.

Another set, on the gym floor during an all-schools meet, vaulting the horse to cheering crowds. Another, minutes later, in the athletes tunnel, his gym shorts and jockstrap now bunched around his ankles, pistoning his then girlfriend in a bruising fuck, just out of sight of the spectators. This series was actually split-second photography so common for sports, only this time the telephoto lens pointed at his his purple stiff knob now just parting her twatlips, the dark plum head clearly visible now the foreskin was retracted, shining with streaks of cuntjuice, now half plunged, the veining stalk stretching the cuntlips apart and causing her to buck forward against the thrust, tits arched up and out, now fully buried, big balls slapping against her thigh, trapped between their pressed bodies. The series went on, until her sweat of sex matched his ongoing exertion on and off the mats. Beads of perspiration coated their faces and torsos, and leaked down their inner thighs. Finally, the climax, a look of near pain on both their faces, her arse rammed against the wall and his buttcheeks clenched, followed by the last in the set, the jock cradling her head and kissing her, tool popping out of her snatch, coated with milky cockslop that leaked down and formed a long string to the juice gushing out of her slit.

Another photo, days later now, his hair slightly shaggy as he lay crunched on a bed next to another hunky guy, both jerking off their stiff dorks in time, their long tool visibly pulsing. But the last photo should have raised the alarm. Not an outsiders shot, through some window or across the floor. This was the same chestnut athlete, lying asleep on his bed, sheet pulled down to expose him to the camera, taken from just above his knees, mere inches from his bulging muscular body. His dick stiff and shiny, from some secret ministration, his mouth smiling in his sleep, blissfully unaware of the close intruder. But no-one that saw the images posted on the net knew, or cared, who the sexy jock teen was, or if he knew of the pictures or consented. Even if they had, none of those lusty guys and gals would recognise him from a dozen other sex mules who posed as "collegeboyz" or similar. No-one to connect the images to the photogenic champion gymnast Mike Frisk who would soon be on TV screens across three states.

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Mike was one of the best gymnasts on the squad. He could spin himself around one handed on the horse, triceps rippling as he vaulted his taut muscular body around. By 14, the year he went all the way with his first girlfriend, the star vaulter was Young Gymnast of the Year. As the years progressed he loved his girlfriend with the intensity of first love, all the more since Daphne was a gorgeous svelte blonde, who sprouted great tits made for squeezing, and yet demure enough not to flash them around. She was cute yet coy, serious but sexy, and she loved nothing more than spending her nights with a good book in front of her, a Diet Coke by her side, or Mike Frisk on top. Their parents were both proud of the 'A' couple, and while her dad Stan might pretend she was still a virgin, he was pretty fond of her little studmuffin boyfriend, always wanting a son for himself, and caught himself more than once thinking about their antics just a little more than was proper.

At 17, he won the State Championship, a victory his mates helped him celebrate with Daphne by clearing their squad hotel room for his candlelit dinner, in-house movie and long, slow marathon fuck on the king sized hotel bed. The limber young stud and his long term girlfriend fucked so long and hard that when they snuck into the room next morning, expecting a romantic breakfast scene, the coach and team instead sprang the sophmore cheerleader still trying to swap up the litres of cum gushing from her bruised gash, only just recently refucked for the ninth time. Mike, padding around butt naked, towelling off his spiky hair from his usual post-fuck shower, was also taken aback, his dark purple and sore dong still throbbing and lurching, lust having pushed him past the pain barrier, fucking hard until his balls were as sore as Daphne's clit and well mauled nipples.

The guys were quick to crowd around him, patting him on his broad back, shoulders and even a joking slap on the arse, for his athletic prowess, preventing him from protecting the dignity of his long term love. They'd both nursed the ache of their passion, Mikes sore cock and stretched foreskin never quite regaining its former elasticity, but the most lasting effect was their break up, Daphne never getting over the humiliation of having the squad see her swabbing her gash, or staggering to hide when they entered. The two lovebirds were unlucky in love after that, Mike having a string of lusty girls always waiting to towel the sweat off his pec mounds after dismount, or get ground out by his swinging dong, but never really settling down with any one of them. Daphne too was passed on from one guy to another, discovering to her constant shame that her reputation, and some mobile photos, had reduced her from prom queen to porn quean, the slut of final year. Her brother Derek, a short wiry EMO in the graduating class went out of his way to hassle Mike for fucking over his little sister, made easier since he was class captain, but Mike took the little indignities - picking up papers, tucking in shirts - in his stride, only making Derek more frustrated. Mike has this strange way of exuding sex, so even when he bent over to grab some wrapper, the curve of his arse would slip out of his pants, or tucking in his shirt, his cock would seem to thrust forward as he jammed the hem down, just angering the unpopular teen more, a slight far worse than his deliberate demands. And the look Mike gave him - apologetic, almost sympathy, made Mike the unconscious winner of every incident.

The rest of the guys were all really supportive though, getting him right back on regular sex - jerking off and casual fucks - to keep his mind on track. His best bud Troy and his twin Trey were great pals for this, both identical swarthy tanks with an insatiable appetite for snatch, they would often be seen in the dorms in their wrestling shoes and nothing else, legs apart and jerking their choads like it was a competition, which between those two it always was. They both leaked like crazy all the time, from a slow drip when they were tooling around campus to thick juicy prespunk just before they shot their creamy loads. And they both loved to show off their fat and heavy dicks. Their only difference was that Troy, the slightly older one, was his father's uncut hero, while Trey, the younger mama's darling, had been cut at birth. A bizzare first compromise in their estranged parents marriage. This only fuelled their fire, first because Troys leakage was a constant problem, and he was constantly staining his shorts, but all the more since Trey had to move dorms, and Troy became Mike's best bud. Of course, being Mike's bud was not all it was cracked up to be, especially when 6 month he took up edging, just for a couple of days to give him an edge in competition, and convinced Troy to do the same. Now every time he had the idea, next a week and now longer, Troy was the one who suffered in sloppy solidarity.

He wasn't the only one. Reese, who competed with Mike in the junior bodybuilding championships in the summer, had been a long time close friend of Mikes too, who'd in fact gotten into bodybuilding when Mike started to fill out on the gym floor, and wanted to keep up. He was competitively charismatic, almost falling over himself to charm everyone, including Mike, and be everything to everyone. This and the dysmorphia, that even had him strictly watching his diet from 16, stemmed from deep rooted abandonment issues, now hopelessly tied in to his secret and possessive love of Mike. He only felt at home at the gym, the other steroid bunnies his only other real friends. His devotion to Mike, however, brought the two together. At the summer championships for instance, after finally convincing Mike to join him so he could see him flex in his matching black posing pouch, he was on such a high after the competition (which he won) that he wrapped his bulging arms around Mike and squeezed him hard, a move he only salvaged manliness by scuffing him and dragging him towards the changerooms "so they could hit the town".

Mike may've cottoned on, cause for the first time that night, he aggressively drank and picked up this local teen admirer, and they both went back to the hotel room for a thinly disguised threesome. Reese had a few brews too, to take the edge off his pain, and found himself plugging her arse while Mike speared her cunt, screwing up his eyes pretending it was Mike's tight rear he was skewering, not hers. She was in seventh heaven, two bulging titans filling her to the brim, but when Mike came unprotected, she screamed and ran to the bathroom (this before Reese had a chance to cum) to wash it out. Mike groaned and dropped back on the bed, dropping into post-fuck slumber in minutes. Reese didn't miss his chance, first gently wrapping his hand around the sticky tool before boldly going down on the muscular stud, slurping the cum and cuntjuice off his fat stalk. So involved in his cocksucking, he barely noticed Mikes breath changing until he felt his sweaty cummy hand firmly grip his hair, and guide him balls deep, as Mike pumped him up and down, quickly becoming rock hard and orgasming again, this time spitting his hot cocksauce straight down Reese's throat, while Reece's own long cock spattered his abs with his own watery sauce, untouched. He barely had time to draw back, sucking the spooge off, before the water stopped in the bathroom, and the now meek girl Stacey emerged. They never spoke about it, and Mike didn't hang around with him as much afterwards.

But a few weeks later he found a way of winning him closer, when Stacey contacted him (since Mike hadn't bothered to leave his number), to tell him she was pregnant. Thinking it was clearly Mikes, Reese made the ultimate sacrifice - he would take the blame. He was willing to do everything - tell her parents, drive her to the abortion clinic - that was until, a few weeks later, the big titted blonde announced her new plan to keep the grommet, even if (in her words) it meant marrying the fucker who planted it. At first he thought she meant Mike, who they both knew was the real father, but she was quite happy for the handsome buff stud Reece, with his great grades and championship trophy, to be the groom. The announcement had been made, and the weeks were now counting down to Reese and Staceys big day. But not only was Mike warm but indifferent to Reese's plight, claiming not being able to remember much of the night, but Stacey too he'd caught twice romping around with other guys. She shrugged when challenged, it wasn't as if he was 'fulfilling' her, but he'd admitted to knocking her up, so he was trapped now. And even if he had the balls to deny it (and while he had big balls, he didn't often use them), he was after all a people pleaser, and how could he let down both Mike and Stacey at once. Miserably, the young stud threw himself into his training, controlling what he could - his body - while his life fell apart around him.

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The day of Mike's 18th was a big celebration. It started with Troy and Mike in their dorm room, talking dirty and pumping their pricks side by side, until the heat and squelching of oozing precum filled the room. For the last month, Mike had been edging again - preventing himself from cumming to keep himself alert and in form, not for competition, but to make popping his new girlfriend Sasha's cherry a memorable experience. His best bud Troy had been edging with him, and while the dull ache gave Mike focus and drive, it had been pure torture for Troy, who went from fucking his girl daily to forced abstinance. Mike too found it hard of course, his cock clock went off three times daily and it was hard and dripping from the need, but he channelled it into his exercise like a man posessed. For Troy, wrestling never gave him the relief, especially since his twin brother (and wrestling partner) was still free-fucking the world. In fact, to his increasing shame he'd even let his mirror twin fuck his girlfriend, two weeks back, when she'd complained about the edging and was a little drunk. He knew how disappointed Mike would be if he saw his friend's swollen sac and throbbing cock reduced to an emptied flaccid bag, but hearing his girlfriend now encourage him to keep edging, because "it was the best fuck of her life" made him increasingly jealous and frustrated. So he was a little harder on his bro on the mats, but he couldn't really hate him, any more than anyone could hate the charismatic stud Mike.

After half an hour's jerk off, when the two were really worked up and their cocks were iron hard and pulsing, Mike sprang up and pulled his gym shorts over his sensitive equipment, grabbing and old singlet and racing to the gym. He freeballed now, the tugging movement somehow better than the constant ache of fucklust. Troy, who he left on the bed to come down from his prefuck high, felt that feeling extra bad. Mike worked super hard at the gym, until sweat coursed off his tight body and his tackle throbbed from the turns and vaults. More than a few guys and girls were around the gym, stealing glances at him, as his prick and nuts would swing in and out of view, but he never seemed to cotton on, or care. Reese was in the gym too, lifting heavy weights with pain and fierce determination. He caught a glimpse of Mike's swinging dork and grimaced with pain - not from the weight, or pang of loss, but real brutal pain, since Stacey had taken her control of the musclestud to a new level.

The bridezilla decided Reese was going to look his best for the big night, both in the tux and out of it. Admiring his smooth bodybuilder's torso, she made him remove the rest of his unsightly pelt - every last hair from neck to ankle, especially his 'disgusting' dick thatch and big fuzzy balls. Remove - not shave - with a can of chemicals from a variety store. It stung and burned and now he was prepubescent smooth, humiliatingly bare. But this morning she'd been more concerned about what he looked like with the tux on. His flaccid hanging dong would have to go, the balls pushing it out obscenely. She thought it was gross, and ruined the line of the slim black pinstripe she'd chosen. So online she bought him a latex cock restraint that pulled his tackle back between his legs, trapping his sensitive equipment between his beefy thighs where it was bumped and rubbed raw. Worse, when he saw Mike and his cock jumped, the painful bend between his legs became excruciating as the trapped cock had no-where to go. He gritted his teeth, angry at Stacey for making him 'road test' the restraint, and angrier at himself for being too weak to say no, or even dare remove it without permission. He shuddered to think of the other things she'd buy online, having mentioned how she'd spotted fishnet jocks, cockrings and ballstretchers, with a glint in her eyes.

He squeezed his squashed tackle, pretending to scratch his thigh, and whipped his hand out and back to the flye machine when he noticed Mike frowning at him. He needn't have worried, for all the restraint he showed by not touching his cock, Mike's gaze was fixed firmly on the silver chain hanging between his broad pecs. Mike came over, slapping him hard on the shoulder, making him feel even more uncomfortable as he forced himself to keep his arms spread on the pads while his hard dick ground against the narrow tapered seat. Uncomfortable because Mike was staring down at his pumped body, running his eyes from his nips to his waist like meat.

But for the wrong reasons. "What the fuck, Reese, I can't believe you fingered my stuff!" Mike grabbed at the silver chain, yanking it off him, unresistingly. Mike had lost his St Michael's badge two weeks earlier, playing a casual game of football, although he hadn't realised at the time. Reese had the same badge, from a long dead aunt when he was sick once, although he wore it these days in emulation of his hero Mike. The accusation stang, burning that Mike would think of him, after having done so much, as a thief. Well, Reese did finger Mike's stuff, finger and sniff and lick, but take something Mike wanted, never. He even gave him stuff he didn't ask for. For what? To see him stalking off, holding his chain, made him burn red, even made his trapped dick limp, well, less hard. But he was weak, and called out nothing more than "Hey Mike, please come back..."

Mike didn't listen, and walked back to the mats. He fixed the chain around his broad neck, and brushed the silver medallion off his brown aureole where it had caught, so it could nestle between his thick chest slabs. Before he could resume his routine, the coach called him though, barking at him to go up to the nurse's station for his annual check up. It wasn't just walking through the whole school wearing little to stop his tackle flopping out that had him worried, but the though of changing in the cold impersonal clinic was bad enough in his briefs, and he wouldn't even have that protection now. Usually the coach went with him, a gruff steamroller father figure who always looked after Mike and all his boys. Not this time, in fact coach had been a bit cool with him for a while, in fact ever since he porked his maths teacher, Miss Brown, between periods before spring break in the staff toilets. He always had a soft spot for her, but Mike had a hard one, and needed grades. So this time, he sent Kip and Paul, his two assistants, instead.

Kip and Paul were no friends of Mike. Only three years older, they'd moved straight from team sports to teaching sports without ever losing the jock arrogance most guys shed after school. Mike the all star bothered them, young enough not to know him from school, the first in a long line of future heroes they'd see follow them, younger fitter and hungrier, pushing them into obscurity. So the jock teachers shrugged impassively when he told them he needed to put on some gear before going up, and all but dragged him to the nurses station. When the sallow fat nurse with her drooling lip told him to strip naked, they came in the room with him, flanking the door which they left wide open, beefy arms crossed over their chests. Kip gathered up his clothes as he stripped, leaving him buck naked, and Paul jibed about his ugly dork, pointing to the uncut head as it flopped out of his shorts as if it was a turd. He reached out to get the medical gown hanging on the door hook, but Paul slapped his hand away, telling him to cover his stinking dork before someone saw. He protested, but they shouted him down, telling him to behave. So he would have to do the whole check up bare arsed.

The hour long set of tests with the brawny duo and obese nurse staring on were terrible, the nurse kept licking her lips as he did jumping jacks for the heart rate test. He could deal with the playground kids pointing and gawking, hell half of them would see his dork up close and personal if they played their cards right. But they were older, their looks harsher, not lust but something else, sinister. The instruments were icy cold, the thermometer rectal, the tests endless. The nurse gave him two shots in his arm, nearly deadening it, and took enough blood to make him dizzy. Buthe was buoyant before his party, and nothing would bring him down.

Back in the dorms after lunch gruel, all the guys were back from their practice sessions, showered and dressing for his big 18th bash. His mostly absent dad was back in town and the college was putting on a garden party thing, before the real party, a black tie affair, across town. While the capered and horsed around half naked, as they would any Saturday night, the change from their usual casual clothes to formal gear was a transformation. The jocks stretched their starched shirts and tailored jackets over their brawny bodies, barely containing the bulging flesh with a veneer of respectable dress. Their charm maxed out, somehow even more animal and dangerous when caged in gear so different from their own. Only Mike looked at ease in his jacket and tie, even if the pants stretched tight over his prong and cut his arse into two hard cheeks. After two hours on the grass, the guys and even the house master sneaking him drinks on the sly, the mood was buzzing, not just for Mike but the whole crowd. So it was a sad moment when he ran his hands through his spiky hair and gestured to his friends that he was off, to meet his dad before the big event.

His friend Russell left with him, dropping him at the school gates before going to pick up Mike's girlfriend Sasha. Sasha was a virtual Russian princess, and Russell's best friend since their childhood. Somehow he'd kept her a secret til recently, when Mike had met her when he randomly dropped by Russell's house in town. And while he'd never had the guts to ask out the raven beauty, Mike had wasted no time, although out of charity had put off his usual third date fuck the entire month (thus the edging), so he could pop her cherry on his birthday, and a respectable time after they'd started going out. But carelessly, he'd asked Russell if he could do him a favour, not just escort her to the party (a given anyway), but to see if she would also prepare herself for their maiden fuck, and shave her pussy nice and smooth. He'd always been a fan of a shaved cunt, and since he finally had an "in" to making sure their first fuck would go memorably, he asked, actually begged Russell, to convince her to do it for him. It was hard for Russell, sitting in her room, as he'd done for years since they were kids, watching her adjust her dress and pout in the mirror, only this time, not for play, but with real intensity, a virginal concern. And then the indignity of having to ask her, this perfect trusting doll, the most humiliating personal question, and seeing her burn with shame, but then unhesitatingly trot off to the bathroom to clear a path for Mike's big bruiser.

A big bruiser it was, as Mike left Russell, he couldn't help squeezing the fat dong as it hung down the dress pants, only the foreskin preventing a fat dollop of precum from staining the front as he worked the fabric over the velvety flesh. The sun was low in the sky, shining in Mike's eyes, and despite the season, walking directly in its path made him hot and uncomfortable in his best duds. He tugged at his shirt, popping another button, wiping the sweat from the cleft of his chest where his St Michael's medallion hung, and sauntered downtown, eager to see his father, who he always tried so hard to please, and to celebrate becoming a man.

Mike 2

A Detective Story

by Emile

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So it was that when Mike didn't show for his big 18th birthday, there were plenty of confused guys and girls wondering where their hero and lust object (secretly some of the guys as much as the girls) didn't show.

Hey what're you doing here?

Mike your as skittish as a colt. Relax, it's your birthday. I got something for you.

Uh, you shouldn't have, I mean...

I said relax! I left it upstairs, c'mon.

Really, I shouldn't, and I gotta get to my dads...

The hot jock had so much charisma and athletic prowess it was unthinkable anything could have happened to him he didn't want. I mean, the taut musclestud wasn't scrappy, but he could hold his own in a fight, the huge guns that helped him vault and pivot were also mean weapons of defence. So for a while, the guys joked around about some secret initiation or rite of passage, guessing that this was part of some other plan, while Sasha lolled about, pulling at her dress which clung uncomfortably to her newly denuded snatch.

Oh fuck I'm so bombed, and this jacket's really hot...

I'll fix you another. Don't worry, we got this hotel room for the night, just relax, you can put it back on later. Whoa you're really stretching those buttons, and sweating already. Why don't you loosen your collar a bit for me?

Uh, who's we? And I really got to get going, I'm like super late already...

Whoa whoa, you ain't in no position to go like that. Sit here for a bit until you're feeling better. The boys'll be up soon...

What? um, maybe we should call...

Mikeeey....

Oh fuck, hi guys, can you help me, I really gotta get to the party...

Mikeey, chill out, have a brewskie... Here I got a game we can play - 18 rounds for your 18 years, eh?

Oh, no, I can't have any more, I'm feeling kinda dizzy and...

Okay, fuck no drinking man, you'll sober up just fine. Here, just poker. Hey we'll make it interesting. Strip poker?

Well, maybe if she, I mean if we're all playing...

But as midnight approached, everyone was worried. They checked on his dad's hotel, but the high flyer had taken back-to-back calls all afternoon while waiting, had had to be pried away from a London teleconference to hear the news that his son, due hours ago, was missing.

Shit, no, not again...

Woohoo Mikey, lost again. Well what's left?

Uh, well, oh no... That's it man, I've just got my jocks, I'm out.

Fuck no man, look at us, we've just got our boxers. You got plenty more to lose...

Uh, man, whats that mean... I'm still a buzzy and how come she's still fully dressed...

Yeah dumbass, you'll work it out eventually. So hup, shuck them jocks...

The police were called, and despite their usual 24 hour rule, they were all our searching for the hometown hero by first light. The morning news carried the story, hundreds of horny housewives woke to pictures of the white neon smile and chiseled face of Mike on the morning news, in his training singlet with folded arms tucked behind his triceps across his barrel chest. A convincing picture for compassion.

Oh no please no you can't ...uugh it's my, it's ...

yeah shut the fuck up cuntbreath you know the rules. so what you got left to give, eh. I mean you agreed to lose your pride, all you had to do was sit on my lap...

But I didn't know you were naked man, and then I felt...

Fuck yeah, your legs spread, my thick cock pressed up against yours, you look like a real male fuckslut in the pictures. But you liked my fist around your dick, you were humping and thrusting and drooling so much the shots look like porn. So you just keep playing your cards right and no-one has to see eh. So again, man, what you gonna lose? Huh?

No, please, my, I can't. I was drunk or drugged or something, I swear. Please just let me go, it's like dawn already...

No can do man. You gotta lose your virginity first. I mean you been riding my finger here for 15 minutes already, how much worse'll it be. Here, have another shot, it'll make it easier. Yeah your already pretty messy, and yeah, we slipped something in to keep you nice and passive, heh, so here, just another shot. Tell you what, he can go first, loosen you up, eh...

Two days went by without word, and Mike was a household name, a campaign in the making. Without leads, there was little the cops could do, and the news features anguished home room teachers, friends and fucks in a juggernaut of emotion.

Rise and shine Mikey, so how'd you rest. So those tradesmen really like their tools eh. Fuck you look a mess, your nipples are all puffy and look at the fucking head of that thing, it's like on fire or something! What'd they use? This bottle? Root killer eh, but that stuff's caustic! And they didn't even touch the grease I left for the fucking machine. Yeah yeah quit moaning, I'll ungag you as soon as I turn the machine off. Whoa - XXL, that's one mean dong pulverising your chute. Crack whores would choke on that choad. The suction's like reaming you out big time. Maybe I'll leave it on for a while longer, yeah? Oh don't get like that, quiet down or I'll get the wrench out. I'm warning you, you know your big muscles are no match for iron, specially tied down like that. I mean I'm sure you'd have moved your bare forearms away from the cigarettes yesterday if they were. So, how 'bout an hour?

Somehow, missing Mike was a cue for universal bonding, his girlfriends gathering in wistful recollection of the way he would get turned on whenever a towel grazed his nipples, their sensitive electricity shooting down to his hefty dick, which lurched with every touch like a livewire. They'd recall how need to fuck was always urgent and intense with him, unstoppable once it started, they knew after a few good wipes he'd throw them against the wall, in the athletes tunnel, only metres away from the cameras, and fuck them hard and long, like a piston, buttcheeks clenched in concentration, until he washed them with cum with a low gutteral moan. What a pretty boy he was, a mate to all the guys, and the heartthrob of all the girls. And they'd get all hot and lusty, masked as emotion, and would rush off to 'cry' in the bathrooms, more like crying out, as they fingered themselves to ecstasy.

See, that's how you finger a girl. It was fun for a while, playing with your special spots, you hated it, turned you on something fierce. Not so special now we've all had a go. Not so sensitive either eh, really pretty messed up, I'm surprised it's not just all numb already. Well, I guess the bits we left. Still horny and hungry though, aren't you piggie. And that's what I mean, see, fingering a chick isn't about getting her off, it's about getting her wet for you. And you, well, I just need to nudge your balls like this ... and twist in here... yeah, I can play you like a fiddle. Fuck there are go-go boys in San Fransisco that put out less'n you. If it was up to me, we'd just keep you here, our little fucked up fucktoy. But the others, they wanna get more serious now. Way more serious. Sorry Mikey, no hard feelings eh. Just like you always said...

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It was almost a week before Mike was found, barely alive on the dirt bike track. He was messed up so bad they couldn't show it on the news, not just his face, which his assailants had punched and pummeled until his once pretty jaw was broken and black eyes swollen shut, but all over his body, one aching mess from head to beaten foot. His powerful gymnasts arms were broken, with scars across his hands like he'd been forced to rub them raw.

"Okay cunt, since your ankles are tied to your balls, you can either crawl up the steps here on your knees and tug those nads hard, or you can drag yourself up the rope. Quit whining, you can still use your thighs to grip, if the pain's not too bad, and you've wrapped your palms around meatier shafts than this old rope in the last 24 hours. Keep coming... little more... See that wasn't so bad. Now wrap your pretty lips around the shaft of this rubber dong. Yeah I lathered it with goop and cunthairs just like a real cock for you... Okay and now... wait, dang it, we forgot the cockring. Okay shimmy back down the rope and we'll start again. Yes on your hands and knees, dumbfuck. I want this just right for the camera, even if it takes a dozen shots. Shoot now I'm gonna have to dip this dildo in crud all over again, and I just took off them gloves. Maybe I'll just leave em on until we get to the fistin..."

They'd been resourceful too, whipping his back with his own leather belt before skewering his right tit, apparently after some earlier work, with the blunt buckle. But it was his fat swinging tackle they'd focused on, his cock not just beaten and balls bashed, but a complete laceration of his very manhood. The process had clearly taken days, some wounds scarring over with others still fresh. The constant attention had grossly swelled his tender flesh, perhaps deliberately so, the once finely veined tube now freakishly tortured, thick welts criss-crossing the overstuffed pizzle. In fact, it appeared that after beatings and burnings, they had injected something under the flesh itself, pushing the skin out in long tracks like ribbing.

Oh yeah Mikey feel that, sliding under your cockskin. See you pork chicks like this, stretch em out, now we get to stretch your porker instead. Hey guys, we got more of this stuff, I wanna really make this fucker big. You like your big dick don't you Mikey, you were so proud, how'd you like it supersized? Of course it's fucking painful, and ugly, and kinda useless once we've stretched it this much, but then you never cared much about consequences, eh Mikey boy. Okay, here goes another...

Aaaugh fuuuck please stop you're killing me....

I warned you cuntface, don't make me smack those babymakers again. Sorry, ex-babymakers, your tackle's pretty useless now. Still hurts like crazy though...

Please guys why are you doing this? I thought you liked me? I mean...

Oh yeah Mikey, we like you plenty...

At some point they'd moved from fists and whips to blades and chains, his long foreskin slashed and split, blood only staunched by his tattered suit pants glued to the gash. The skin had been split apart, then recut, until his whole cockhead was exposed and the hood flaps hung free, weighed down by two padlocks punched through the two ends. His neck was bruised from a heavy chain connected to a meathook still skewered though the tender glans, apparently having been yanked round his broad neck muscles so hard the hook had all but torn through the meaty head, tearing up against the two padlocks pulling downwards. Beneath it, his pisshole had been stretched wildly, first by what looked like a marker pen to judge from the black ink scraped down the sides and the tearing around the pisslips, but other implements too, the last, an old iron key, one of those long ones with big square ends, still jammed in deep, the teeth still digging into the root. All this had stretched the urethra wildly, so it gaped around the handle drooling goop. It wasn't clear what the stuff was, the guys thought precum, until the lab results confirmed it was liquid soap they'd apparently used as stinging lubricant.

Now there's this surgeon at the hospital, he's into some sick shit. Be thankful he isn't here, or you'd lose your lumpy dick for sure. So spread wide - wider, so you can feel the muscles ache. That's it, hold it. Get used to that feeling, nice and stretched - wait, you're used to that now! Just a little wider, so I can get a clear shot. And put your hands up above you head, so you don't accidentally defend yourself and break your wrist or something, that'd pretty much rule out gym. Well there's still a slim chance, maybe, if you got help soon. Anyway I like seeing your smooth pits, it'll be great when the redness goes down, then it'll just all be smooth. Okay stretch your thighs again, really wide now, like your stradding a horse. Good.

His nuts, too, were grossly swollen, clearly ruptured from countless blows and kicks, no more baby batter from his baby's-fist bat anymore. A cord still tied around the nutsack, ropeburn across the tender nutflesh, showed how they'd yanked his balls taut before inflicting the crippling blows. His body had not been spared either, lacerated with crude messages cut across his chest and back. Inking too, you couldn't really call it tattooing, it was pretty amateur, but what they'd lacked in skill they'd made up for in effort - big red and black letters - OINK across the nape of his neck, DOUCHE across his pecs, even "HOG PIZLE" down his inner thigh. Really filthy stuff. Not even spelt properly.

Safety pins had been punched through his tender skin everywhere, his lips, nostrils, even the length of his cut cock and bloated ballsac, not to mention painfully skewering between each finger and toe, not just delicate pins but extra large motherfuckers, some tugged and torn through. And then, there was the damage to his arse. So much cum was leaking out the gaping hole it took them four hours to notice the hairspray can that had been shoved in, keeping his sphincter dilated to 5 inches across. The detectives rushed DNA tests through, sure the cum would lead them to the rapists (for no one guy could produce so much spunk), but when the milky slop came back a mixture of horse and dog cum in castor oil, the same cocktail they found in his pumped stomach, they were no wiser. Not only did the castor oil grease his innards to much they couldn't move him without squelching crud, his gaping arselips unable to stop days worth of cummy junk leakage, but he was found almost cyclicly puking the cum from his stomach. By their guess, this meant the gallon or so of animal spoooge they pumped from him accounted for only his last few hours, let alone what else he must have swallowed in previous days.

It was inconceivable who would've done such a thing to the popular hero. As he lay in traction in hospital, his jaw wired shut, arms in casts and tubes all over him, countless schoolmates and townsfolk stopped by, gawking at the naked and mutilated jock. They couldn't even cover his once proud prick and balls, from the tubes and bands they had around it. In fact, it was a blessing he was still in an induced coma, as no-one was sure what to do about the damage, even the plastic surgeon doubtful they could turn the messed up flesh into any semblance of male tackle. Some things, like the overstretched right nipple with its post-buckle hole, could be fixed. But whoever had messed up Mike had really made sure he'd never be swinging his dick again.

The lead up was also pretty bad. First they woke him at 6am, not only waking to the searing pain, but discovering his jaw wired shut, arms immobilised, and some male nurse coming in for prep. They pulled off the covers, so his naked flesh was exposed to the cool morning air, and drew back the curtain, so everyone could see him. Lots of guys were there - the whole dorm, the gymnastics team, even the girls from the squad, and they all saw Mike's ripped stomach and bulging chest, the bruises, cuts and fithy messages. Moreover, when the orderly parted his legs to give him the pre-operative shave, they saw everything. It was awful the process took 30 minutes, and when finished he was as bare as a schoolboy, the last thatch of hair reduced to match his smooth gymnasts skin. They pried and prodded him, ignoring him when he became increasingly agitated, catching a glance at some of the guys in the crowd. But the orderlies ignored it, and injected a muscle relaxant to quieten him down. Nurses, orderlies, even casual visitors could see his whole body and tackle, as he lay slackly in the bed, waiting for the procedure. He was humiliated and in agonising pain, although he should have been prouder of his big boy and balls. Certainly he should've enjoyed his last chance to show them off.

After all, he was handsome and popular, and even if the beatings and the humiliation left lasting scars on his psyche, he might've recovered somewhat, if the procedure had gone differently. But his surgeon - at his insurers insistance - the county's best - was Dr Crestwell. The last thing he heard as he lay on the gurney, losing consciousness, was the doctor lifting his hospital gown, and shaking his head.

No, definitely can't save that. I'll have to cut it off for sure. Best thing is for a gender reassignment, at least then it won't look that strange.

Strapped down naked and barely able to protest, he tried desperately to say something as the anesthetist turned up the gas, and looked impassively into his struggling face. "There there" the assistant said, as the doctors peeled back the hospital gown, scalpel in hand.

Dr Crestwell, to give him credit, was very, very good at his job. The surgeon had done dozens of gender reassignments before, and prided himself on his ability to "build a functioning vagina". He cut off Mike's ruptured balls, ripping away forever his testosterone pumping masculinity, but still, with expert care, keeping the tubes intact so the seminal fluid (so like cuntjuice) could still flow when aroused. He inverted the dick, so Mike's sensitive long former foreskin would itch and tingle with touch as it lined the walls of his new cunt. He removed the cockflesh down to the root, even most of the precious mushroom head, just leaving a bundle of sensitive nerves sewn together in a bag of glans skin, a new dangling g-spot. He even reshaped the pelvic bone, pulling the crotch skin down, to make proper labia surmounted by an (eventual) hairy thatch (although much less than the boys former cockroot). It was really only when the poor former jock cunt was wheeled back into his room for recovery, still groggy with anasthetic, that the full magnitude of what they'd done would hit home.

Mike - A Detective Story

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