BDSM Library - You Can Never Go Home

You Can Never Go Home

by Emile

"ok, boy, drop those pants"

"but dad, please, can we just go home?"

"I know it's difficult, the good lord doesn't want to see your privates either, but the doctor here is a professional, he can help you."

"but I don't need help, mom said it was a gift"

"look boy, don't make me whup your arse. drop em"

Reluctantly, he lowered his dungarees and peeled the jockstrap off his bulging package. He could swear the young doctor licked his lips as he did so, but his dad was staring intently at him, so he said nothing.

"well see here doc is the problem. that jezebel and her liberal notions. I should've known from the minute she let them cut his hood like a heathen when he was born. But no sirree she said it was 'healthy'. And then, when he was, what, 14? ..."

"dad please, you're embarrassing me"

"and he began sproutin hair and filling out, well that was natural, but THAT" he said, pointing to his arching cock, the thick base rooted to his pelvis like a tree stump "that just ain't what the lord intended. When I saw that thing growin, I told her we needed to fix him up, even got some pills from a friend to slow the un-nat'ral growth, but what'd she do, eh, eh?"

He was yelling now, shaking the kid by the shoulder, his hair tousling over his face. His dad had been enraged when he first saw him, long ponytail tied behind him like some "hippie commie bastard", and he'd hacked it off right there with scissors, leaving a jagged mop that fell over his eyes. He meant to take him to the town barber, just as soon as this appointment was done, to get a proper decent buzzcut like he had. Seeing his son shaken up, he calmed down, coughing to hide his outburst, and continuing in a level voice.

"Urm, well that was back then, and she went to the big smoke. The judge wouldn't let me near him. But back east, he's a man at eighteen, so she don't get to decide nuthin no more. And me boy here did the right thing, comin back to me, maybe it aint too late to fix some of her wrong ways."

The doctor eyed the boy critically. Well not a boy so much as a man, solid and defined from high school football, dark hair and stubble petering off to a light dusting of body hair, before snaking together in a long snail trail to his bulging prick bush. What a bulge, like few men could boast - not so much the hair as the whole crotch was thrust up by the root of his enormous cock. The stalk easily grazed his pecs lying down, the fat mushroom head bulging above the circumcision scar like a peach, the stalk already hefty at the head. But the prodigious member didn't just join his body, it grew into it, fattening like a third thigh, flaring out at the base, a second pelvic bone. Standing as he was, the dork arched out in front of him so far it vaulted the chair, head grazing the top of the doctor's desk. As his dad spoke, a small blob of precum began soaking into the papers it touched, and he could see the veins pulsing, feeding the hungry monster.

The doctor directed him to sit on the examination table, so he could get a closer look. As he walked, the doctor got his first look at the guys balls, swinging low and heavy below the bobbing cock. On a lesser man, he would have noticed them immediately, the nutsac whacking his thighs with metronome regularity and, from his ginger steps, quite a bit of pain. Seeing him staring, his dad chimed in "yeah i'm figuring he beat off like a bronco, I swear no sac get that stretched on its own. I already told him, no touchin until they're normal too, but with this operation he ain't gonna be able'a do nuthin for a while yet, eh doc."

The patient's eyes bulged at the word operation, and he blurted out "no you can't. please, you promised, you said if there was another way..."

"yeah, IF, boy, but you heard the doc, no 'mount of hormones is gonna make that dong of yours regular again, not 'nymore. I ain't gonna waste my money tryin if this good state will pay for a quicker fix instead."

"but I don't need fixing" the boy whimpered. His voice was quiet, the whimper of a broken man, perhaps years before, filled with dread and resignation.

"look boy, when you're a man, which means 21 in this here state, you can fuck up your life how you please. but you came back a child, and I can't let you start that journey lookin like a freak. not since providence's given us these few months to fix things. Now hush, so the doctor and I can book you in."

"really that won't be necessary" the doctor said "you just sign these here forms, and we'll keep him in the clinic to run some tests, and put him in the first available bed. you can visit every day until the surgeon is ready." The doctor couldn't wait to have the 20 year old in his care. He eyed up the naked jock appreciatively, thinking of all the hurt he could cause.

"Now, Greg was it? Don't be alarmed. Once your father's finished with the forms we can have a nice long informative chat, like we do for all patients, except of course the relevant decisions aren't yours to make." He couldn't wait to tell the scared stud that he wasn't allowed to piss or shit on his own in the clinic, right before stuffing his dick with a long thick catheter, and cramming his arse with the biggest nozzle enema he could find. He knew how proud a handsome stud like this was of his body - under the sensible clothes he'd worn in, he wore a tight A&F singlet that stretched over his chest, cut just under the armpits.

The singlet was a glimpse of the young man's former life, the free and easy big city existence he'd led for his short young adult life, that had lulled him into the false sense of autonomy that drove him on this quest. Whatever freedom he thought he had when he strolled up that country path, legal or emotional, had been hobbled quickly. It was less than a week since he'd tramped past the doctor, oblivious, on his way from the bus station, the same ripped jeans, backpack and cocky smile of every adventurer from Everest to Edmonton. Like the singlet, hidden under the stiff dowdy shirt, that glimpse of rebellion had been buried.

The doctor relished the small humiliations, wondering how far that pride would go before destruction. Would he break when his former classmates came to see him, spreadeagled and sweat drenched from a cocktail of mindfucking pills? Or when the doctors drew lines on his cock, to indicate the tissue they'd be hacking away? Or when the nurse taped his remaining dickflesh tight over his glans, stretching a false foreskin back over the head? They'd keep him in Room 1, facing the waiting room, so all the town could see him naked and plugged. No sheets of course, and no gowns, since the surgeon could operate 'momentarily'. He'd have a word to the nurses, make sure he kept getting put down the list, maybe a week or two - weeks of regular visits, tests and examinations, lengthy discussions about surgical scars and erectile dysfunction. A week of dread growing in his baby blue eyes.

As Greg's father signed the papers, he called a nurse in, asking her to swap the beds in Rooms 1 and 3 for the new patient. The nurse gave the helpless hung boy a viscious glare, her thin smile filling him with fear before she snapped around and out of the room. The change was unnecessary, of course, the bed in Room 1 would've easily accomodated him. Room 3 was reserved for minors, so the bed was smaller. Although still technically a minor, his looming frame was at least a foot longer than the bed, and with his big feet pressed against the high backboard, his knees would be forced up, or out, for him to fit. His only other choice would be to let his legs drape over the sides of the wide mattress.

His father looked up from the forms, muttering something about legal bullshit, and the doctor felt obliged to do something officious, before he noticed his leer. He walked up to the boy, standing only inches away from him, so the dong pushed into his white jacket, curving down at an awkward angle. Greg tried to wiggle back, but his legs already pressed against the bench, and the doctor leaned in, pushing the cock down further. He brandished his stethoscope, pressing the cold steel against the kids big brown nipple and making him gasp. Hearing the father's pen stop, he told the kid to breathe in and out. Without taking his eyes off Greg's own wide pupils, only inches away, he waited until he heard the papers shuffling again, before slipping the cold instrument onto the other nipple.

With his other hand, he placed a finger on the root of the cock, rubbing the coarse hair through his fingers. "Before the surgeon scrubs in, we'll need to clear this away." The kid's heartbeat jumped twice, once from the feeling of another guy touching his dickroot, and again when he mentioned the pre-op shave. He slid the finger up to the base of the kid's tight abs, about 3 inches higher, still grasping some hairs so they were tugged painfully. "Up to about here, I think, the same all round." The kid's balls tightened at that one, rightly guessing what he meant. "I'll get a male nurse to do that today, just in case. Of course, we'll probably need to repeat the process every other day, unless your father consents to a more durable solution..." The father looked up, grunting. The doctor spun around, bending the horsecock sideways, dragging the head along the coarse cloth until he bucked and yelped. They ignored him, the doctor explaining to the father the problem while the kid rubbed his ropeburned cockhead, until the doctor slapped his hand away. "... stop that, or we'll have to restrain you. Now, as I was saying, a better method might be to use some of the ladies cream, which gives us a longer window before we need to clear the area again. It lasts about a month, I'm told, which should be plenty of time."

His father grunted again, clearly unimpressed. "He ain't a lady, doc." "Well of course. We'll stick to shaving him." He called another nurse to take him to Room 1, and have Jacob prep him for shaving. He explained in detail to the nurse what needed to be done, making a wide arc with his finger from Greg's abs to mid thigh, jabbing the fold of his dickroot to indicate his balls and crack. She guided him off the bench, putting his arm over her shoulder like an invalid, forcing him to shuffle next to her, cock swinging, still buck naked. Jacob was the docs favourite assistant, a big black kid the same height and build as Greg - in fact a former classmate. The african had dropped out of school at 16 and had done odd jobs ever since. He wasn't qualified, of course, even for the nurses duties like shaving, but he was the only male who wasn't a doctor, and they all figured jobs like shaving and moving patients weren't that hard - what were a few nicks and scratches anyway. It sure beat mopping floors, and the doc loved the enthusiasm with which he plunged into every job,cheerfully babbling away, his booming voice echoing down the hall. He waited a moment, until he heard Jacob's telltale voice "He-ey, I remember you! Wow, so I gotta shave you huh, who'd have thought - me the kid you guys all picked on, now I'm boss of you. I gotta tell you, sometimes when I'm not real careful, guys get those stinging cuts, so you better hold real still. ... No, fuck you white boys are all the same, the doc said I's to do this, I ain't letting you do it. Now spread them legs wide, I don't care who can see, and no more backchat, cause you is making me angry!"

The doctor closed the door, finding Greg's fathers eyes boring into him. "Of course, there is another way. It's a more industrial hair remover, used by athletes in season when the need to tape up their arms. It's designed to last all season though - six months or so, and the hair grows back coarser and thicker. A lot of the guys don't use it, cause you're a gorilla after unless you keep using it. But it's definitely a man's fix." Greg's dad thought for a second, not the quickest thinker. "So, is it cheaper?" The doctor smiled. "Sure -it's free, covered by insurance." He neglected to mention the shave was as well. "So whadda you say?" Greg's dad grunted in assent, turning back to the papers without another thought. He began mumbling something about too much to sign. The doctor came over to explain the last waivers, the cream would have to wait until after Jacob had finished. He wasn't sure if it was safe to use on broken skin, but he looked forward to finding out.

About ten minutes later, the doctor shook hands with the proud father, eagerly looking forward to getting back the son he lost - well the son he'd have is Greg had never been taken away. The pain, the humiliation, everything Greg would endure seemed to be worth it to his father, and he marched up the corridor, oblivious to the screams of his son as Jacob nicked his balls again with the straight razor. The doctor meanwhile put the papers in order, and picked up Greg's clothes, still strewn on the ground. He dumping the shirt, singlet and jocks into his waste bin, guessing rightly they'd end up on the backs and cupping the nuts of the Mexican cleaner's two strapping boys. He threw out the notes on his desk as well, that'd been ruined by Greg's dickleak, watching with amusement as the puddle poured down over the clothes. But the dungarees he folded carefully, ready to take the sole remaining posession up to the front desk where it would remain, folded, within eyesight of the groaning naked boy on the bed. It was important to dangle something, he thought, a shred of dignity, to prolong the process just a little more. He bellowed down the hall - "Next".

You Can Never Go Home 2

by Emile

"ssh now,and come quickly"

Greg woke from his fitful sleep to hear some noises out in the waiting room. He was bushed, his day filled with a battery of tests. He heard laughter, but the surgical light that permanently shone on his naked body blinded him from seeing who was in the hall.

"we gonna have some fun tonight"

Greg squinted into the light, and one of the voices stepped forward. He was tall and strapping, maybe 19, wearing an A&F singlet that hugged his rippling body tightly, stretched over his nipples, dark brown skin contrasting against the dirty cream singlet. With horror Greg recognised the singlet as his own, a little grimier but definitely his. The latin dude scratched his flat stomach, grinning, letting his fingers push down the crusty jean shorts that hugged his narrow waist.

"fuck man" a second voice chimed "what's that thing in his arse?"

His body was so abused he'd put the aching feeling down to recovery, but now he reflexively scrunched his head down on his pecs, staring down through the valley to between his spread thighs. There, the stretched skin of his dick, pulled over the head and taped down to his abs, he could still make out the handles of the large speculum holding his arse open. The latin teen leant forward, grasping the handles and stretching the jaws open wider. Involunarily he let out a hoarse yelp. A second shadow stepped forward - Jacob - who'd obviously let the other two in. He was holding a vicious looking steel mouthguard, which he coaxed into Greg's mouth as he bucked from the widening speculum jaws. The mouthguard forced his mouth wide, pushing up at the gums, making him drool and choke as he tried to protest. It had all happened in a matter of seconds, and now he was fully awake, jaw and arse spread wide. He tried to struggle up but the restraining strap across his chest and biceps kept him from improving his position. Jacob had found a pair of pliers and pinched his tongue as he struggled, now pulling it out firmly. "Now I knows you wanna scream honkey but jus shush and we'll be gentle. This stuff'll numb you nice and good. If you be-have I might jus put some on your hole before we fuck - if not I' gonna numb your dick till you piss yo'self stupid, and then we'll see what the doc decides for you". Greg nodded dumbly, the anasthetic making his tongue loll thick and heavy out of his mouth.

Another, younger latino appeared from the shadows. He was a mirror of the other, only his chiselled jaw wore a brooding expression that was somehow more threatening and dangerous than his clone's jeering grin. He was, Greg realised with dread, holding a bag of vegetables, and was keenly rooting around for something to show the others. "Hey bro, mama doesn't need all this, I bought extra 'specially for our visit." He pulled out what looked to Greg like an impossibly thick cucumber, one of those nasty cheap ones with lumps and rough skin, the kind most grocers gave away. He'd obviously spent some time rooting through the reject fruit, because it was the biggest gnarled veggie Greg'd ever seen, with lumps the size of warts marring the thick curved stalk. His brother wasn't listening though, he'd let go of the speculum, his warm hand resting on Greg's thigh, grazing his plump balls. The foreskin stretching had gone some way to lifting his pendulous sac, but not enough for the doctor, who'd pumped his nads full of saline to make them giant taut globes. A steel ring and bar lifted and separated them further so they stuck out like river pebbles, hard and shiny, from his bald crotch. He was obviously fascinated by them, since his fingers kept wriggling around, digging into the flesh, but he hid his ministrations, which would've seemed a little gay to the others, by leaning forward and grasping the marker lying next to his body, so he could add his own obscene mark to Greg's chest.

The inking had begun a few nights ago, jocks from his class, Jacob's guests, anyone who snuck in after hours or waited until the nurses weren't around, so they could write whatever filth came into their mind across his depilated chest. In fact, since they'd use the industrial cream, his whole body was hair free, from his jaw down to his feet. His crotch was a reddish colour still, the doc had mentioned something about the cream getting in the exposed pores, but completely smooth, making his dick and balls jut out even more prominently.

The early ink marks, "COCKSLUT" and "CHEESELICKER" had faded to green-grey, the permanent marker soaking into the skin, but were still large and clearly visible against his naked flesh. The later messages had to find room around, arching over his square pecs, eventually spilling along his wide lats, following the corded muscles, until even the ridges of his armpit were scrawled with "John fucked me 2007" and the like. The doctors and nurses feined disgust, but secretly thought it was a hoot. No-one tried to find out the culprits, or wash the ink off (if it could be), since they had a strict no-bathing policy for their guinea pig stud. The obsene messages and the funky aroma of sweat and dickdrool just made Greg's father all the angrier when he visited - accusing Greg of deserving the taunts if he allowed them to be written in the first place.

The greasy latino's own drawing of a drooping dork along the base of Greg's pecmound, seemingly trussed back to his pouting, scratched nipple, wasn't enough to deter the younger from his mission with the cuke. With force, although not much skill, he began jabbing the blunt head against the stretched hole, eliciting muffled moans from Greg as he vainly tried to make his tongue work, and beg them to stop. Jacob came round back, letting the older latino shuffle forward so he could mash Greg's balls with one hand and lean in to colour the obscene drawing with the other.

"Wha you doin man, aint you never shoved shit up a honky arse before. You gotta twist it, like this, and push up, like this, until the thing gets past his nub. There, now you can pull that steel thing away, and we just work this thing up hard against the skin. Whoa yeah, see how the lil richie's pucker sucks at every bump - it's like we's scraping his innards with a brush. Hey look, he's sweating now, and we ain't more than a few inches in. Hey, did you measure this thing? Oh fuck, now we gotta rip this out and measure it. Use that tape over there. Aw hell, now there's arseslime all over this thing, it sure will stink when they wrap it around his balls tomorrow. Yeah, they like measure him every day. His dad reckons he's a freak already, so he really hates it when they call out the measurements every time. Anyway, so this lump here is 8 inches, and this fold is about 12. I say we can get about 14 inches in, to these two bumps here, before we lose our hand grip. So, let's try again. Now you shove, hard as you can. Hey shut the fuck up whiteboy. Ok, harder, and twist too, push that fucker in."

As the oversized vegetable was forced past his arsepucker, it bumped and ground his sensitive prostrate, making his dick lurch against the bindings. The nurses had already found out to their delight that his swollen tool stayed achingly hard once aroused, sometimes up to two hours unless he came, which of course he hadn't done since the first day. That day, they'd milked him for 45 minutes, in bed, legs spread and arms by his side, a nurse slowly jacked him off in full view of the clinic. Humiliated and exposed, he'd taken a while to build up an orgasm. Just before he climaxed, the nurse was called away, and he was left there, propped up, cock bobbing, for 10 minutes, before they started again. They did this three times, until his bloated tool jutted straight up from his shaved crotch, pulsing and purple with unreleased cum. It was a monster cum, slugs shooting in the air, but the nurse pinched the head, cutting off the pleasure mid-orgasm. Then ten minutes later, his dick still slick with drying cum, a different nurse came to take another sample. He protested, said something about already giving a sample, but the nurse just smiled and kept jacking his tingling cock. The second load was smaller and more watery, and his cock was feeling sore. Half an hour later, they came for sample number three. The nurse said she wasn't going to touch his filthy tool, the others had already complained, so he'd have to do it himself - and fast, no more prolonging his 'sick pleasure'. Achingly, he beat his cock again, the stern nurse telling him to do it faster and harder to 'get it over with'. He flogged his cock for 20 minutes, the skin chafing as he slammed down on his cock, legs spread wide, dozens of horrified patients watching. A few complained about this 'disgusting young man jerking off' but the nurses just absently nodded, saying nothing. Finally he came with a roar of anguish, the third load dribbling out, and he managed to scoop some into the petri dish. The nurse came to collect it, forcing two sleeping pills into his mouth, so he soon was knocked out, still covered in spatter and fully exposed. He thought he'd never want to cum again. But that was days ago, and now his dick was stiff, begging for release from the constant ministrations.

Meanwhile, the veggie was now 8 inches in, stretching his sphincter wide, and was stuck, No amount of pulling and jabbing would get it past his hole, which was suctioned around the cuke at a particularly wide point. Jacob began rooting around nearby for some lubricant, coming back with some bromide they'd been using on swabs for his many intrusive tests. The heavy brown bottle tottered ominously in his hand, cap unscrewed, and he made the two brothers stand back and get some gloves, as he liberally poured the brown liquid, spattering it over the cuke, Greg's arsering and inner thighs. He slipped a little, and a big splash of the viscous liquid splashed over his ballsac and cock, coating them both, dripping down onto his abs. The liquid was icy cold at first, but soon heated up, stinging against the sensitive flesh. The two latinos had returned, wearing rubber gloves at Jacob's command, to stop the bromide staining their hands. Greg scrunched down again, seeing what Jacob meant by staining. His whole inner thighs, cock and balls were a dark orange-brown, like sickly tanned flesh. He didn't have much time to contemplate his stained body, as the younger brother began twisting the cuke against his hole, the burning liquid allowing the cuke to slip in. Unfortunately, it also meant his chute began to burn as the strong antiseptic was driven up his bowels. The older latino had come back to his position standing next to his chest, and was leaning over him, face inches from Greg's own. To prop himself up, he planted one gloved hand on his dick and balls, mashing down on the engorged flesh, the other, ungloved, grasping Greg's shaggy hair, pulling his face back and up. The latino's sensuous lips were millimeters from Greg's mouth, so close Greg could smell tobacco on his breath. He looked poised to kiss, obviously aroused by the trussed up stud.

"Hey, whacha doin man?"

Without warning, the Mexican teen hocked up a phlegm ball, coughing it up and spitting into Greg's open mouth, slimy spit coating his tongue and leaking equally over his chest and down his throat. He leant back, leveraging off Greg's hair and stalk, fingers still dug in hard.

"No sweat man, just clearing my throat, you know when you just need to spit out the tar..."

"Alight man, nice work. Say, bout time whiteys stopped mouthing off anyway. anything else we can do with that trashhole?"

The latino leant back, ripping the tape off his dickskin as he dragged his hand back over his thigh. "Whoops. Hey, I can think of something" he suggested, squeezing his ragged jeans with his ungloved hand. His own brown snake had been pushing out the denim for a while, and now he had the perfect 'straight boy' excuse for taking it further. Without missing a beat, he pushed up onto the bed, pinning his knees down on Greg's strapped biceps. He wasted no time in popping the buttons on the fly, letting his dork flop out, slapping the tar coated tongue with a thud. Like his Mexican buds, he dick was heavy, veiny and uncut, skin drooping off the edge like a rag, scraping against his tongue. As he leaned forward, the musky smell of his wiry crotch hit Greg in the face, almost a distraction from the rough thrusts of his younger brother, working the cuke further up his arse. Almost. The cuke was about 10 inches in now, stretching him deeper and wider than anything before. He'd been a normal jock only days before, and now his arse was on fire, stretched wide, brown dick leaking onto his tongue, and there was nothing he could do. As sap dripped over his tongue, he felt the fat cock begin to harden, the head slowly poking out of the rolls of flesh, pushing dickcheese onto his tongue. "Hey man slow down" he heard Jacob say, coming around from behind. "I got the doc's camera here, gotta get some pictures of this. Smile, honky!"

You Can Never Go Home 3 - Remedial School

by Emile

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

"please sir I gotta go to the bathroom"

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

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

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

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

"drink this douchebag"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can never go home 4

by Emile

---

The shooting pain up Greg's arse was awful, he could barely limp without his arsecheeks squelching together, lubricated by Rey's cum, each step sending a jolt of searing pain up his gut from the cuntsplitting fuck. Rey had been none too gentle with his first few thrusts, and when his dark greasy fuckpole jammed only 12" in, he pulled back and slammed in so hard Greg chipped a tooth on the faucet. Three thrusts later, and something gave - no, ripped - inside him, and the wide dork plunged down to the root. He fucked like a piston - drawing back with each thrust so he could bury his pole back in deep, wiry pubes scratching at Greg's arsecheeks. He liked to talk too, calling Greg a torrent of names so loud Greg was sure the whole school could hear. When Greg grunted or yelped, he egged him on, wanting to hear his pain.

Despite the tight suction of Greg's arselips squeezing around his cock, involuntary spasms that wracked Greg's whole body, Rey had the stamina to prolong the fuck, keeping his pulsing cock rock hard and unsated. He loved it, urging Greg to keep 'milking' his cock, loudly ordering him to squeeze tightly. 15, maybe 20 minutes of hard fucking later, he tightened up, slamming bodily into Greg, his tight pecs lathering Greg's shoulders with salty sweat, and came with a roar, slugs of cum Greg could feel shooting up his bowels. He shot spurt after spurt, slowly draining his bloated balls, until he finally pulled out, slick and satisfied. Relieved of the pressure, Greg tried to turn, but bumped against the sink and collapsed on the ground, letting out a short scream as his raw arse slammed against the tiles. He'd split his lip on the sink, but Rey was pitiless, making him lick the arsejuice and cum slick from his softening tool, and tongue the sweat off his velvety ballbag, as he leaned half dazed on the ground.

When Rey was finally satisfied, he shucked up his pants, horsecock bulging impressively even in its post-fuck state, and slinked out of the bathroom whistling. Greg lounged there a while, a broken, reamed out fuckdoll, half shaking his head as if trying to wake himself from an unpleasant dream. The bell brought him out of his stupor - another class missed, with hell to pay. Unlike Rey, who was cut no end of slack for his prowess on the court, a fuckup "with notions", like Greg, could expect no mercy, despite being prime college material in any other state. In the eyes of every teacher, his kind were cocky with 'smarts', big city arrogance that would best be beaten out of him. Every new indignity was met with stoic dismissiveness, as if he deserved it. He knew if he reported the rape it would be his arse, not Rey's, on the line. He tried to stand, succeeding on the second attempt, slowly inching his pants up as he rose. They'd dried somewhat, piss stains speckling the coarse fabric. He heard noise in the halls as guys poured out of classes, and limped out of the bathroom was quick as he could, which was not too fast, realising with dread he was only seconds away from repeating his experiences all over. He pushed open the door just as more guys arrived, getting jostled and shoved as he swam against the tide of guys. Despite their sniggers, no-one stopped him, so that as the second bell sounded, he made it to his locker. It was gym, and he was now officially late. He glanced into the locker, his stomach tightening as he saw all his books torn to shreds, his few photos defaced and gym bag ripped open. He grabbed it anyway, and dragged himself to the gym, before worse trouble descended on him.

As he got there, the last few classmates were tying their shoes and running on to the floor. He was grateful for the privacy, although he knew he would be late, and gingerly slipped out of his stained uniform, catching a horrifying glimpse of himself in the changeroom mirrors. His whole body looked terrible, muscles taut and sweaty from the jolts of pain, lip split and swelling, chipped tooth, streaked hair. Even his nipples were swollen from the scraping shirt. Turning around, his bubble butt, once a source of pride with the girls, was now embarrassingly red, his hole winking unmistakably, trying to recover some of the elasticity Rey had robbed it of. He reached into the bag, wanting to cover up as quickly as possible. When he pulled his clothes out, for a second he thought he had taken the wrong bag. But there was no mistaking his bag, or his locker, or the guys who would have done this to him. Instead of his usual gear, the singlet and shorts all the guys wore, they had switched it with a cheerleader's uniform. Not a guy's uniform either, but a girl's practice uniform, just like Mindy wore. On her it looked hot, her big breasts barely contained in the tight strappy crop top, "Cougars" (the football team) emblazoned over her rack. How she'd flirted from across the field, as if modelled it for him, until his cock was aching, pushing needily against the plastic cap. It wasn't so sexy now, it was obscene! Even though they wore practice shorts, not a pleated skirt, he knew the strap of satin, which camel toed every girl on the squad, would do little to support his own hefty package, or stop the leakage from his arse. He grabbed a toilet roll, bunching a handful up and wedging it painfully into his crack, and slipped on the humiliating costume, anxious to beat the coach's whistle.

As he ran to the floor, the whole class watched him, riveted. Maybe it was the uniform, or the gait of his 'just fucked' canter, or the way the crop top hugged his bulging pecs like a second skin, or the puffy lip like he'd been fighting, or his horsenuts wedged on either side of the midseam, or maybe, just maybe, the way his floppy tackle swung below the hem of the shorts, the skinflap not stretched quite enough to hide his free-swinging plum cockhead. It was hard to pinpoint the exact cause, but the sight of the massive semi tumescent veiny cigar with its half exposed split peach cocklips did sear themselves into one persons mind - Mindy, coalescing into pure revulsion. She blushed at having agreed to go out on a date, for even thinking the handsome older buff jock was suave and sophisticated, when here he was parading around like a sex freak. But he bounded up, giving her a lopsided smile, as if asking for her sympathy, and the coach slammed him with a detention for tardiness, so how (or when) could she tell him the date was off? Anyway, she really wanted to see tonight's film, so she'd just have to put up with him. Maybe teach him a lesson, for thinking life revolved around sex.

Gym was torture for Greg. First there was the physical pain - the ache of his nuts crushed against the fabric, the searing jolts up his arse every time he ran, vaulted or climbed ropes, and the tug of his swinging dork, which needed to be tucked back into the hem every few minutes. Then there was the humiliation, knowing everyone was staring at him, his clothes, his gait, seemingly oblivious to his plight. When they finished, and the last bell for the day went off, all the class poured into the changerooms, relieved, except Greg. Gym detention meant staying back and helping coach clean up. As Mindy passed him, he mouthed "6 o'clock" and she smiled, a surly smile not like before, but nodded. Soon it was just Greg and coach, and the distant noises of the school winding down. The coach pointed to a mop and bucket, grunting 'Okay showman, why don't you make busy with that. I want the gym floor sparkling, then the change rooms, then my office. That'd be an hour or so, then you can go. And take that ridiculous top off.'

Greg stripped down shirtless, filled the bucket with foamy water, and began mopping the huge gym as quick as he could, racing the clock. Despite the discomfort, he cleared the floor in half an hour flat, and the changerooms in half that time again. As he skidded into the coaches office with the bucket in tow, he was confronted by the coach, a huge bear of a man, buck naked soaping up in the showers. Like most coaches offices, the private shower took up half the space, hidden from view until you entered. The coach looked annoyed, like he'd expected him to come later, but just stabbed at the floor while Greg gawked at his hairy body, telling him to get on with it. Greg averted his eyes from the coach's flaccid choad hanging over his low hanging balls. Seeing him naked was worse than the boys before, like at the doctors, he felt like the pervert, not the victim. Somehow, he scraped around in the tiny space, until inevitably, he backed into the coach, feeling his log nestle between his arsecheeks. The man pushed him away gruffly, but the soapy wet dong had wet the shorts, making the seat translucent. "What's with your arse" the coach boomed, thumbing at the tissues. Reluctantly, Greg leaned back, pulling the cummy tissues out of his shorts. Even through the fabric the coach could make out his puffy raw hole, now swollen bright red to boot. Still naked, water coursing off his body, he leant forward and pushed his meaty hand inside, his thumb pushing at the flowering mancunt roughly. "Sick fucking puppy" he grunted, pushing him forward with his hand in place, making the front of the crotch rip. He withdrew his hand, telling Greg to 'get the fuck out of his sight'.

Greg ran home in the cheerleaders shorts, short of time and having nothing to run in. Each time his foot pounded the pavement, his sphincter clenched hard, making him gasp for breath. He felt his whole muscular body was victim to his tender sore hole. His body slicked up with sweat, and the sun shimmered off his exposed body, tanning him a deeper bronze in contrast to the white satin shorts. He got hoots and yells from passing cars, more than one swerving as it approached, forcing him to sidestep quickly, into tree branches and brambles that scratched his torso and arm. He didn't understand it, why a decent jock kid like him should suffer so much, why everyone was so indifferent or hostile to him. Dozens of townsfolk stared at him, one guy in the park even zooming his camera in for pictures, but instead of back east, where his brawny tanned torso and tree trunk thighs would have at least drawn admiration and appreciative looks, here the looks were condemning or predatory, like they were watching a rabbit being chased down by dogs, or worse. Even so, he got back to the farm relatively unscathed, lathered in sweat from his shoulderblades to the root of his cock, peeking out of the satin tear.

Things got worse when he ran up to the porch to find his dad and three buddies, half drunk, leering at him. He hesitated, but his father called him up, and he found himself standing at the corner of their table, his crotch just above the timber, and eye level with the hungry half drunk croppers. "what the fuck are you wearing" his father yelled, making him strip out of the shorts in front of them. Without any other support, his dong flopped down on the table with a thwack, the head almost in the centre of their poker cards. "Now that sirrees a big ugly dork you got there" one of the hick hillbillies drawled, and another poked it gingerly, like it was a sleeping snake. It was humiliating, all the more when his dad 'inspected' it, pinching the head and lifting the new foreskin, showing them all where his suction cap should be, if he wasn't such a filthy masturbator. He tried to protest, but having his dickhead mauled, inches from these guys faces, he had other things on his mind. The heat of the cinders of one rancher's cigarillo was palpable, dangling only inches from where his dad was stretching out the extra flesh. "See's your so proud of it, why don't you show us how it's done" he sniggered, his laugh dropping ash on the outstretched foreskin. His dad let go, the elastic skin retracting with a slap, leaving a burning grain trapped in the folds, and Greg went to brush it off, only to have them whoop at once, as if proof of his unsatiable lust. Seeing his hand there, they made him rub himself slowly, wrapping his fingers around his choad and slowly wanking, inches from them, until lust took over and he began fucking his hand, slurping precum over his palm and onto the ace of diamonds. He moaned loudly, to more hooting, ignoring the exploring hands of the rancher, who'd decided to 'help' by standing behind him, mauling his nips with one hand, the other secretly squeezing his arse. He was close, the cum building,when the joke soured on his dad, who shoved his buddy away, slapping Greg hard. "This ain't no fucking freak show boy! These guys can see some city pervert elsewhere, not in my house." Greg was forced to leave his heavy choad aching, letting it bob in front of him as he slid into the house, naked, to do his chores. For an hour, one or other of the farmers would find an excuse to find him, chopping wood or feeding chickens, and slide their hands over his hunky body, tar breath on his neck, telling him how they'd have his sweet arse just's soon as they could. As soon as his dad left town. For now he grinned and beared it, doing nothing to endanger the date.

Finally, at quarter to six, he got his reprieve, his father letting him leave the rest of the chores until after his date. "At least he's got a girl" his father snorted, declining to lend him the car, so he was left to race into the house to sponge off the worst of the stink and throw on his best clothes for the evening. He needn't have bothered, by the time he'd dashed to Mindy's house, he was wrinkled and sweaty again. The tee and jeans hugged his bulging body, which he hoped was kinda sexy, not realising what a dumb oaf he now looked in her eyes. To make matters worse, when he arrived at the house, he went round the side, knocking on the tradesmans door. Her mother opened it, at once seeing he wasn't fit for her daughter.

With the barest hint of civility, she called Mindy down, but not before calling her brother into the room. The ex-army vet was lean, fit and drug addled from a harsh campaign. And while his coke sweats and fits of temper made it hard to find work, there was no reason in her mind why he couldn't at least chaperone his sister just this once. While her mother went to check on Mindy, the muscular Clayton came up to Greg, giving him a friendly knock on the arm. "Hey buster, how's it hanging" Clayton chimed, giving him another friendly pat on the stomach. Since he'd started dating Mindy, Clayton had adopted him as a younger brother, which he'd liked at first, but now felt a bit over friendly. Clayton was forever comparing notes on what they benched, how much they could make their abs pop - man stuff he supposed, but with that same predatory look as the other townsfolk, only this time Clayton was the rabbit-chasing dog. Clayton grabbed him around the neck in a friendly headlock as Mindy came down, smearing his pit sweat on Greg's face only seconds before she entered the room. She winced in disgust as her two oaf companions - the dumb jock boyfriend who smelled of sweat, and a skittish grunt who idolised him.

At the drive through, things didn't improve much for Greg. Clayton drove his pick up, but insisted on sitting between them for the movie, taking his job as chaperone seriously. So he rolled up his sleeves and wrapped his guns behind the headrests, while the couple sat either side of him. Mindy didn't complain much, except about his stinking unwashed body, since she thought Greg was a freak, but Greg was itching at the chance to paw Mindy, and his cock strained against the tight jeans all through the first part. Finally, the intermission came, and Greg offered to get snacks. This way, he figured, he could slip in Mindy's side when he returned.

Since he had so little cash, he didn't go to the main counter, but snuck around to the small side window where the 'townie trash' ate. He figured no-one would know the difference once he brought it back to the car. What he didn't count on was running in to Toby. Toby's family were dirt poor, and the huge footballer took whatever jobs he could get to get by, although he didn't like it much. Plus he looked faintly ridiculous in his white paper hat serving hot dogs, making Greg smile a little, a small revenge for Toby brutally facefucking him at school. Toby saw it different. When Greg got to the front of the line, he reached over, and hauled him up until their faces were inches apart.

You fucking cuntbreath, you tell anyone and I'll mince you...

He held on, thinking for a moment, before pulling him higher, through the serving window and into the greasy trailer. He sniggered, peeling off his hat and handing it over to Greg.

Actually, I could use a break. Oh, wait, there's hot fry oil and greasy shit all over here. Tell you what, you shuck that tee of yours and I'll give you my apron, too.

Reluctantly, with the brute standing over him, Greg slipped the t-shirt over his head, revealing his tight defined body to the night air. Although it was hot and dank in the trailer, a shiver made his nipples erect and his face cold. Toby grabbed the tee, shoving it in his own back pocket, and undid the apron, helping tie it in place as Greg fixed up the hat. He tied the apron loosely around his waist and neck, so the greasy cloth hung a few inches away from his body. When he stood up, the square neck dropped below his chest, his brown nipples exposed, and when he leant over to take orders, customers could see right down to his waist. The townies were very appreciative, and there was a constant line of people wanting their fry up, ugly cowgirls and farmwives that took delight in ogling his body as he sweated and cooked and served.

As the night went on, and the liquor flowed, they got bolder, tweaking his nipples if he leant forward too much, throwing back greasy food when he got their orders wrong - aiming for the bare skin so the oily slop would slide down his body and onto the floor. Toby just sat on the counter, laughing and drinking, occasionally delivering a kick to his leg or arse if he was too slow or sassy. By the time the credits rolled, and Toby pulled down the blind, he was a stinking greasy mess, his front soaked with oik that slaked below his belt, soaking his poor excuse for pubes and coating his balls. Toby pulled the uniform off him, and told him they were done, while counting out the jar now stuffed with tips. Greg hung around, waiting for his share and his shirt. "What the fuck do you want now?" Toby yelled, sending him sprawling out of the door with a well placed kick to his nuts. Bare chested and greasy, he slowly made his way back to the car.

He had no idea how he'd explain it to Mindy, but when he got there, he was spared the need. There was Reb, leaning on the car, his ebony arm wrapped around Mindy's shoulders, joking away with Clayton who was sitting behind the wheel, engine running. He saw Greg first and just laughed, telling Clayton he'd speak later, and leading Mindy off to his own car. Clayton looked at him standing there.

I won't ask man. Hey jump in, I'll give you a lift home. Mindy's got some study to do with Reb...

With an ache, Greg had a vision of being pummelled again by Reb's thick chocolate plunger, only he was Mindy in her cheerleading costume, yelling for more. As he got in the truck, his anger welled up more, at how the sadistic teen could do it, knowing it was only the beginning. Reb liked to fuck girls out, he had a reputation for it, and of barebacked fucking at that. More than a few girls had Reb's babys already, and he feared Mindy was next. Worse, he realised everyone knew they were seeing each other, and had their first date tonight. He'd be the laughing stock. Or worse, she'd say nothing, and everyone would think he'd knocked her up.

They were half way down the road, and Clayton must've seen his depressed look, because he pulled over, killed the engine, and placed a friendly hand on Greg's neck. "Hey man, don't worry about it" he said, massaging the tendons with his fingers. "In the movie, while you were, well, whateverthefuck you were doing, Reb came over and told me. Mindy said she already kinda knew..." Greg shivered again, goosebumps covering his exposed flesh as Clayton's other hand came up, cupping his grease slicked pectoral muscle.

On tour, you know, it was just us guys, and we got awful lonely. Sometimes, you discover things you never knew about yourself...

Clayton was openly massaging Greg's body now, his dick tenting his pants. Greg tried to pull away - "uh, it's not like that..." he began, but Clayton grabbed his head, forcing his tongue down Greg's throat, sloshing spit until Greg could barely breathe. Greg struggled, but Clayton was stronger, and a military man to boot. He grabbed Greg onto his lap, holding him with one arm around his waist, the other around his neck until Greg quietened down.

Quit struggling. Look, I know you've put out for other guys. If you wanna see Mindy again, it will be our secret. I'll only be this once.

Greg could feel Clayton's stiff pole tugging at the fabric, pressing against his crack. Man, was the soldier hung. He could feel the root at the base of his balls, and feel the head pulse against his lower back. His voice was weak, hesitant.

Uh, Clayton, what do you mean exactly?

Clayton swivelled him around, so they were face to face. He reflexively glanced down to see Clayton's swollen purple one eyed monster pulsing and leaking against his t-shirt, level with the pit of Greg's stomach. He looked back up and Clayton was grinning through his mo, licking his lips with anticipation.

I wanna fuck you of course ... doggie style!

You can never go home 5

by Emile

"Are you sure of that diagnosis doc? I have the boys here from the crime squad and they think it looks like a pretty aggressive case of male rape. That arsehole is pretty badly battered, doc, the lips are red and gaping. He was found sprawled, butt naked in the forest.There are bruises on his arms and thighs, the chipped tooth, and someone has really gone to town on his tackle. You sure it wasn't rape?"

Greg began coming round, still feeling woozy and disorientated. He remembered Clayton brutally fucking his hole, long hard thrusts that began with just the plum knob of his dark and veiny stalk pressing juice against his cornhole, teasing the sphincter, way too big to penetrate the tight cherry half its size, and then with a grunt, slamming the full power of his muscular backside into the thrust, forcing the pussylips apart until the greasy warm throbbing cock was balls deep. The fuck had been long and brutal, made worse by Clayton's monologue of "You want it bitch" and "Oh yeah, I'm gonna fuck you pregnant, just like Reb". The long strokes hauled Greg back with such force that when Clayton slammed in extra hard to pump volleys of his creamy load, he grabbed Greg's nads for leverage, nearly ripping them off. The pain had made him black out, until now.

Even through the foggy brain, he felt a burning shame of having been arsefucked, this time not just a vegetable or a dong but a real flesh-and-blood cuntbuster, and he'd let him do it too. And fuck, the monster cock Clayton drove into his hole made his earlier rape pale seem minor - he'd willingly given up his sore cornhole to get ripped apart by an unlubricated oversized porker, who'd rutted him like a milk cow on all fours by the side of the road. The humiliation seared through him. A few weeks ago he'd been a regular, handsome athletic young man, brave and independently searching for his father, for a heart warming male-bonding reunion. He'd left behind a string of girls that had admired his swarthy buff body swung off his meaty dick, and a bunch of frat mates that had trained, drank and partied with him like a brother. He'd been confident in his masculinity. Somehow, since then, he'd allowed unknown and unkind hands to pinch, prod and pierce him, savage his beautiful stalk, stretch a stinking ugly hood over his fleshy helmet, swell his balls and prevent him releasing them, and eventually, force feed his bunghole unnaturally large objects. Now, his fine strapping form had been slowly stripped of all dignity, his clothes, his freedom, even his male virginity, and was at the merciless mercy of everyone - his father, teachers, doctors, even the bullies at school and his girlfriend's twisted brother.

His arse still smarted like crazy, and he could feel he was propped up on all fours, his muscles cramping in that crouched position. He could hear mens voices around him - multiple men - just above his back. As if trying to douse the raw burning feeling, he felt slick droplets of sweat course down from between his shoulderblades, down to his tight waist to nestle between his arsecheeks, the apparent focus of their attention. His oversized dork, too, he could feel hang painfully between his legs, no longer supported by the tapering dickroot, tugging against his crotch and jutting out and swinging heavily.

"As punishing an arsefucking as he might have had, officer, I'm afraid to say no. His father is a friend of yours, I know, so this must be hard to accept. He might be a junior, but look at his biceps, his barrel chest and muscular arse. If he'd wanted to fight off trouble, he could have. I'm surprised you don't recognise a fag when you see one. They're obsessed with big dicks too - see how he's shaved around his crotch to make his tubesteak look bigger. I mean, that thing's obscene already, especially that split peach of a head peeking out from the dirty stinking hood. And when I heft his low hanging ballbag, like this, hear him groan. See how they're heavy, almost swollen. You feel. What do you suppose that means?"

"Uh, it feels kinda strange cradling his sac, doctor, do I have to.... I mean, when I haven't cum a while, my nuts ache and get pretty big too..."

"Well yes, that's okay for a man like you, and Janine says that's not the only big thing down there! My point being that yes, for normal men that may be the case, but jangle them some more. Hear how he moans. That's no ordinary case of blue balls officer, that's the kind of swelling you get from some hard core ballbashing. Fags even have a name for it - CBT. Yes siree, he beats his nads for pleasure, stretches 'em as well, I'd say, that ballbag hangs unnat'rally low, let me tell you.

Greg opened his heavy lidded eyes. His vision was hazy and he felt very unsteady. As far as he could tell, he was kneeling on a metal examination gurney back in the clinic, with officers either side of him, arse up and facing the officer and doctor behind him. He tried to say something, but his tongue was heavy and swollen, and his chipped tooth throbbed. Craning his neck up, he saw the open door in front of him, looking straight at the waiting room, where half a dozen patients were staring with disgust at the crouching boy. He hung his head back down, looking between his legs. His swollen dork stared back at him, the dicklips winking at the door with the foreskin part retracted, and below the fat shaft, he could see the officer's meaty hand still hefting his balls, each roll of his fingers sending waves of pain shooting up his hole and lower back. His nuts hurt if he even lightly fingered them these days, at they probably were mashed when he fell. But the burly officer hadn't let go when he found out about the ball pain. On the contrary, he was rolling his nuts between his fingers now, squeezing the leathery sac until it went red and angry. Hidden from view of everyone in the room except him.

He wanted to cry out, to climb off the gurney, but his body wouldn't respond, it was dully and heavy, like he'd felt when the doctor had drugged him during his 'stay'. He saw the doc through his legs, smirking at the waking boy. He gestured to a nurse to wheel over an instrument tray, and the last thing Greg saw was the doctor pushing apart his corded thighs wide, before the nurse forced his upper back down until his nipples grazed the cold metal table, forcing him to prop himself up uncomfortably on this bowed arms, and stare back forward at the staring audience. Above his tapered back, the nurse had wheeled over the instrument tray, and he could feel the metal crossbar pressing into his shoulderblades. With his legs spread that wide, and back forced down he was trapped - the only way he could climb down now without falling was if he backed away, his high tail first - not an option with the team still gathered around his rump.

But the real evidence, uncontroverible, as you'd say, is right here at the scene of the crime, so as to speak. When I wipe away the leaking cum, see how the sphincter winks like that officer. See how stretched it is. The relative lack of blood. He's been arsefucked before. By some brutally large objects, I'd say. In fact, I even know of one - it's in his inpatient records here from his last visit - Found with a large knobbed cucumber lodged in his rectum. Measurements 12.5 inches long, girth 10 inch circumference. What's that, over 3 inches thick? This boy, I'm afraid to say, probably did this to himself.

That's disgusting. What am I supposed to tell his father? I mean, the boys here don't want to investigate a male rape, sure, but I can't release a report saying he was voluntarily buttfucked ... I mean sodomised ... the whole town would laugh. It just, it makes me mad...

Whoa, easy there officer, if you kneed those balls any more he will look like a rape case. They're practically bursting as it is. Don't worry about anything - in my report, I'll put that his arsehole was... how should I put it ... "no more dialated than usual." We'll just say he fell and hurt himself. We'll keep him here a few days just to make sure no-one notices him walking funny. Will that do? You can even keep one or two of your men here to watch over him until he's ready to make a statement in support."

Greg began making sounds, trying desperately to form words. He started to sweat with the effort, slowly trying to move his stiff muscles. He wanted to tell them it was wrong, he'd been raped, he wanted to scream.

Nurse, another dose of ketamine, please, the patient appears to be agitated. You know that for trauma diagnosis, the sedative really is mandatory. Once we're done, and he comes around, your boys can get that affadavit. Now officer, will you be telling his father?

He felt a jab in his arse and lost the ability to struggle, to speak. Greg stared forward motionless, as the doctor, nurse and seargent walked out, finally closing the door behind them. From behind him, one big officer walked to the door, carefully locking it. When he turned back, Greg watched his bearded jaw crease to a grin, as he popped a few shirt buttons.

"Okay boys, we can get comfortable now. You heard the sarge, this one won't be reported. You boys always wanted yourself a real life sicko, how you brought the 'evidence' bag..."

Greg heard shifting noises behind him. He felt a tingling feeling, as one man slid his finger up his inner thigh, greasing it with Rey's cum as it slid up towards his chute, easily penetrating the corrugated hole. Another man had gripped his balls, a tighter hold than the seargent's, and began hefting them. The meathead in front of him popped some more buttons on his blue uniform shirt, revealing his muscular chest and hairy abs. In contrast to the clean pressed cotton and shiny star badge, the greasy skin underneath was marked with a mean looking tattoo of an eagle - talons out and ready to savage - covering his pec slab. The man had a thin silver chain around his neck, and as he leaned forward to whisper in his ear, he saw the eagle rear up in front of him, and the chain swing in his face. He recognised it immediately - his stolen chain and locker key! But he soon had other things to worry about...

"So, pussyboy, you like a bit of rough action. Well lucky for you the rape squad here are experts. Our investigations can take months - long hard months - as many a guy will testify. But you're a special case, aren't you. You weren't officially raped at all. And we know you love being knocked around, which is a real waste of a pretty boy jock body, some might say. So here's how it's gonna go. When you come around, you'll sign a full statement saying you pulled this stunt for attention. For wasting our time, you'll agree to twenty five weekends community service - clearing highway trash with the prisoners. Of course you'll be a special case, so instead of those harsh orange jumpsuits, you'll have your own gear - I've got a pair of cut down orange shorts that should do the trick. We've had plenty of guys wear 'em before, so they'll be worn in for you. Unfortunately the fly buttons are all gone, and it has nice big leg holes for easy access up, and dangling down in your case.

They were fingerfucking his hole swiftly now, and he was getting achingly hard, despite the horrifying descriptions the cop was giving. The cop went into minute detail about how the shorts had cords sewn in from the front waistband to the back, which stopped the material stretching and pulled the front down, revealing pubes (if any), and the rear down revealing crack - all tugged down by his horescock which would be straining against the cords, dicklips rubbing against raw rope. Somehow, with the K coursing through his system, it was all vivid.

We'll pick you up nice and early each Saturday so you'll have to wait on the kerb in just the prison boxer briefs. Once you're in the car of course you can shuck them down, and ride one of our greased up poles to the worksite. Your arse will get a weeks recovery each time, just enough for to lull to a dull ache, ready for the next weekend's cherry popping. Personally I'd like you to slide your muscular globes slowly down on my stalk while you face me, so I can see you tense and suck air as your sensitive chute is battered again. If the site is close, we'll probably still be fucking - by which I mean you'll still be sliding yourself on my prong - when we arrive. The cons really enjoy seeing a sweat slicked jockboy fucking himself on one of our thick cuntstuffers, particularly when if you pant and leak yourself - they know that while they might be getting sloppy seconds, neither you nor we will stop them from taking out all their pent up aggression on you.

Now these guys have had garbage bitches before, so expect no mercy. You'll probably get used to guys kneading and mauling your nads until they're permanently bloated and aching, especially since your garbage bag will be cinched directly to your ballbag, not to your belt like the others. We like using trash bags to stretch your own swollen trash bags, 'cause you never know what heavy greasy shit you're gonna find roadside and have to lug along. That'll probably really hurt and ache your nads, especially when the inmates step on the bag or chuck rocks in for you, but then what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, eh. Then of course there are the special duties. Bitch boys get all the used condoms the guys pick up - to clean off with your pretty pouty mouth, and then roll down your porkroll for reuse by guys who come to fuck you. Course with your hefty slab, some of those tight used condoms will really be painfully tight. You'll find after the first week, some of the guys will even bring their own from the prison - freshly used from fucking their prison bitches. Of course they wear them to the worksite so the load and arsejuice is nice and fresh for you to lick off their spic cocks. And that's not to mention the extra condoms you'll need to clean off when they buttfuck you on breaks, that is if they're not stretching out your hole any other way.

Then there are dildos and dongs - rule is anything they find on the roadside you take the rest of the day up your chute. Now I don't know if many chicks dump their dongs roadside as a habit, or the prisoners don't just bring some with, but I've never known a bitchboy go more than 2 weeks without some 12 inch rotating bruiser surfacing in the dirt. Just hope they don't find two in one trip like they did last year - getting double stuffed by rubber prongs can really stretch you out.

But don't you worry your sloppy little arse about the cons, we're gonna make your life living hell ourselves. First we're gonna cut tiny slits in your big fat dork there, and rub in salt, each week, until that fat dork is crisscrossed with ugly ridges of tough scar tissue. We'll lace up your stalk from root to cockhead with fishing wire, and bait the fishhook through your stinking cockflap, stretching it back and exposing your tender dicklips to our fingers. We noticed you leak a lot, so we thought we might widen your pisslips with straws, so you can't stop the flow. We're gonna cane your rump with nice thin bamboo rods. Jake here is an expert, he can land every blow on the same line, and loves aiming right for the crease of your rosebud - so you'll find sitting or squatting agony. Of course, he does vary his blows, so your bag is in for some whipping.

Man, this is getting me all juiced up just talking about it. You too, that fat fucker of yours never lets up. Here, Jake, clip that cockring to the base, the tight steel will keep that fucker bloated. Nah, just squeeze harder, it'll snap closed, even if it is a bit small, that'll just make the shaft bulge more. Now me, as you can probably tell from the thick PA I'm ramming in your pouty lips, I like piercings. Careful there, or you'll chip another tooth, eh. Oh stupid me, I'm in control, let me thrust it a little deeper. Ungh, yeah, well like I said, I like a bit of cock jewelry, and if I've got it, then my boys have to have it too. Being only a minor and all though, might raise questions if your daddy sees you professionally pierced, so we'll have to use paperclips and keyrings and shit to make it look homemade, like you skewered your own cock. Hey, don't choke on my cockleak, that sap is precious. Go on, swallow. Right well I want some iron rings to match your thick dork, and some of the bigger keyrings are a bitch to thread though, hopefully we don't stretch the pierced holes too much. Oh yeah, and bulldog clips will look real pretty too, although they could sting a bit.

Anyway you dumbfuck, it's not all CBT. We like our prisoners to look the part. After your 6 months community service you'll be shipped on our special summer camp for wayward youths. Starts before your term is up, but you'll be right repeating I'm sure. That's when the real job starts. I mean sure you'll be prodded and mauled and fucked each weekend, too. At camp, we'll smooth off that clippered chest of yours - we've got some strong hair remover for that. A blank canvas. See this tattoo - well, it's nothing compared to what we'll do to you. We'll tell your daddy some boys gave it to you - yeah, it'll be a real homemade job. A harness tattooed permanently on your torso, strapping your shoulders, midsection and cockroot with thick inked bands. Wrist and arm bands, thick and black. Oh, yeah, it's making me juice up just thinking about it. These two hairy big boys haven't been released since yesterday morning, and I can feel a nice thick load brewing. Jake, I'd make a cone with your fingers, it'll make it easier to make a fist once you've passed the pussy ring. Okay fuckface, open that pretty mouth of yours wide...

You Can Never Go Home

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