Taming the Beast

Taming the Beast 4

Emile, 2010 - 2011

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But if I thought I'd be safe at home I was wrong.  I was already dreading my wife seeing the tatts, but as we started upstairs, I heard banging, and loud moans from the bedroom.  Seth and Rock hi-fived each other.  "That'll be Conrad's morning fuck" they whispered. Fucking my wife!  They grabbed me around the shoulders again, turning me around.  "You can't stay here bro, we promised Conrad he'd get a free run of the place if he hit it off.  Guess he did.  Actually, can't let your wifey see you like that at all - might ruin the good family name.  I think you better live with us for a while."

Living with Seth and Rock was a nightmare.  They lived in a share house with 8 other rowdy, horny guys, sharing a small rank smelling basement room below the only bathroom.  There was a door and window to the rear alley, which they brought me in through.  Above I could hear noises of guys in the house, and the grunting sound of someone on the john, pushing out a large turd.  When the guy was done, he flushed, and the room filled with the gushing sound of water, the main sewer pipe running down the surface of one wall.  Rock and Seth didn't care, they just crashed here when they were drunk and dateless, but this would be my home.  I was forbidden from making a sound, going upstairs or out, but there was no risk of that anyway, given how exposed I was.  The window was large and low, and bare except for a few rusted bars, so anyone in the alley could see the whole room.  They told me to clean up and left to get "supplies".  I sorted through the piles of crusty clothes, used rubbers and junk food wrappers, when they came back, Rock with the Mexican cuntlube, Seth with a pair of handcuffs.   Seth grabed my wrists, using his muscle to pin my own beefy arms behind me, and dragged me back to the sewer pipe, cuffing my wrists behind the pipe so I was forced to sit against it, hands immobilised and my legs stretched out in front of me.  Rock meanwhile squeezed out a dollop of cuntlube, and slid his hands up my thigh under the shorts, his fingers tracing over the ribbed piercings that laddered my cock, coating my cock and balls with the itching goop. It was bad enough tied up half naked like that, in fear of anyone glancing through the window and seeing the words "JOCK PIG" inked over my fat pecs, and my heavy throbbing cock poking out both ends of the shorts, but to have my whole cock on fire as well from the lube was agony.  My ballbag was so swollen from fuckneed and the lube that I had to keep my thighs apart to keep from squashing the nads, and the fleshy throat of the nutsack pushed my dork up like a bridge.  My cockhead too was stretched to the limit, purple and pounding, like an overripe peach, ready to split its skin.  It was their special lesson to me - forced to look down over my smooth torso, past the shaved exposed cockroot to the plum head, my whole existence concentrated on the punishment my dork earnt for having been such a mean dicksman in school.

Seth began scrawling the names and numbers off my wide stretched back into an address book he was holding, and told me since they weren't going to fork out for my dinners, they'd set up 'dates' for me every night, from the growing list of guys who wanted to fuck me, or fuck me again.  They added the groping commuters to the list.  In return, after every date I'd have homework questions to complete - a complete physical description of each guy - from their body hair to their dick girth - and what they were into, which I'd have to explore thoroughly.  They didn't say why - to steer me to kinkier shit, or just blackmail the johns, but I knew my dates would be long and probing.  With that, they left for work, leaving me to a day of nothing but humiliation and pain in the cellar.

My first date, if you can call it that, was with one of the guys from the train.  Rock and Seth dropped me at a greasy diner out of town, where the businessman clearly thought none of his friends would see him.  It was a dive, and all the other patrons stared when we walked in, so clearly unmatched.  Looking like a jailbait rentboy, I got looks of disgust, rather than sympathy, despite being the victim.  The cocky suit led me to a rear booth, after ordering 'the usual' from the waitress, who didn't even bother to look at me.  After she left, he casually unzipped his pants, telling me to get down and make myself useful while we waited.  For fifteen minutes, while he read the paper and glanced at the rear wall mirror, I crouched under the table, legs wide and head low, while he casually facefucked me, leaking constantly but getting no closer to spurting. Finally, he shoved me back with his hands and told me to scramble up.  I managed to get back up into my seat, scraping against the table and chair, just as the waitress rounded the bench and dumped burgers and cokes on the table in front of us, before leaving with a grunt.  I was ravenous, but when I reached for my plate he slapped my hand away, grabbing my burger in his free fist as he ate, and hauling it under the table.  In a moment I realise what he is doing, pile-driving his hard cock into the burger, mashing the meat and spattering sauce as he pounds the warm bun.  Having primed him with a blowjob, he quickly came with a muted moan, pausing for several seconds before finally opening his eyes again, slowly pulling the hamburger off his stalk and dumping it back on my plate.  It was disgusting - mashed into a pulp and leaking thick viscous fucksauce from the sides.  "While that cools" he said, "how about you clean up the mess down there."  Reluctantly I wormed my way back into a crouch under the table, and sucked mayonnaise, ground beef and cum of his drooping stalk and (at his direction), the floor.  Finally I climbed back to the seat and he let me hoe into the congealed cum and grease burger, my only meal for ages, while he finished off his coke and mine.

The post-date fuck was no more special.  Leaving the diner, he just led me out back, and between the trashcans, he spun me around, spread against the wall, tugged down the shorts and made me stand there, exposed, while whacked himself until he was hard again, and fed his thick dick into my hole, unlubed, with teeth-gritting force.  I tried my best not to yelp as my torn hole opened to accomodate another intruder, and he saw-fucked me among the trash, unloading quickly and zipping up, before stepping away in hurried footsteps.  It took me a second to realise he'd left me there, and quickly hauled up the shorts, and despite the stabbing pain, jogged around to the front to beg for a lift home.  Too late, I saw him reverse quickly and screech out of there, leaving me cold and alone in the carpark.  Somehow I managed to walk back into town and find my way to my brothers' house, climbing into the broken window and collapsing on the soggy mattress.

My next day was much the same, only I gave Rock some lip, which he paid back with a hard slap across my face, and extra cuntlube smeared on my pouty pierced nipples.  Fuck the itch was awful.  By the end of the day, my cock and balls were so swollen that my nutsack was bloated tight, and my cock drooled constantly from sap squeezed out by the swelling.  They gave me grey dress shorts and a bleached white collared shirt for the second date but even in normal clothes, my tortured tackle made a freakish ripe lump in the pants, obscene and moist with dripping juice.  They leant me some flip flops and led me upstairs, still shakey on my legs, to my second date.  The other guys were all mooching around upstairs, indifferent to their flatmates "kid brother" who was crashing in the basement.  I didn't know what they'd told them, but the sneers on their faces told me I'd get little sympathy from them.  They pushed me forward to the front door.  There, standing in the hallway with a shit-eating grin on his face was the black janitor from school!  Right there in front of my brothers and their housemates, he came up, grabbing a fistful of my hair and pulling my face towards his honky lips, while pawing my meaty chest through the fabric with his free hand, seeking out my itching nipples with his stubby dark fingers.  I heard their flatmates gasp and call me names, but I was much more humiliated by my own squashed stalk, which lurched in the pants at his touch and began to leak in earnest, staining the fly.  "Whooee boy, we is gonna have some fun" he chuckled, when he broke off the kiss, leading me out of the house with one broad hand firmly grasped around my right arsecheek, fingers in the crack, touching my own.

The janitor, Duane, let me to his pick-up truck, a beat up rust bucket with a crude 'black power' fist painted over the door.  I began to get uncomfortable climbing up into the cab, and my discomfort didn't improve any when I saw inside.  The bench seat inside had gone, replaced by a long-haul trucker seat on the driver side, and on my side - nothing.  Well, no seat, just buckets, spades and garbage - the floor was swimming in burger wrappers and cups.  He urged me up into the cab, manhandling me as I climbed so he forced me in facing backwards on all fours.  Reaching in among the filth, which buried my limbs, he pulled some kind of lever, trapping my hands under what must've been the old seat base.  Now I couldn't do much but wiggle my arse, forced to face the back of the cab like a truant kid.  Satisfied, he slammed the door, hiking around to his side and climbing in.  "Now" he said, fondling my arsecheek now in easy grasp next to the stick shift, "you sit real tight."  He swung his hand further back, forcing my head down, carelessly forcing me to bob over the rim of a rank mop bucket.  The half full swill lurched as he started the engine.  "I don' wanna have anybody see me wi' white boy trash, so you better duck youse head down til I says" he grunted, before gunning the wreck and speeding off. At first I thought it was just an accident, with all the other junk in his cab, but after a minute or so, he reached back again, forcing my head down lower, til my forehead almost touched the splashing liquid. "Yeah Wet Pussy boy, kept that jus' for you.  I's promised the boys to give you a feed before fucking ya, so chow down.  Drained it straight from the canteen grease trap n'all."  It was disgusting, fat, meat juice and burnt scraps, my stomach churned at the smell.  But he forced me down, making me lap up the foul liquid for ten, twenty minutes while he drove around, hurtling left and right, making me struggle to keep balance with my arse high in the air.  Finally, when the last few slicks were sloshing around, he ground to a halt, splashing the rest on my face.  My lips, mouth and throat were covered in greasy fat, and my stomach churned.  As he loosened my hands and dragged me out, I left out a burp, the juices rolling over in my stomach.  "We better get started with the fuck part of the date quick smart, chances are wi' them food, you's gonna be puking and shitting and wishing you was dead in a coupla hours."

I looked around, dazed, realising we were in the school carpark.  With growing alarm I figured out why I was dressed this way - Duane wanted me looking like some fuckin' schoolkid.  I wasn't far wrong, as he lead me inside, towards the music rooms, one of my favourite old fucking spots.  "You know kid, there are cameras all round this school, and I seen everything.  You sassy white boys, fucking all over, and I gotta clean that shit up afta you. And you fink you can fuck dem girls all you want but me, if I so much as look funny, I get the boot.  So we're gonna have some nice old re-tri-bu-shon tonight, my style."  He hauled open the door of one of the rooms, the floor covered in goop.  "Some of yo' old friends got really lucky here on prom night, so I's kept it here jus' for you.  Now get down on all fours and practice lapping, while I show you what a Duane-fuck is really about!"  I looked down, and he was already tugging on his drawstring, letting out the long fat fucker that hung off his waist like a hosepipe.  As he let his python out, he squeezed the head, oozing a dollop of precum the size of most men's load drop to the floor.  "Now get that puckered deposit slot ready for colllection, y'hear"

The fuck itself was awful - I was forced to crawl, grey shorts shucked over my arsecheeks so they clung to mid thigh and let my tackle swing free, and lean down to lick the floor of spooge, and he leaned in, one hand pressing the back of my neck, caressing the 'wet pussy' tattoo on the back of my neck, while the other lined his reamer with my hole.  He'd wiped the prefuck from his pisshole with his palm, smearing it on my arsecheek, telling me how he wanted to dry fuck my reamed out chute so I felt it good an proper, at least before his oil well of juice bubbled up again.  Now I knew my straight boy pussy was kind of ruined already from so many guys fucks, but dry plugging me made me almost lift of the ground with pain - it was so brutal I thought he'd rupture something inside me.  He rammed in three or four times til his cocksauce and my arse slime got slicked up enough not to suction every inch of his skin, and then he quickly settled in to a punishing fuck, leaking more and more til he rode me and bucked and slammed his wiry root into my crack, shooting spurt after spurt of cheese sauce up my guts. Finally he slowed down, and withdrew, bringing his spooge covered fuckspout with him.  It was covered with ropes of yellowish goop which dripped on the floor in dollops.  He yanked at my neck, pulling me to a crouch, my burning arse hovering over the ground, where his cocksauce gurgled out of me, coating the balls of my feet and my flip flops with his warm load.  But it was his dick my attention was on, the slimy fucked out half hard dork, which we now wanted me to clean off with my tongue.

I cleaned off his funky chocolate stick, coating my mouth and tongue with his fucksauce and my own arse slime.  My stomach was already churning and there was a growing pain in my gut.  I needed to puke or shit or something real bad.  Finally when my moans around his dick grew loud enough, and I began to fart out bubbles of cockspew, clinging at my arselips with my hands to try and hold it in, he withdrew with a plop, and told me to hold my crouch while he got something. I was cramping up, and my legs and ankles were getting covered in goop, scum also bubbling up in my throat.  I heard him rummaging around in the hall, and figured he'd opened the trophy cabinet.  I was right, he came back a few moments later brandishing my junior high football trophy for the team I'd captained to victory, just before my brothers had punked me.  It was a big three tiered tower, with a guy holding a ball over his head - victory style - on top.  He unscrewed the top, and ignoring my gritted teeth and wincing, handed me the pewter hero.  The statue stood almost 10 inches high, tapering from the pointed tip of the football out over the metal player's shoulders, down his artistically rippled body and then fattening out to a wide triple tiered base, just above the screw cap.  "I think it's time you took back your trophies boy" he ordered, and despite the gut ripping cramps, I realised he wouldn't let me up til I raped my sore hole with the metal statue.  I slowly, gingerly fed the tip of the athletes arms up my chute, and despite the pain and waves of arse-ripping farts that slopped cocksauce over my fingers, began slowly groaning as I fucked the statue into my hole up to the shoulderblades of the silvery player.  "Good show boy, but you is taking that out of here, fuckjobs like you have no place in a trophy cabinet here.  I want you to push that right in, like your smuggling it outta here."  Man, it was agony, slowly pushing it in, battling my own guts.  I was shaking on my knees - a young fit muscular guy like me should be winning medals, not fucking himself with them. But then I guess I was pretty fucked already.  Finally after a few heavy grunting minutes it was three quarters of the way in, the football grinding my insides, the base grazing my hole.  He made my squat down lower, bouncing my arse against the floor to hammer it in.  It was sick.

While I did so like a wild guy, he disappeared again, coming back with another trophy.  It was our rowing VII trophy, another muscular metal crewman, this time holding his oar aloft.  There was no way I could take it, the oar was held across, as wide as my hand.  He handed it to me, ignoring the sweat pouring off my brow from having stuffed my freshly fucked arse with a huge trophy, churning guts and dick-breath mouth.  "I can't fit that anywhere" i spluttered.  He smiled, snapping the oar out of the crewman's hands, and handing it to me.  "Hey now I bet that's small enough to plug your pisshole" he added.  Tears began welling out of my eyes, as I took the blunt prong in one hand, hefted my veiny dork with the other, and slowly, gently began forcing the metal poker down my sensitive urethera.  While I stuffed my own pork roll, he leant down in front of me, his breath on my face, still holding the crewman by his now empty outstretched arms.  He reached out and tweaked a nipple, hard, pushing the nub out, and with the other hand he lined up the circular hole made by the rower's palm.  He pushed it down on my pec, twisting the statue sideways so my nipple was caught in the metal rower's grip, pinched out from my body.  I jerked, plunging the oar painfully fast down my pisshole, until the blade caught my dicklips.  "Hey hey" he coaxed.  "Haven't even got to the second one".  My broad chest and bulging pecs made it difficult to stretch the rower, even with his arms wide, to my other pec, but somehow he managed to force the other grip sideways until it pinched at my other nipple.  He let go, and the heavy statue tugged at my chest, pulling my nipples towards each other and down.  He reached down to my fat porker, pushing the oar further, so the wide blade penetrated my cockhead, stretching the pisshole incredibly.  "Oh shit" he said "I forgot - put your hands on your head and I'll be back..."  I reluctantly put my wrists on top of my head, raising my sweaty pits to the room - my whole body was soaked now from fear, pain and sickness.  I couldn't think of another trophy I'd won.

He came back in with a framed basketball top, from my junior year.  It would be way too small for me now, and I began to protest.  He smashed open the frame and hauled out the top, shaking his head.  He used the signed satin cloth to clean off his dick hose, and then wiped up some of the other guys cockspew, and finally mopped up the puddle of his load that coated the floor between my ankles, until the satin was stained and heavy with junk.  "Open wide fuckface" he commanded, forcing the jersey into my jaw like a gag.  "Okay boy, now unless you want a smackdown, I want you to hold that position and wait."  He gripped my cock, pulling out something that looked like a blood pressure cuff, and wrapped it tightly around the cockhead. He did something and it began to vibrate, massaging my dicksleeve in a frustrating throb.  "Now just in case you're thinking of dropping those beefy arms and pulling this gear off, i'm watching you, though the lens of that camera..."  Shit, the music room had a recording booth, and I suddenly saw the blinking red light of the camera inside.  Here I was, wrists and ankles untied, completely unrestrained, forced to hold a sick pose, buck naked, stuffed and sweating while my cock got rock hard, all for the camera.  If anyone else got hold of that tape, I knew it would end up on the internet, and I could never go anywhere in public again.  The last window of hope of escape threatened to close.  I moaned into the gag furiously, pleading with my eyes.  "Now hold still a few more minutes, and I'll be back".  He gathered up my gear and left.

The minutes felt like hours, and my cramps reached fever pitch.  I couldn't do much, just breathe through my nose and hope I didn't explode.  My dick was getting stubbornly hard and drippy too, I was inching towards an agonising orgasm.  Then I heard footsteps, looked around panicking, thinking how I could get out of this, but it was too late.  Many footsteps, and girls and guys voices blending together.  Finally the door swung open and they almost fell in the room, stopping dead when they saw me.  Two couples  from the year below me, had come to the music room to fuck.  And instead, they'd found me.  First the noticed was "Wet Pussy" on the back of my bowed down neck, but it wouldn't be long till they saw the whole package - from inked up jockpig on my chest to my plugged and stuffed junk.  One of the burlier guys, shocked, came forward, wrenching me up to my feet by the scruff of my neck, making me holler from the pain as the statue churned inside my raw arse, the cummy shirt dropping out of my mouth.   My arms were still aloft, and they all sucked in air as they caught the "Cum Dump" and "Dumb Arse" armbands and "Jock Pig" necklace I'd been marked with.  But their gaze settled on my jewelry - well the oar stuffing my prong, oarsman swinging off my pecs and the base sticking out of my tail. But despite the pain and horrible humiliation, the rapid jerking of my overstimulated fuckstalk finally won over, and with a gutteral "oh fuck", I felt the worse of all possible things as my churning balls exploded, forcing my thick viscous load up my pisshole, fighting for room with the oar.  My legs gave out and I fell forward, grabbing at the guy's shoulder with my arm, leaning heavily against him as my cum began shooting out around the oar, slowly shifting it forward.  It was like a sick freaky show.  The group was stunned, I was still gripping the guy, naked and spewing my cocksauce all over his leg, like an animal.  "Oh fuck" I said again, sinking to my knees.  "What the" the guy said, staring down at me.  My old locker buddy Jimbo.  His face was a mixture of revulsion and shock.  He reached down to support me, his strong grip slipping on my sweat pit and I slipped forward, faceplanting, the metallic oar jamming another few inches up my pisser as my fat dork smacked against the ground.