This story contains sexual activities, not all of them completely consensual, 
between underaged teenagers. If you can't bear to read such stuff or if it's
illegal for you to do so, please stop reading right here. Otherwise, enjoy!

This story tells of 14-year-old Timothy, who plays on the school soccer team, as
he discovers his true sexuality. All, of course, with the 'help' of Brad, a new,
rather sexually mature kid in school who ends up showing Timmy all the moves, both
on-field and off it.

Comments and suggestions welcome at: sub_casey@yahoo.com.



Soccer Jock's Bitch

by Casey



It was the start of a new term and I couldn't wait to go back to school. Not for the
lessons, of course. I could hardly wait because we would be playing soccer again,
and because it was time for another major tournament for the school.

I had been a regular for the school team for about a year. I was one of the smallest
players, but I made up for it by being good and quick. I played on the wing, which
meant I got to run a lot and trick my way past opponents, something I found I truly
delighted in doing. My two best friends were also on the soccer team. Mark was a
central midfielder and Anthony was a defender. We were good friends both on and off
the pitch.

We started training for the new term with me as sprightly as ever, and I was glad
that the school holidays didn't make me lose my touch too much. The other team
members were mostly okay, too, which was also a good sign for the tournament coming
up. With the promise of soccer practice several times a week I could almost get
through all of the preceding lessons without nodding off. I've always found being on 
the field and running like the wind was the most exhilarating thing I've ever 
experienced. Until Brad came.

It was on our third practice session, I think, that the coach introduced the new
student and team member to us. His parents had just moved to the area from the far
coast and the school found from his records that he was an important player for his
previous school. Coach had conducted an individual trial and from what he saw, he
thought that Brad might even be able to teach us a few new tricks.

We didn't know what to think of it, at first. It was probably normal for us to
distrust him some, especially since Coach spoke so highly of him. But throughout the
remainder of the session it became obvious that he was a very friendly guy, even if
a little arrogant of his skills, which was probably only natural. He really was a 
great player. Even our regular strikers, who had their positions threatened by his 
arrival, gradually took a liking to him. He probably had more effect on the team in 
that one practice session than anything had over the course of the previous term. We 
were a good team, but never one to be top of the league in the state tournaments so 
far. But with Brad on board, I, and probably everyone else in the team, could see us 
going on to achieve new heights.

Brad was just as nice to me as to the others, and he quickly gained my trust by
complimenting me on my speed and dribbling skills, and how it'd be perfect to have
someone like me on the team supplying him with good balls for him to score.

One thing to note about Brad, apart from his lethal scoring skills, was that he was
a big guy. A real jock. He towered over the rest of us (especially me), except for 
Brian, our central defender, but where Brian was tall and lean, Brad was thick and
brawny. He really looked as if he was a couple grades older. His physique gave him a 
great advantage, and I'd be hard pressed to name any rival team who'd have no 
problems dealing with him. And he wasted no time before showing us just how 
effective those advantages could be.

Our defenders bounced off him. Literally. Even poor Brian was left looking slightly
dazed after one particularly crashing tackling attempt. Brad didn't play dirty; he
simply knew how to use his strength advantage to the maximum. He muscled his way
between opposing midfielders with barely a break in his stride, he shielded the ball
well with his body when he needed to, and he shot the ball at goal with terrifying
power. I could easily see him becoming a soccer superstar one day. One of us asked
him why he didn't join the football team instead. A player like him could go really
far. But he just shrugged and said that he was never into it.

Before Brad's arrival, we didn't really have a true leader among us. Anthony was the
team captain, and did the job as best as he could, but he never really had the
natural charisma that Brad exuded. So it was not really a surprise that, after the
third training session, Coach announced that Brad was our new captain. I guess Coach
could see the effect Brad had on us, and was also pleased at how quickly Brad had
gained our respect. And he had. He was not just an inspiration on the pitch, but he
also quickly became the alpha male in our group. He had the swagger to match it and
since we had all come to trust him, it was only logical for us to treat him as our
leader in all things, including things like places to hang out, and girls.

Listening to Brad's stories of his previous conquests became our favorite pastime.
And he seemed to never run out of them. Based on his accounts, he seemed to have 
made out with half of the girls in his previous school, and bedded at least two, 
despite being only fourteen! I mean, several of us have had some experiences, mostly 
in terms of kissing and such, but actual sex was previously a realm for the senior-
high. The girls at our age were mostly still too scared to try it. But Brad had 
actually managed to persuade a couple to sleep with him! And in one case, he
actually climbed up her window and took her in her own bedroom in her own parents' 
house! "They might say they're too scared or worried and everything, but they all 
really want it in the end," he told us. So of course we listened raptly and with awe
to his stories.

By this time, I should have realized the tell-tale signs in me, the things that
separated me from the others. But I didn't. And I guessed that Brad did.

A few more sessions into the term and I found that soccer was no longer as easy as 
it used to be. Because of my speed and trickery, I was always a danger to the other
team, and, inevitably, if Brad were to play in the opposing team, he made life very
difficult for me. Despite being a striker, he'd track back just to make sure I
couldn't be up to my usual tricks. And boy was he fast for his size. No sooner than 
I got the ball, I'd find him looming around me, making me miss a step just at the 
fear of one of his crunching tackles. I could no longer take the ball from deep all 
the way to the other end of the field, and had to pass it quickly to avoid from 
being run over by him. He was so big and strong that he could easily bump me off him 
any time we went for a ball together. He'd be there standing as if nothing happened 
while I'd be sprawled on the ground, all but forgotten as the opposition counter-
attacked. I knew that I hadn't suddenly become useless, but having my main weakness 
suddenly exposed and exploited so completely like that was affecting my confidence, 
and pretty soon I was playing badly almost consistently, even when Brad and I was on 
the same team. In fact, it was worse in the latter case, since Brad would have a few 
choice words for me whenever I got caught in possession or played him a stray pass. 
The others were more sympathetic towards me, but none dared to go against Brad, me 
included.

So I shouldn't have been suprised when, a few weeks into the term, the previously
unthinkable happened. It was the first match of the annual tournament, and I found
myself relegated to the substitutes bench. My position in the team was given over
to Andrew, who was fairly okay, but far slower and less skilled than me. It was only
logical, I guess. I had been awful in training and I told myself that I should be
thankful to even be in the team at all.

I never played in that game, and had a hard time forcing myself to come to the next
training session.

It was then that, of all people, Brad took pity on me.

He approached me in the locker room after practice and sat beside me as I sulked
quietly on my own on one of the benches.

"Hey, man," he greeted me.

I looked up. "Oh, hey," I said to him distractedly.

"Don't take it too hard," he said. "Everyone has their off days."

"Yeah," I grunted softly, slightly bemused and wondering if he realized that my 'off
day' had lasted for a few weeks already.

"I've seen you play, man. You've got talent, and you're fast. The only problem is
that you're not physical enough."

I looked up at him. "Well.." I said after a several moments. "I'm kinda small."

Brad grinned and shook his head. "That's not the most important thing. I've seen
players just as small who could dish it out with the best of them."

I had to smile with him. "Yeah?"

"Sure," Brad was confident. "You just need to know how to do it properly. With the
right technique, you could wrestle the ball from someone twice your size, no 
problem."

My interest was peaked. How come nobody's ever told me this before?

"Want me to show you how?"

I looked around to see that most of the others had finished showering and was 
getting their stuff together to go home. Many passed our way and clasped hands with 
us as they took their leave. At least the others were still treating me like one of 
them. If anybody was treating me like an outcast now, it was myself. I resolved to 
correct that soon.

"Not going back?" Brian raised an eyebrow at us. "Soon," Brad assured him. "I'm just
going to give Timmmy here some pointers first."

Brian smiled with genuine pleasure. "That's great!" he exclaimed and then grinned at
me. "You'll be back to your best in no time, Timmy."

I was pleased with Brian's confidence in me and could almost feel my own growing by
the second. I looked back to Brad. "Yes, please. Show me."

Brad grinned and stood up. "Hmm, it's hot in here so we might as well make ourselves
comfortable." He was already bare-chested and I could see some impressive adult
muscles under what little remained of his teenager fat. Now he bent down to remove
his shorts. As he stood there in only his jockstrap, I could see that his thighs and
butt were just as muscled as the rest of him. I stood up alongside him and took off
the jersey that I tied around my waist, but kept my shorts on.

Brad took a ball from our training stash and led me to a cleared out area in the 
locker room. Even here, he seemed to swagger as he walked, a perfect member of the
male specimen.

"Okay," he announced as he dropped the ball at my feet. "The first thing I'm going 
to show you is how to keep hold of the ball.

"What do you do if you come up against a big guy like me, and there's no one to pass
to and not enough space to get pass him? Try it now."

He backed away a bit and motioned for me to come at him. I looked around and saw
that the wall and the lockers were too close on either sides of us for me to have
enough space to speed past him. I had to try and wriggle my way through.

I moved the ball a bit, did a couple stepovers and then spun to twist my way down 
his left.

BLAM!!

There was a loud crash as I slammed face-first into the lockers and almost lost my
footing. I was lucky that I chose his left-hand side; otherwise I would have slammed 
head-on onto the concrete wall.

Brad was smiling from his spot in the middle of the clearing, the ball safely under
one foot.

"What went wrong?" he asked me.

I shook my head to clear it up and slowly made my way back to my starting position.
He had simply edged his body into me, his leg outstretched for the ball and his
shoulder slamming into me at the same time.

"I tried to force my way past you?" I guessed.

"You tried to force your way past me," Brad nodded, "but in doing so put yourself
in a very vulnerable position. I've met many boys who could do all kinds of things
with a ball, moving lightly and quickly and twisting around and all, but most of
them don't realize that, the more lightly you step, the more easily you could be
taken off your feet. Forget about being quick for now, and just try to get the ball
past me."

The loud crash of my 'accident' had attracted some of the other boys who hadn't gone
back home, and they were coming over and grinning good-naturedly as Brad continued
with my instructions.

So I tried again, much more slowly this time. But without my speed, I found that I
couldn't really think of how to make it happen.

"See?" Brad pointed out after my third unsuccessful attempt, during which I ended up
simply passing him the ball in my almost panicked state. "You guys are much too 
dependent on speed and tricks. Sometimes you have to use both brains and brawn. Now 
try again, but move more kinda like backwards, keeping the ball from me."

Backwards? I thought. Oh well.

"No, not like that. Squat a little and push your bum out. And more like sideways."

"Keep one eye on me, and try to keep the ball away."

I inched slowly backwards and sideways towards him. As soon as I got close he poked 
a foot between my legs and kicked the ball away.

"Always be aware of what your opponent might try to do," Brad told me patiently, 
"and move to block it when they do."

The next time, I twisted and put my leg in the way as Brad tried to squeeze a foot
between or around my legs.

"Good." My heart jumped at the praise.

However, the third time, instead of trying to poke at the ball, Brad simply bumped
me away by sheer strength, almost sending me sprawling onto the floor. The others
laughed at that, although I was fairly certain that most of them would've been put
in the same situation if they were the ones to come up against him.

"And that's the other thing," Brad was saying. "You've got to learn to plant your
feet and body firmly on the ground. Firmly enough that you won't go tumbling down at
the slightest shove. Now try it again. Spread your legs. Yeah. Lower. Good. Now bend
over like you're riding a bike. Butt out. Good."

I felt like a fool as I crabbed my way sideways in that position towards my 
erstwhile mentor. But strangely enough, I found that I could stand more firmly 
against his body-check, although I suspected that he wasn't using his full strength. 
But I think I was beginning to understand what he meant, and on the second try I 
managed to do it much less awkwardly. On the third such attempt, I actually backed 
into him and threw him off balance enough that I managed to squeeze past, even if 
the ball went spinning the other way. I earned a round of applause from the four or 
five watching boys, Mark and Anthony among them.

"Nice," Brad grinned at me. "You catch on fast. Now again. Faster this time, and I
won't be so gentle."

I found out that 'not so gentle' consisted of Brad squatting over me, his body
flush upon mine and pushing and pushing me inexorably the opposite way. He was so
big and strong! How on earth was I ever going to get past him?

"You're not trying hard enough," Brad told me. "Again."

We were both sweating profusely again by now and our bodies made loud smacking 
sounds as they came into contact. Brad latched on to me very tightly and I could 
feel the warmth of his body on my back. His strong thighs ran repeatedly into mine, 
trying to knock me off balance, while his jockstrap brushed against my bum. His 
hands and arms were all over me. I grunted and with all my might shoved my bum back 
against him before making a lunge for it.

SLAM!!!

I found myself pressed up against the lockers, my cheek and upper torso pressed into
the cold metal as Brad's body pushed up against mine, effectively trapping me 
in-between the lockers and his big, hard physique. I was breathing hard, almost 
panting, the wind knocked out of me by the collision. Brad held me there for a few 
moments.

It was then that I noticed something strange. Brad's hips were moving against mine.
It was as if he was grinding his jockstrap into my bum. What the hell? Or was I only
imagining it?

"Again," Brad said as he released me.

The exertions were having an effect on me and I was almost angry as I tried to get
past him again. This time I managed to hold him off longer, despite his hands 
pushing and shoving my waist and shoulders away in order to get to the ball. I think 
the sweat was working to my advantage as his hands mostly slid and slipped wetly off 
my skin, although each blow was strong enough to rock me on my feet. But again, I 
was undone by my own impatience, as I ill-advisedly attempted another lunge and was 
rewarded with another resounding crash into the lockers (by now I had decided that
I wasn't going to even think of forcing myself through the other side!). I closed my
eyes dazedly against the lockers, in one sense welcoming the respite as Brad kept me
pressed against them with steel-like strength.

I tried to wipe the sweat off my brow but found that I could not move my right hand.
I realized then that it was twisted behind me and trapped between our bodies. Worse,
I also realized that my hand was pressed up against my bum by Brad's groin - in 
fact, my palm was virtually cupping his jockstrap! I tried to wiggle my arm free but 
to no avail.

My eyes must have widened a bit at the realization for Brad bent his mouth closer to
my ear and whispered. "What? Feeling something you like?"

I was aghast at the insinuation and gave my all to pry my hand free. But Brad was so
strong and after a while I could only resort to folding up my hand into a fist. At
least it was less embarrassing to me although it didn't prevent my fingers from
feeling his jockstrap and the.. thing inside it.

Mercifully, after a few more moments he let me go and let me return reluctantly to 
my starting position.

"That's enough of that, I think," Brad said. "Now I'll show you how to get the ball
from a bigger opponent."

I groaned inwardly. I couldn't even hold him off when I had the ball, and now he
wanted me to take it from him? How could it be possible?

"I know what you're thinking," Brad assured me, "but strength is not always
everything. Timing and technique are important, too."

Even the others gathered around to watch didn't seem convinced.

"Okay, I'm gonna put the ball in the center between us," Brad continued inexorably.
"Now try to get it before I do."

I lunged, realizing too late that he was expecting it, and bounced hard off his hip
as he stepped in my way like a big bad truck. This time I _was_ sent sprawling to
the floor. The others had to laugh this time and I couldn't blame them. Brad smiled.

"You know you'll never get the ball if you use brute strength against me," Brad
lectured. "You have to know when to make your move, and how. Use my own strength
against me."

I didn't understand a word he was saying. I mean, previously, my job on the field
had always been to receive the ball from a team-mate, run with it and then pass it
back to our striker. I had never been expected to manfully nick the ball from an
opposing player.

I think Brad saw my confusion and took me through some steps slowly, explaining
about timing and movement and how to use my body and my opponent's momentum to throw
him off balance and thus winning the ball from him. I think I almost got it, too, 
but in actual practice it was much much harder than in slow motion. Often I found my 
foot, leg or body bumping into the brick wall that was his body instead of getting 
anywhere near the ball. He allowed me several more tries before even he had to give 
up.

"Hmm.. maybe we should call it a day. You're probably too tired. Either that, or 
you're too much of a sissy to be playing soccer!"

I think the others saw it as a good joke, for they laughed loudly at that, but I saw
the glint in Brad's eyes and it made me angry. Grunting, I rushed at him, using my
hands and arms to push him away, the sole focus of my life getting the ball from
under his feet. And I almost succeeded too, for the attack clearly caught him by
surprise.

Almost.

Somehow, during the one-and-a-half second or so of my grappling with him, he had 
swept one of my legs from under me and sent me down to my knees. As I threw out my 
hands to keep from falling the rest of the way, he grabbed one of my arms and pulled 
it back behind me and slipped one arm around the other before using it to press my 
head down towards the floor, his own body bent over mine from behind. The pain in my 
shoulders eclipsed everything else for a moment. As I came back to my senses, 
kneeling with one arm twisted behind me and my face pressed against the floor, I 
could hear Brad breathing loudly close to my ear.

"Woah, boy." he said tightly after a moment. "I didn't know you wanted me to show 
you how to wrestle, too!"

I could hear the others laughing, although not quite as boisterously as before. They
probably knew that I sort of snapped and was now paying the price for it. Shame
flooded me. I shouldn't have lost it like that. Now I was also going to lose some of
the other team members' respect for me. Brad was only trying to help me and I had
repaid him by attacking him in front of the others.

Brad released me after a while. I pushed myself upright but remained on my knees and
kept my gaze lowered. I was still too ashamed to meet Brad's eyes or the others'. I
was ashamed of my behavior, and I was also ashamed of how easily Brad had 
'neutralized' me. It reminded me of how I'd been bullied in primary school. A kid
my size was an easy target for bullies, and the few times I tried to fight back only
left me worse off than if I didn't resist.

"Come on, man," Brad said to me. "Let's hit the showers." Even in my half-dazed 
state, I was rather amazed at the fact that he didn't seem to take any offense. I 
pushed myself to my feet and began to make my way to the benches. As I passed the 
five other kids who were still watching our impromptu soccer clinic, they nodded at
me sympathetically and encouragingly. I smiled wanly at them, too drained to guess
what they might have been thinking. Soon they were all ready to go and I was left
alone with Brad in the locker room.

Brad was throwing his jersey and shorts into the laundry basket as I slumped down
disconsolately on a bench. He reached for his jockstrap and then bent over to push 
it down his legs. He had a truly well-toned body for a 14-year-old - he looked more 
like my neighbor Danny's 16-year-old brother than any of the rest of us. As he stood 
up to kick off his jockstrap, I could see his dick swinging in the air before him, 
somewhat half-hard. It wasn't the first time I've seen it, but I couldn't help but 
to be amazed again at its size. It was more like an adult's cock than a teenager's.
I knew this since I'd seen my dad's cock once or twice while he was shaving naked in 
the bathroom. It was long, probably around six or seven inches, and very thick. I 
could also see that unlike me, he was uncut.

Only when Brad spoke did I realize that I'd been staring.

"Well, are you gonna shower or not?"

He didn't wait for me. I took off my shorts and jockstrap, sighing at my own much 
more modest boyhood, and followed him into the showers.

Brad was already under one of the shower heads, his eyes closed in apparent bliss as 
a cloud of steam began to rise from the hot water streaming down his body. To my 
chagrin, I found myself admiring his body and the hefty set of dick and balls again 
as I made for a showerhead once-removed from the one he was using. Pretty soon, 
however, I was no longer thinking of anything as the warm water enveloped me, 
washing away all of the sweat and dirt and aches, leaving me only with a sort of a 
contented tiredness. I closed my eyes and let the water soothe me, both physically 
and mentally. A hot shower was always something I looked forward to almost as much 
as soccer practice itself.

"Hey Timmy," Brad's voice broke my reverie. I opened my eyes and squinted at him
through the curtain of falling water.

"Yeah?"

"Can you do me a favor? I took a fall today and my shoulder kinda hurt. I can't
quite reach far enough to wash my back." He grinned rather apologetically. "I can do
yours afterwards if you want!"

I thought it rather strange that he didn't seem to have any problem with his 
shoulder earlier, when he was bumping me off him or pinning me down on the floor. 
But in my naivety I dismissed my concerns and nodded. "Sure."

I stepped over and he handed me a bar of soap before turning around so that his back
was towards me. It was such a broad back. Probably just slightly broader than was
common but it seemed huge compared to my slender frame. I lathered up my hands, put
the soap on a niche in the shower wall and proceeded to rub his back with my hands.
Brad's muscles felt strong and hard under my fingers, and I couldn't prevent my 
hands from roaming admiringly over the broad expanse of his shoulders and back. I 
also found that I was quite earnest in soaping him up, rubbing the foams carefully 
into his back to get the tiniest speck of dirt off of it. It was as if I wanted to 
do well for him.

"Lower, too, please. I can't reach it, either."

I got more soap and began to work on his lower back. His waist was trim, his torso
tapering perfectly in a V-shape. It was weird but I was beginning to enjoy the feel 
of his hard body under my hands. Was this how those girls felt, when he was.. 
bedding them? My treacherous mind went again to the huge package he sported between 
his legs. That'd definitely make any girl happy, I thought. I tried to imagine Brad 
lying on top of a girl from our school, his huge frame dominating her completely, 
his thick cock pumping in and out of her pussy, the thick appendage making her 
squirm and let out muffled yelps of pain and pleasure.

I should have stopped right there, of course. It was another of those tell-tale
signs I mentioned. But I didn't.

Before I realized it, my hands had gone lower and was lathering soap on the upper
parts of the veritable mound of Brad's buttocks. I paused, horrified, waiting for 
any reaction from him. But his eyes were closed and he didn't even twitch. I'd never 
been able to say what made me do the thing I did next, but the action more or less 
sealed my fate for the rest of my high-school life.

I began to lather up his buttocks in earnest. They were full and muscular, dimpling
powerfully at each twitch in his posture. I used my fingers to rub the soap on 
either side of his buns and my thumbs to massage the mounds. The muscles, though 
hard, yielded more willingly to my hands and I found that fascinating, to see the 
firm flesh giving in to my pressing and then bouncing up again as firm as ever. I 
was transfixed, but I knew that it wasn't really proper to be touching another guy's 
bum like that. I mean, it was close to being queer! So I gave it a last squeeze and 
made as if to go back and work on his lower back.

But Brad's fingers fell on my retreating wrist and guided my hand firmly back to his 
buttocks. 

Not just his buttocks. He actually pressed my hand into his crack, something I 
couldn't imagine myself doing just two seconds earlier. For a moment my hand simply
froze. Brad didn't let it go. He held it in place, although his eyes never opened.
I was torn between doing what he obviously wanted me to do and bolting out of the
showers. I knew I could have done the latter - Brad wasn't gripping my hand very
tightly. But he'd been so nice to me. He'd been willing to help me with soccer when
I thought the best thing I could do was just pull out of the team. The least I could
do was help soaping him up. Only this once.

Now that I think of it, over the years, that hasn't been the only excuse I used to 
make up whenever anyone wanted me to 'help' with something.

I moved my hand, pushing it deeper into Brad's asscrack. He let go of my hand then. 
I began hesitantly, but became bolder as it went on. My fingers felt the heat 
between his ass-cheeks and suddenly I wanted to know how much hotter it could get. 
My fingers brushed against something that felt like.. hair! I knew my dad's buttocks 
were kinda hairy but I didn't realize that the hair grew in the crack, too! And it 
felt like there was a bunch of them in Brad's crack. I imagined hair growing in my 
own crack and shuddered. Ewww. But I was fascinated with the sensations on my 
fingers, and the presence of the hairs only made me want to reach further, further 
towards where it was warmest.

Something twitched under my finger. I almost jerked my hand away. I must have 
touched his anus. I backed off slightly and continued to work on the other parts of 
his crack; rubbing, massaging, scrubbing the sweat and grime out of the warm skin. 
It was weird but I felt as if I was starting to take pride in the task. Making Brad
completely clean began to feel as if it would be an accomplishment that I could take
great satisfaction in.

"Mmm.." Brad moaned suddenly. "That feels good. Your hands are soft like a girl's."

I wasn't really sure what to make of that, but I knew that at least Brad liked it.

Then, all of a sudden, Brad had turned around and was looking down at me.

"My turn," he said with a grin. At this point, we were both sort of standing in
between the showers, so I could see the expression on his face quite clearly as we
were both out of the streams of water.

I was too slow to understand so he grabbed my shoulders and manfully spun me around
so that I was facing away from him. I could see out of the corner of my eyes as he
took the soap from the wall and lathered up his hands. Then I could feel his fingers
on my back, kneading into my tight, slender muscles. At first I stiffened, but
as I got used to his touch, my body gradually relaxed and I began to enjoy the 
feeling. I was small and his hands were big so very soon he ran out of places to rub 
me on my back.

"Lift your hands up," he ordered me.

I did, and found his arms sneaking around me under my armpits. I lowered my arms
and began to push away at his hands but he shrugged my struggles off.

"Relax, man. I just want to return the favor."

Reluctantly, I kept my hands out of the way. Brad soaped up my chest and belly
thoroughly as I stood there frozen like a mannequin. Then he did something I totally
didn't expect. He grabbed each of my nipples in his thumb and forefinger and gave
them a little rub.

"Uhhh.." I half-moaned.

Brad chuckled behind me. "Feeling something there, eh?"

He repeated this several times, alternating between soaping up my chest and taking
my nipples in his fingers and rubbing them. And each time I would sort of moan as
each teasing caress seemed to send a strange feeling up my spine. The final time,
Brad pinched my nipples and gave them a hard twist, causing me to yell out in pain.

My little cock twitched.

Brad let go of my nipples and began to soap up my buttocks, much the same way as I'd
done his. He didn't hesitate to slip his fingers into my hairless ass-crack. For 
some reason, I started to feel very vulnerable the moment his thick digits began to
slowly rub the grime from my butt-cleft.

"You're skinny, but your butts are round and full," Brad commented. "I think you're
gonna like this."

I had barely a second to wonder what he meant before I felt one of his fingers
suddenly pressing up against my anus.

"What.." I started to complain, startled at the intrusion.

"Relax," Brad told me as he slipped his other hand around my chest and began to 
tease my nipple with his fingers. "I promise you it'll feel real good."

"But.."

"Just relax," Brad repeated, a hint of steel in his voice. "I don't want to have to
force you, but it might become a bit painful if you keep fighting me."

A chill went through me at that. What was he doing? 'Force' me? What was happening?
What had I gotten myself into? Even so, I forced myself to stay still. I knew from
recent experience how strong he was, how ineffectual I could be against him. But 
this wasn't right! 

I could feel the tip of his finger rubbing against the rim of my anus.

"I think it's time to set a few things straight," Brad said from behind me.

What was he talking about?

"I know you've been checking me out ever since I got here. Hell, you've been oggling
me far more obviously than any girl in the school, that's for sure."

What??

"I've seen you looking at me. I've seen you staring at my crotch as I told the 
stories of how I slept with the girls, as if you were imagining how it's like to be 
one of them."

Huh??

"And I've seen you checking me out in the locker room. Like you did just now. You
should've seen the look on your face. You were practically drooling at the sight of
my cock!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" I finally found my voice. I could feel my
face flaming with indignation.

"You can pretend not to know if you want. But we both know what you really are, 
don't we? I know a faggot when I see one, especially when he's been drooling over my 
cock."

"I'm not a faggot!" As I yelled those words out, I twisted my body and pushed his
hands away to free myself, but he was expecting this. Even as I moved, Brad let go 
of my nipple and instead used his arm to trap both of my own to my sides, 
effectively immobilizing them from the elbows up. He also pulled me flush against 
his body and kept me pressed backwards into him. I could only move my arms from the 
elbows down, and a fat lot of good that accomplished. I struggled against his grip 
for a while, yelling and grunting as I fought to free myself, but he was so much 
stronger than me. All the while, his other hand remained in my crack, one finger 
perilously close to my ass-hole.

"Look," he whispered into my ear. "This is going to happen whether you want it to or
not. So I suggest that you be quiet and let yourself enjoy it, because deep down
that's what you really want."

I ceased my struggles and I could feel the tears starting to brim in my eyes. "No.
Please don't."

"It's gonna be fine," Brad breathed into my ear. "You're gonna have to do something
about those faggot urges of yours soon, anyway, and it might as well be with me. At
least I'm your friend and not some stranger who grabs you and rapes you in a park or
something."

The thought horrified me. "I'm not a faggot," the denial blurted out automatically.

"You sure?" Brad teased. "I mean, if you are, then you won't have a problem 
explaining to the others why you were so eager to lay your hands on me in the 
showers once they were all gone, right?"

I blinked.

"A straight guy like you would probably have a good reason to be groping my bums and
my ass-crack the first chance you get, right?"

I shook my head slowly in silent denial. Oh no.

"And once they heard about that, it'd be easy to make them believe that you begged 
me, right here in the showers, to let you suck my cock. At least half of them 
must've seen the way you check me out all the time. And you know how they trust me. 
I fuck girls, and if something happens between us, they'd know that it'd be because 
you came on to me.

"Besides, if you stop being stubborn for a while, you'll see that you _want_ this.
You've wanted this for a long time, probably all your life."

At those words, all the struggle left my body and I could feel myself sagging in his
grip. The tears that had been threatening to come began to drip down my cheeks. "I'm
no faggot," I said weakly.

"Well, maybe not completely yet. But I can turn you into a proper one in no time.
And you're going to enjoy it, too. Soon, you will be nothing _but_ a faggot. I can
teach you how to treat another guy's cock well. Soon not a day will pass when you 
don't wish to have a guy's cock inside you."

The words only made my tears come faster. I didn't even completely understand what a
faggot really was back then. I only knew that it referred to homosexuals, men who
liked other men instead of girls. And everyone apparently found it sick and 
deplorable and the people involved worthy of the worst scorn. I had never thought to 
find myself accused as being one. But, in a sense, I knew that at least some of the 
things Brad said were true. I _had_ been thinking about his cock a lot, even though 
I didn't quite realize it until then. His words shed a light on something I've 
always overlooked before. In all of my musings about Brad having sex, I was always 
at the bottom looking up at his strong body above me, his cock a massive presence 
between my legs, instead of looking down at the girl under me. It was a devastating 
realization. It turned my whole world completely up-side-down.

"You look so small and fragile, you know. Like a girl. I mean, I'm surprised that
you even have a dick!"

I couldn't say anything in reply as I began to sob in earnest.

"There, there. It's ok, little faggot. I won't hurt you. But this is something I
really have to do. It's for your own good. And it won't hurt very much."

It did. It hurt so much when he suddenly began to force his finger into my anus.

"Ohhhh! Pleeease, stop!" I begged in between sobs.

Brad ignored me and continued to push his finger in, wiggling it and moving it in
circular motions despite my cries for mercy. I was a virgin, untouched down there
and extremely tight. The single finger felt like a log trying to split me open.

"There, you see," Brad cooed in my ear. "It's up to the first knuckle now. That
wasn't so bad now, was it? In a few minutes you'd be able to take two, or even three
fingers up there."

I gasped in shock. Three? He'd kill me if he tried that. I had to get away from
there, get away from his probing, prodding finger. It was sliding further up my 
hole; the finger felt so impossibly long.

"You're doing fine, boy. It's up to the second knuckle now."

I couldn't help from wiggling my buttocks at the intrusion, as if my wiggling was
ever going to dislodge the intruder entrenched deep inside me. And then I felt it,
Brad's finger sinking completely in me. He began to wiggle it around more inside me,
and I could feel it rubbing against the inner lining of my ass walls. It was
starting to feel.. different. I could feel Brad twisting the finger around,
eliciting several tortured moans from me, and then the finger touched something else
deep inside me, something that sent a shudder up my spine.

"Ahha!" Brad exclaimed delightedly as if he'd just discovered some hidden treasure.

It didn't make the pain stop, but the sensation of Brad's finger stroking that 
certain spot inside me threw me into a confusion of feelings that made me almost
forget the pain. It felt.. good, somehow. My hands continued to clench at the air 
and the stiff muscles of my thighs continued to stubbornly resist the burning 
intrusion in my upturned butt, but pain was definitely not the only thing I was 
feeling now.

"Nnnnhhh.." I moaned involuntarily.

Brad chuckled behind me. "And what were you saying, boy? That's as lusty a moan as I
ever heard. I told you that you'd like it, fagboy."

"Nn.. No.. I don't like it," I gasped. "Please stop it. Please." I begged him.

"This isn't the first time I've broken a faggot boy, you know. They all ask me to
stop in the beginning. But pretty soon they're begging me to never stop. I _know_
you're a fagboy, so I'm just gonna keep doing this until you beg me for more."

Brad's words horrified me with the inexorability of their implications. He was 
simply going to continue doing this regardless of what I said or did. And he was big 
enough that there wasn't really all that much I could do.

"Now to show you what a real fingerfuck means," Brad whispered in my ear and then
proceeded to ram his single digit in and out of my ass with blinding speed.

"Ngghh!!" I grunted and threw my head back as the assault sent me into convulsions. 
I felt as if he was pumping my insides out of my body. Each in-thrust made my anus 
pucker up painfully as it tried to resist the intruder, while every out-pull made me 
feel as if I wanted to shit uncontrollably. The battery of overwhelming sensations 
left me gasping and panting in Brad's one-handed embrace. The slickness on my skin 
was now just as much of sweat as of water.

"Mmm yeah, how does that feel, huh?" Brad asked me. "Does it feel good yet? Just
wait until you start taking cocks up there. 'Cos that's what it's for, boy. Fagboys
have pussies just like girls do. Only theirs look like their shitholes to start 
with. You gotta tease it up and break it in a little. And then before you know it 
it's become a good and proper pussy and starts to crave cocks just like any girl
pussy."

Despite the pain, the roiling sensations in my guts were beginning to make my knees
go weak and I realized that I was starting to lean back into Brad's hard body. My
asslips stung badly but the sharp pain was slowly turning into a sort of throbbing 
numbness as I guessed my anus started to adapt to Brad's relentless finger. The fact
that I couldn't do anything about either the pain or the lurching sensations in my 
guts made me realize that I was truly at the jock's mercy. At that moment, he and he
alone controlled what I felt and decided how much I had to bear. What I wanted made
no difference to anything. It made me want to bury my face in his strong chest and
cry.

"Yes," Brad cooed into my ears. "Give in to it, boy. Give yourself to it. Accept
what you are. Admit that this is really what you've always wanted."

My mind rebelled at the thought. I'd never accept it. This was wrong and I hated 
what was happening. I was no fag, and I definitely didn't want anything shoved up my 
ass. It was painful and I hated it. But at the same time, I realized with horror 
that my body was relaxing back against Brad's torso, as if it was gratefully sinking 
into a safe place. I was leaning on the jock more than I was actually standing. My 
whole body was trembling. Trembling with the effort of withstanding the assault on 
my nether region. Trembling with relief as my body finally got used to the intrusion.

"Yes," Brad whispered again. "Accept it, boy. Accept it and ask for more."

I'd barely processed his words before he shoved another finger into my anus 
alongside the first one. I grunted and heaved as the pain flared up again, and for a 
moment it felt bad enough to convince me that something'd been torn. My whole body
shook at the sudden pain, my butt quivering as it tried vainly to escape the 
penetration. 

"That's right, shake that booty for me, boy. You have such a cute butt."

Surprisingly, my hole adapted to this latest violation more quickly, and within a 
few moments my agony had subsided to that now familiar throbbing as Brad's fingers 
fucked me.

Fucked me. I was a little startled by that admission, but there was no denying it.
Brad was fucking me with his fingers. Girls got fucked. That was how I'd always seen
it. Not boys. And certainly not me. Yet here I was getting my asshole frigged by
another boy's fingers.

Brad had called it my pussy. It was what fagboys had instead of assholes.

But I was no faggot!

Then why had I been checking him out? And not just him, too. Even before Brad came 
to the school, I'd always stolen a few glances at my other team-mates in the locker 
room, especially when they're naked. I'd always thought that it was curiosity. My 
smaller than average size and slim build made me want to compare my body to theirs. 
But what if it was more than that? I did spend a lot of time eyeing their dicks. 
Then I realized something that made me cold all over. Whenever I jacked off, I never
really thought of girls. I'd stroke my cock and imagine that I was stroking one of
those other cocks on my team-mates, wondering how they'd feel in my hands. Or
sometimes I'd imagine that one of the boys was stroking mine. It was amazing that I
never noticed it until now.

"Do you really think," Brad whispered, snapping my attention back to the present,
"that I never noticed how you stared at my crotch whenever I was telling you guys
about the girls I slept with?"

My only response was the continuous gasping as he drove his fingers in and out of 
me.

"Sometimes I'd exaggerate the stories a little just to see how you'd react. I had to
be careful, though. Once or twice I could almost see the drool coming out of your 
mouth as you stared at my bulge. I didn't want the others to notice, too; not at 
this point anyway. I wanted your virgin ass for myself, first."

My mind reeled under the implications of his words. Was it that obvious? Had I 
really been staring so blatantly at his package all this time? Had I really wanted
him so much? I did start to grope him all of my own accord. And I enjoyed touching
him just now. And he'd wanted me, too. Brad wanted my.. wanted me. The jock wanted
me for himself.

But a chill had also settled in me at the mention of him not wanting the others to
notice, not 'at this point'. That meant..

"See? What did I tell you?"

I looked up at him and saw that he was looking down past my shoulder at my crotch. I 
followed his gaze and saw that my cock was now almost fully erect. What the? I tried 
to focus on his fingers violating me, but there was little pain now. There was 
little pain and a lot of something else. I could feel my loosened up hole flexing in 
and out in keeping with Brad's thrusting fingers. The friction of his fingers on my 
asslips no longer burned as strongly, but instead sent thrills up my spine. It was a 
combination of feelings; pleasure at the relentless rubbing as if I was having an 
itchy spot scratched, helplessness at the knowledge that I was having my depths 
plumbed without being able to do anything about it, nervousness and shame at having 
another boy touching my most private places and doing things to me that I'd never 
imagined possible or would feel so good.

"You're loosening up real good, boy. You're a natural." Brad complimented me. "Now
let's see if we can open you up even more. After all, my cock is a lot thicker than
two fingers! Maybe this will help."

As he said those words, Brad released his arm from around me and grabbed my stiffie
in his hand. A small voice in my head told me that I was free. This was my chance to
escape. But my body continued to lean back into the jock's muscular torso. The
voice went unheeded. My now freed-up hands sought out Brad's, one landing on the
wrist of the hand that held my dick securely in his grasp and the other on the hard
strong forearm of the hand that continued to plunge repeatedly into me. I pushed
futilely at them, urging them to cease their violation of my body, but even I could
see now that my attempts were only half-hearted at best. My hands wanted to push at
them as much as they wanted to feel the taut, strong muscles move and flex as Brad
manhandled me and moulded my body to his desires.

After a few seconds, I gave up all pretense at defiance as I simply let my fingers
rest on his wrists, surrendering myself to the feeling of complete helplessness as 
his strongs hands moved surely against me, stroking me fore and aft into submission.

I was only dimly aware that at one point Brad had started to fuck me with three
fingers - the stimulation on my cock must've helped as he guessed it would. I was
vividly aware, however, that Brad's attentions were driving me further and further
towards that one thing that boys my age thought about almost all the time. My cut,
four-and-a-half inch dick was raging hard in his grip, the rounded head engorged and
angry. My breathing was rasping and hoarse and sounded very loud in my ears. For a
split second, an image flashed in front of me of other boys walking into the shower 
to find me in that condition, making me flinch slightly in alarm, but the greater 
significance of that possibility was soon lost in the rising tide of my desire for 
release.

"Shoot it," Brad urged me. "Show me how much you like it. Show me your true faggot 
self. Shoot your cum while I fuck you with my hand!"

"NGAAAAHHHH!!" As if Brad's words were the trigger, I cried out and began to spew
semen into the humid shower-room air. The orgasm felt so intense that my knees 
seemed to melt completely from under me, causing me to throw my right hand up and
around Brad's neck as I clung on to him for dear life while my other hand clutched
hard at his wrist. I could see the first volley of my cum spouting a couple feet
away, and then I had to shut my eyes hard as the ecstacy threatened to suck them out
of their sockets and pull me down into unconsciousness. For an unknown number of
moments I was aware of nothing else save the blissful electric thrills that ran up
and down my body, lost in the crackling static of release.

When I finally regained some measure of sense, I realized that Brad was the only
thing that was holding me up. I groped around for another source of support but
found none. I tried to pull away and stand on my own feet, but I was only partially
successful as I found that I still had to lean on the jock to avoid from crashing
to the shower floor altogether. Brad. Who'd just jacked me off to orgasm. While his
fingers rammed in and out of my guts.

Oh God. The full impact of what just happened crashed down on me. As I came down
from the sexual high, guilt began to flood me, as it would after any of my
masturbation sessions, only now it was tinged with more than a little distaste at 
having my shithole so humiliatingly violated at the same time. Spent desire made me
want to get away from it all, especially when I realized that Brad still had his 
hands on my dick and in my chute.

"Please," I begged Brad unsteadily. "Please let me go. I won't tell." I tried to
push away at his arms but there was no strength in my limbs.

Brad burst into laughter behind me. "Oh, really? _I_ wasn't the one who busted his
balls while another boy was frigging him. Good joke, though."

"But really," he continued. "There are a few things you still need to learn about
being a fag. You see, fags have no choice. Fags have no say in anything. So I'm
going to continue to milk you and frig you. I'm just going to keep on doing it until
you're ready to shoot again."

I groaned as the image of myself coming to another orgasm came to me. Oh God. The
thought of cumming again filled me with both wonder and dread. I'd always been a
one-orgasm guy and never saw myself being able to get off twice in succession. But
I also knew that this time it wasn't really up to me. I had as much say in it as a
helpless action figure in a naughty boy's hands.

Brad crowded me towards the shower wall and then placed my hands on the porcelain
surface. I leaned forward against the wall but when Brad let go of me, I couldn't
prevent myself from sagging slowly down to my knees. Brad shadowed me, going down
on his own knee, his hands never letting go of either my dick or my hole. As I
panted, my hands splayed on the wall above me and my head hanging from my shoulders,
Brad resumed his stroking of my cock, this time doing it lightly, his skin barely
making contact with mine. The orgasm and the convulsions at my movements had caused
my asshole to tighten up again, but Brad's fingers soon teased it back to its now
familiar looseness.

I was now constantly panting and occasionally moaning unabashedly, no longer caring
that it didn't make me look very masculine. I'd just cummed while another boy was
fucking my ass with his fingers. I could feel my own preconceptions of myself
breaking down. Images flashed before me. Of me and my friends sitting on walls or
curbs oggling passing girls and whistling at them. Of us in fastfood restaurants
boasting rowdily of how we'd prove our manhoods to each other by vouching to get 
this girl or that. I wasn't the loudest, but still. Who was I kidding all this time?
Now Brad had found me out, recognized me for what I was. Nothing was ever going to
be the same again. We'd go out together, but one knowing glance from Brad would put
me quickly in my place. I just hoped that the others wouldn't notice.

Brad was nothing if not patient. Knowing that it'd be some time before I would be
able to shoot again, he kept his strokes on my cock light but instead concentrated
on varying the strokes in my chute. As he continued to rape me with his three
fingers, he shifted his hand around so that the digits were thrusting into me
at different angles. It wasn't long before I felt that he'd touched everywhere that
could be touched inside me. My ass became a playground for him to dig around as he
pleased, and there was nothing I could do except to submit to it. Brad also varied
his speed, sometimes thrusting his fingers hard and fast and other times ploughing
them in slowly and teasingly. I would pant and gasp like a dog at the former, and
let our small sighing whimpers at the latter. At times it felt as if he wanted me
to make music out of it.

Now that I was over most of the pain, I began to feel myself dominated by the other
feelings those fingers brought forth in me. The constant rubbing on my sphincters
felt decidedly good, and the feeling of something thick and solid repeatedly moving
in and out of my guts was delicious. I realized then that these were what faggots
felt, that I was actually having faggot feelings. For some reason I no longer cared.
All I wanted was for it to last forever. And the physical sensations were not
everything, either. I found that the fact that Brad had forced all of this on me, 
that he didn't care what I felt or wanted at all was just as delicious as the 
constant boring of his fingers in me. He didn't try to persuade me. He didn't entice
me with how good it could feel. He simply came over and did it. Imposed his will and
strength on me as if my own wishes meant nothing. Not to him nor anyone else.

I realized then that I was hard again. I could feel the bulk of Brad's body over
me, strong and hard and not to be denied. I wanted to sink back into his embrace,
surrender completely to him.

Suddenly, Brad released my cock and yanked his fingers out of my hole, making me 
mewl in protest, although to which of the two actions, I wasn't sure.

"Turn around, fag," he ordered me. I moved my hands from the shower wall and let
them fall to the floor. Then I shifted about on my hands and knees to find that he 
was now standing facing the wall, his muscular legs spread and his very naked, very
hard cock bobbing angrily in front of my face. It was thick and curved and had a
big, angry mushroom head. Although I'd seen it many times before, I'd never been
this close to it, and I couldn't help but to marvel at its shape and size. It was a
full six inches in length, if not more, and must've been close to twice my cock in
diameter. I stared at it, transfixed.

"My turn," Brad announced, and then shoved his cock closer to my face. "One of the
things a fagboy is expected to do a lot is, of course, to suck cocks. So go on
ahead and make my cock happy. Don't worry, this is your first time so I'll be 
gentle."

Tentatively, I opened my mouth and moved my face towards that huge snake. I'd just
been fingerfucked to orgasm, and here I was looking to suck on another boy's cock.
I hesitated, but the swaying serpent in front of me held my gaze, the attraction it
exuded hypnotic.

I stuck out my tongue and licked the underside of the head of Brad's cock.

The jock moaned above me. He must've liked that. I repeated it and was rewarded with
another moan. The fact that I was eager to do something that Brad liked, even though
though it was so clearly faggotty, barely registered on my mind.

"Stop teasing it," Brad told me after the third lick. "Open wide and take it in your
pretty faggot mouth. All of it. And no teeth!" The jock's eyes were closed.

I swallowed hard and then moved to obey. I parted my lips as wide as they'd go and
then slid my mouth onto the waiting, throbbing cock. Brad's cock stretched my mouth
to the maximum - a couple milimeters thicker and I wouldn't have been able to keep
my teeth out of the way. I moved my head forward until I'd taken about three inches
of it, painstakingly keeping my jaws steady as I fought the urge to relax them. Any
more and I'd have gagged.

"That's it?" Brad was looking down at me. I rolled my eyes up at him, unable to do
much more because of the cock in my mouth. The fact that I was glancing up at the
boy whose cock was in my mouth sent a thrill down my spine. "Well, I guess it'd do
for now. You still have a lot to learn, boy," Brad continued. "In the meantime,
consider this your first free lesson in the basics of sucking a cock, courtesy of
me." Brad grinned down at me.

I wanted to avert my eyes from that self-satisfied smirk but for some reason I
couldn't. Brad's grin only grew broader as he saw the uncertainty in me. "Good. I
like it when my cocksucker looks up into my eyes as he swallows my dick. It teaches
them proper respect."

I looked up at him silently.

"Well, cocksucker, first you're gonna have to seal your pretty lips around my cock,
make sure that those lovely little puckers are hugging it tight."

I'd heard Brad call other boys 'cocksucker' before in the sort of rough language
that boys used while messing around, but I'd never imagined how literal it could be,
especially not to me. But, just as he showed me that I was a faggot, he'd also made
me his cocksucker. _His_ cocksucker. A ridiculous picture came to me of myself
walking around school with a big name tag saying 'Brad's Cocksucker'. The term
seemed to indicate a level of intimacy that no other boys would ever have with Brad 
apart from me. Another image came to me where all of the other boys were looking at
me with envy. Brad was the most popular jock in school, and I was his personal 
cocksucker. No one else but me. A strange mixture of disgust and pride filled me at 
that thought.

"Ok, good. Now suck hard on my cock. Suck hard until your cheeks go in. And while
you're doing that, move your head up and down my cock."

I obeyed Brad's instructions and soon a new sound was echoing in the shower room,
the sound of my lips slurping and smacking on the jock's big cock. It was the first
time I ever sucked a cock, and I was fascinated with how it felt and tasted in my
mouth. The very thought that I had another boy's cock in it sent thrills down my
spine. I'd pull my face back until only the head remained in my mouth, at which
point I'd lick it all over with my tongue. Then I'd push my face forward and let 
that huge thing slide into my oral cavity, savoring the feel of the ridges and
veins on it with both my tongue and my lips. For some reason, I wanted to get to 
know every inch of that cock desperately.

"Damn kid, you're good."

Maybe this was where I belonged after all. On my knees, worshipping a real jock's
cock. I could no longer feel any part of me protesting. All I wanted was to taste
that cock again and again and to please Brad as much as I could. I wanted to be
good for him, to be the best. As I moved my head up and down that cock, fucking my
face on it, all I wished for was that he kept his word. That he'd expect me to suck
his cock a lot.

"God, are you sure this is your first time?" Brad moaned above me. I barely heard
him as I focused solely on his cock.

It was almost a shock when he suddenly grabbed me by the hair and pushed my face
off his dong. I stared up at him, my jaw hanging open. For a few seconds I kept
pushing my head forward as I ridiculously tried to take his cock back in my mouth.

Brad chuckled and shook his head. "What have I done? You sure are one hungry
cocksucker, boy."

He tipped my head back further until I was looking as much at the ceiling as his
face.

"So, how do you like your new life as a faggot? I bet you like it very much, don't
you?"

I couldn't respond, which was answer enough considering my protests earlier. 

"Do you like sucking my cock? Answer me, faggot."

"Y.. Yes.." I stammered in a small voice.

"I didn't hear you, fagboy. Do you like to suck my cock?"

"Yes," I answered more clearly.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, Brad," I answered a little uncertainly.

"Wrong. Faggots don't deserve to call other boys by name. Faggots call other boys
'Sir'. Now answer me properly. Are you a cocksucker, boy?"

"Y.. Yes, Sir."

"I want to hear you say it. Are you a cocksucker after all, boy?"

"Yes, Sir. I'm a.. I'm a cocksucker, Sir."

"Do you want my cock, you slutty faggot?"

"Y.. Yes, Sir. I want your cock, Sir."

"Why, that wasn't so hard now, was it?" Brad lowered himself until his face was
very close to mine. His eyes bore into me as if he was looking into my very soul.

"I'm gonna use you so hard. My own personal faggot. I'll use you so hard, and then 
I'll share you with the rest of our team-mates. If you're not gonna be useful to us
out on the field, you might as well be useful in the locker rooms! I'm sure Coach 
Hammond will approve. Especially once he gets his own taste of you!"

I stared at him in horror and started to pant loudly as he pushed me backwards until
I was lying on my back on the shower floor.

"I didn't come here because my Dad got a new job. I was kicked out of school because
they caught me raping a boy. And it wasn't the first time, either. My Dad is an
important guy so they didn't press charges. Bet you didn't know that, huh? The 
teachers, though, and Coach Hammond, they knew. Me and him had a long talk the other
day. He wanted me to get closer to you, to be your personal mentor. Do you know
what that means, fuckboy?"

I gaped up at him. The Coach had a part in all this?

"Now open up, open up for me," Brad coaxed me as his hands parted my knees. I let
him pry my thighs apart. Despite what he was saying, I wanted to spread my legs for
him. I wanted him inside me. Brad pulled my body easily up to him, resting my bum
on his thighs and spreading my legs wide on either side of his hips. I could feel
the head of his cock pressing against the opening of my boypussy.

The jock lowered his muscular torso until his face was only inches from mine. "But
this time it's gonna be different, isn't it? This time, if something happens, it
won't be my fault. Because you're going to admit that it was you who wanted it to
happen. _You_ asked me to suck my cock. And _you_ wanted me to fuck you."

My eyes glazed over as the truth in his words stripped me of the remaining shreds
of my dignity. When Brad increased the pressure on my hole and I began to feel the
jock's thick cock sliding slowly into my new cunt, all I could do was let out a
long low moan of submission.


  
Soccer Jock's Bitch