The following story is a work of fiction.  This story is intended for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY.  
Its contents are of a graphically sexual nature and may involve consensual or non-consensual sexual acts, which may not be legal in all localities. Any resemblance to persons either alive or dead is purely coincidental. If you are under the legal age of consent in your local 
jurisdiction, or if you are easily offended, please STOP READING NOW.

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Squid1 (MM mast reluc first)
By Egress

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     I sat working on my music at the piano bench in the small soundproofed practice room.  I like the solitude, the quiet warmth of the rooms.  There's room enough for an upright piano with bench, two chairs and a music stand.  The rooms have a small window at the door, but are otherwise cut off from the messy noise of school.
     If my preference for music class, especially highschool chorus, didn't let you on, one look at me would let you know I'm a geek.  I'm a freshman, and short for my age.  I wear bluejeans, but mine never get that cool used look 'cause Mom doesn't like the style.  Almost all of my shirts are polos with horizontal stripes, which she says make me look bigger, and I could use it.  Tom, one of the other tenors and my best friend calls me a twig, and I guess he's not all that far off.
     I've been a source for teasing all of my life and I tend to just ignore it anymore.  Most people think I'm shy; I just figure I'm avoiding the problems they're about to give me.  I expect the worst of most people and am rarely dissapointed.
     Music, however, is where I shine.  So I work on it, and if my voice doesn't move much, I think I'll be getting a solo this year, maybe more next year.
     My work is interrupted as the door opens and closes.  It's Matt, one of the basses.  He's a senior, big and muscular, and relatively popular, for someone in chorus.  I don't look up.
     "Still here, squid?"
     I didn't answer him, just stopped working on the piano.
     "I begin to feel you have a problem.  Got a problem squid?"
     I still don't answer.  I don't even look at him.  He's never called me names before, though with guys like him it could as easily be a put-down as a compliment that he'd noticed you.  His hand lands on my shoulder.
     "I always thought a good musician needed good hearing.  Yours not working at all?"
     I looked up at him, but still said nothing.
     "Well, you should be good for something.  You surrounded by the girls?  Can't keep 'em off of you?"
     I got up off of the bench, hoping to go for the door to leave him and his sarcastic comments in the practice room.  He was standing behind the bench, so I had to turn away from the door to get from behind the bench, but as I cleared that obstacle, his hands came down on my shoulders.
     "What's the hurry, squid?  Going for the girls?  Got yourself a date?"
     "You know I haven't got a date."
     "What's the problem, squid?  Not got enough to entice them?"
     "Huh?  What do you mean?"
     Faster than I could guess, his left hand grabbed me around the arms.
     "You know, squiddie, your pecker.  Willie the one-eyed wonder worm," he said, his mouth next to my ear.  "You keep it here."  His hand cupped the space between my legs and I jumped, then, like a deer in the headlights, froze.  "Isn't this your ladie's package?"
     His hand began to move in circles around my soft penis.  I couldn't move.  What was he doing?  Why was he making fun of me like this?  His hand slid up to my stomach, went up and down a few times, then he pulled at my belt.
     I looked down at his big hand as he pulled the leather out from the loop.  "I...  What are...  Don't..." was about all that could make it out of my mouth.
     "Shhh," he cooed into my ear as he undid the belt the rest of the way and popped the button on my pants.  "I'm just checking your package.  You know what they say about tenors," he said as he unzipped my fly.  (The line at our school was that tenors were girls with too much hair.  Two of the four tenors were girls - altos - who could sing low enough.)
     I started to struggle when he slid his hand under my polo shirt and his hand touched my bare stomach, but his left arm had my upper arms trapped, and his right held my right arm to my side.  The left flailed uselessly as his fingers slipped under my underwear and slid into my sparse pubic hair.
     "Aww, what's the problem, squid?  I just want to check out your instrument."
     Then he touched it.  I froze again as his hand slid along my penis, flaccid from fear.  He reached lower, pushing hard at the jeans, which began to slide down my legs, to cup my testicles.  I swallowed hard.  No one had ever touched me either place since my parents put on my last diaper.  He stood like that for a moment, my arms slack at my sides, his face at my cheek, arm around my shoulders in a tight hug as one hand caressed my most private parts.
     One of his feet pushed mine apart, and my jeans fell to my knees.  His hand slid between my legs, massaging my balls, then up to my slowly hardening penis.  His fingers tickled it as it thrumbed to attention, at which point he slid his hand around it.
     It was small in his hand, only a little bigger in both length and diameter than his middle finger.  He grasped it gently and wanked it a few times.
     I gasped.  It felt good, better than wanking myself!  It wan't supposed to feel good!
     Then he left.
     I stood there a moment or two, pants around my knees, penis bobbing, listening to the door swing shut, then the silence of the room.  The sweet silence.  I sat down at the piano again, the wood cool against my bare ass and tried to think.
     At one point I looked up at the window.  No one was looking in, thank goodness, but I didn't want anyone seeing me there with my pants down around my ankles, penis still hard.  I stood and pulled up my tighty-whiteys, then slid my pants back on before sitting at the piano again.
     I figured it was something of an initiation.  I mean, didn't I hear about things going on in the back of the school-bus with the band?  Yeah.  That must be it.  I began to breathe easier.  I wasn't abused, I was initiated.  I left the practice-room expecting a crowd of basses or something, but was all alone.  Who knows, I thought.  Maybe it's just a wierd thing that they do in chorus.
     A glance at the clock told me that school was over for the day.  I ran to my bus and made it by only seconds.
<br>
     The next day in chorus I couldn't look at him.  He sat two away from the tenors, so I could always see him in my perhipheral vision, but didn't look at him directly.  He and the bass near me talked about a lot of things, but one comment was louder than the others.
     "Yeah, the tenors don't all have balls.  But they do have hair."  I blushed and looked at Claire, the female tenor next to me.  She was blushing too.  In a burst of insight I realized that he must have played with her too.  I tried to ask her about it later in class, but she avoided me.
     At the beginning of last period I paused at the door to the practice room.  Should I go back in, I wondered for a moment.  I thought of Matt's undesired advances and Claire's reaction.  I still wasn't sure about what happend; it was probably playful teasing.  I could just go to study hall.
     I sat down on the bench and opened my music.
     A half-hour of work went by uninterrupted.  Then the door opened.
     "Hi, squid."
     I moaned and put my head down on the keyboard.  His hands grasped my shoulders in a light massage, theoretically comforting, but definately a sign of posession.
     "Look," I said, "I didn't tell anyone, but don't do anything to me again.  Just leave me alone."
     "You came back.  You must want some more."
     "No, really.  You got the other tenors, it was just hazing, right?"
     "Well, yeah, but you're the only one who came back for more.  And I like you."
     I pushed back the bench and got up, turning to look up at him.  "I don't like that kind of thing."
     He ignored me.  "You have a nice face.  Smooth, thin.  Bright red cheeks.  And I like short."
     I made a dash for the door, but he caught my arm.  The door opened a crack and I started yelling, but it closed a half a second later and my voice went nowhere.
     "Soundproof room, squid.  Why don't we make ourselves comfortable."  He had me in the same grasp as yesterday, facing away from the door.  He pulled open my belt again and dropped my jeans to the floor, then pulled down my underpants.  I knew what was coming, but was helpless to resist.
     His hand grasped my balls tightly, just to the point of pain and I froze.  Then he released them, slowly stroking them forward and back.  I was hardening again, my penis bouncing against his wrist as he stroked my scrotum.
     "You did this to Claire too?" I asked.
     "Yeah," he said, releasing my upper body with his left arm as his right held my testicles.  He lifted my shirt up and I let him take it over my head.  "Got my hands up her bra and my finger wet.  But she didn't come back for more.  You did."  His arm came around me again as his fingers released my balls and returned to my cock.  
     He shuffled me to the back of the room, facing the music stand in the corner.  I was now naked save for my shoes and my pants around my ankles.  His left hand slid down to hold my balls as his right stroked my cock.  His fingers were gentle, slipping between my balls or up along my shaft as his breath came in my ear.  "I don't know if you're gay or just need the attention.  I don't care.  I DO like you, though."
     I tried to struggle a bit, but he laughed.
     "You think you can get away?  I'm not even going to stop."  And indeed he did not.  His hand continued stroking me.  After only a moment I stopped struggling and groaned.
     "See," he said, "it feels good no matter who is stroking it."
     I began to feel it deep in my stomach.  I'd lost control and my dick was running everything.  I reached back for support as my knees weakened under his assault, grabbing onto his hips.  Suddenly things got slick down there.
     "That's it, baby.  Can you feel those bubbles of pre-cum getting you ready to shoot?"  He slowed down, holding me tighter in his fist as his words ran on in my ears.  "That's it, baby boy.  Feel the need in your balls?  Feel me pulling you, pulling that cum from inside?  I'll take that secret spot, touch you like you've never been touched.  You watch it now, look at your little cock as it slips in my hand.  You like it, don't you?  You love it!" 
     He went on, telling me how much I needed to have his hand touching him.  I couldn't take my eyes off of his hand as he slid back and forth.  I held onto his hips as my knees threatened to give out.  I could feel the tighening in my balls as the cum began to gather.
     "You want me to touch you everywhere," he chanted.  "You want to be my baby-boy.  You want me to touch you."
     My head shot back and I groaned out a "Nooooooo" as I came harder than I ever had before, painting the music stand with rope after rope of cum.  I jerked about wildly until he stopped, scraping the cum off of my cock (and his first knuckle) onto the music stand.
     I fell back into a chair as he let go of me, shaking and spasming in post-orgasmic bliss.  He looked at me, all flushed and naked.
     "You're beautiful, squid.  Yeah.  Very nice."  He looked down at his pants, then at his wrist-watch.  "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."
     And with that he left.