A Battle For Sexuality - Part II

A Battle For Sexuality - Part II


This chapter involves NON-CONSENSUAL SEXUAL ACTIONS concerning a young boy and several other teens. Please, PLEASE, look at the themes above this note, and if any of these turn you off, look elsewhere. I swear I am not a pervert or anything of the like - all of these actions are fictional and I do not condone them in real life.


He had never been good at video games, not extremely good, anyway. Tim liked the challenge they presented, teasing his mind, but his hand-eye coordination had never been spectacular. Cassie was the one who could sit in front of a screen and beat any level he threw at her, thumbs flicking rapidly over the controls. But today, Cassie was lounging in front of her laptop, polished nails no doubt typing to her sort-of boyfriend, and Tim didn’t have the energy the pour into his video games as he usually did. Not to mention his mind was still full of what happened two weeks ago over his neighbors house. Derek and Seth had been unbelievably kind to him since then, giving him both of their cell phone numbers and telling him to call them whenever he needed to talk.

Armed with his new knowledge about himself, Tim began tentatively exploring his new role as a homosexual male. He hadn’t told his parents or his sister yet - hadn’t told a soul except Seth and Derek - but he felt better about himself. More at peace. He still felt a little weird and awkward when her jerked off in the shower to thoughts of men, but his body responded hard and quick, so he didn’t feel there was any harm. His sketching had actually improved, and he began trying his hand at watercolors. It had been a relatively peaceful two weeks, and he was comfortable enough with Derek and Seth not to be embarrassed around them.


He couldn’t stop fantasizing about them, running images and scenarios in his head over and over again. His mother seemed to know, instinctively, and showered him with opportunities to date girls, meet girls, kiss girls, do anything with girls. Actually, she was pretty much forcing him to go out and meet teenagers his own age. But he couldn’t tell his mother how he felt - it was too risky. His father, especially, would be completely pissed. Timothy’s father was a stocky, burly man with rigid morals and a severe intolerance for anyone who didn’t fit into his Irish-Catholic-Republican viewpoint. Timothy didn’t fear him as much as his mother - mostly because his father was gone most of the time, driving his truck all over the country.

Telling anybody never crossed his mind, although his sensible thoughts told him it was only a matter of time. He couldn’t picture himself dating a girl just to keep up a pretense, so he knew the day would have to come sooner rather than later. But as the days for school to start crept closer and closer, he knew he was just procrastinating. It would be easier to tell his parents when he was more comfortable with himself, he instructed his mind. Once he felt reasonably confident about his preferences, he would tell people. Right now, he was content to stay in the proverbial closet, as it were. As long as he knew this much about himself, he was fine.

As the languid, syrupy days of summer dissolved seamlessly into the crisp, biting days of autumn, school supplies began going on sale. New books, pencils, pens, paper, and rulers all flooded in, and Cassie threw herself into the mad frenzy of senior year. He permitted Mrs. Larks to buy him a new backpack, a new cell phone, and a slush-pile of new junk which would undoubtedly make him seem more popular in school. All he really asked for was a new sketchbook and a new set of pencils. His mother had refused to buy him both, so he scrounged around the house for drawing paper until he could convince Cassie to pick up some the next time she went to the store.

And then the days of school arrived - the first day of school dawned bright, fresh, and had the snap of autumn chill in it. Cassie had already selected her new outfit to make an impression - a buttery yellow shearling coat and tight black jeans which hugged her ass and made her look even prettier. Tim, on the other hand, came down for breakfast that morning with a tee shirt and sweatpants. He wasn’t concerned.

“Tim, please,” Cassie begged. “My friends are going to see you, and I don’t want them to see what a slob I have for a brother.”

“Cassie, it’s just school,” He sighed, but obediently went upstairs and began rummaging through the stiff new clothes his mother had bought for him. There was a large pile, all of it designed to make him look buff and macho. Muscle shirts, loose jeans and the like, but he wrinkled his nose at everything. It was only when he reached the bottom of the pile when he saw something that caught his eye.

Much better, He said, and smoothed the plain white tee shirt flat over his desk. Uncapping a felt-tipped permanent marker, he set to work.

Cassie’s mouth dropped open when her brother came whistling down the stairs, wearing the new loose black jeans their mother had bought and a plain white tee shirt. But it wasn’t the plain clothing which shocked her, it was the message he had emblazoned over the front of the shirt. In Timothy’s neat, upward-slanting strokes, he had printed:


And beneath it, in smaller letters -

But It May Just Be A Phase

Mrs. Larks dropped the coffee pot.

“Timothy Jackson Larks, take that shirt off this instant!” She spluttered, her eyes frozen on the words ‘phase’. “How dare you! It’s…lewd! It’s obscene! Take it off!”

“No,” Tim said, and sat down. His cheeks were flushed but his deep brown eyes were determined. “I like it. It’s funny, and it’ll make an impression.” He looked at Cassie, eyes asking for help. His older sister still seemed floored, and he took a big bite of his cereal and tried hard not to look at his mother. “Plenty of kids have worse shirts,” He told her, and it was true. Just the other day he had seen a girl walking down the street with a pink tee shirt that had said “If it smells like chicken, keep on lickin’. If it smells like trout, get out.”

“Timothy Jackson Larks -” His mother began, but he pushed away his cereal and stood up abruptly.

“I’ll be late for the bus,” He said, and headed out the door.

Cassie looked at her mother. Mrs. Larks looked at her daughter. “What has gotten into him?” Mrs. Larks gasped.

“Just the age, I guess,” Cassie muttered, looking at her brother’s slender frame disappearing around the corner. “I hope he grows out of it quick, he’s going to embarrass me in front of all my friends.”



“Hey, man, nice shirt.”

He had been hearing comments like this all day, but this one came from a particularly intimidating specimen. The boy in front of him could only be titled as such because of his age - his girth and stubble on his cheeks bespoke of a man. He wore a leather jacket, unzipped halfway, and tight blue jeans cupped his long legs. White-blond hair was slicked back sleekly over his head, and a pair of hooded, imperious blue eyes regarded him lazily. “You make that yourself?” He drawled, chewing on a toothpick in the corner of his mouth.

Who does this guy think he is, James Dean? Timothy thought irritably to himself. “Yeah.” He answered, and started walking down the hall again. “Thanks, man,” He said, jerking his chin, but the boy’s hand clamped on his shoulder. Tim couldn’t hide the flinch.

“You look pretty cool,” The blonde boy said with a smirk. “I’m Quinn. Quinn Flyers. A bunch of guys go down to the football field on the first day of school, to celebrate. It’s pretty rad. You wanna come?”

“Hey, thanks, but I don’t think so,” Tim said, his mouth feeling dry. Quinn’s smile wasn’t exactly friendly.

“C’mon, you’ll be my guest. There’s usually plenty of babes there, lots of booze. Probably some weed. Might get lucky. And you can bring your sister, Cassie, or whatever the fuck her name is.” Quinn grinned, the toothpick twitching upwards jauntily.

“Oh, she’s doing something with her friends tonight,” Tim said, stumbling over his words. “Uh, I guess so, if it doesn’t run too late. My mom wants me home at night by nine, usually.”

“You’ll be fine,” Quinn said, and clapped him on the back. “Just show up around seven, okay? Say I brought you for the party.”

Tim nodded nervously, and when he turned his back, he missed the predatory smile Quinn gave him.

So here he was, dressed in his new gray pea coat, a pair of black jeans riding low on his hips. He had fussed over his appearance for a while, wanting to appear nice-looking but uninterested in the company there. It had been a struggle even getting him out the door, and now that he was here he was seriously considering going back. Eventually, though, he told himself he would be a fool to turn down such an invitation - obviously, such parties were exclusive, and might even get him a bit of recognition at the school. A few friends would not go amiss - a good friend to confide in and he might not feel so frightened about telling his parents about his new awakening. Yes, he said to himself, this was the right choice to make. Still, he couldn’t entire quell the sense of unease which was humming through his system.

The lights were off on the football field - of course they would be, he couldn’t imagine the groundskeepers being too thrilled about a bunch of teenagers wrecking the field at night. The light was fading fast, and he squinted into the shadows. Automatically, he checked his phone for the time. It read 7:14, putting him a little late for the gathering, but fashionably so. No sound, no movement. He wondered if Quinn had just told him to come here to make him look stupid, and he felt a hot flush of shame flood his system. That was far more likely than the idea of Quinn wanting to be friend. He was just about to go when he heard a sharp, hoarse voice break through the quiet.

“You Timothy Larks?” The voice called.

“Yeah,” He called back. “Am I early, or something.”

“No,” A voice whispered in his ear. “You’re right on time.”

He began to turn, but a thick, muscular arm wrapped around his neck and pulled him backwards, hard. He lost his balance and went staggering backwards, against a hard, solid chest of muscle. A piece of cloth was around his eyes, and his hands shot up to the arm keeping him captive and choking off his air supply. Somehow, the stranger managed to tie the cloth tightly around his head, cutting off any light which might have penetrated the swaths of shadows. Tim opened his mouth to shout for help, when a rag was stuffed between his jaws. It all happened so fast he didn’t have time to think - his thoughts were whirling, panicked, and he kicked backwards, trying to struggle.

A foot connected with the small of his back, and he went plunging into the dirt. Someone hauled him up by the collar of his jacket and he felt a blast of moist breath over his face. “Aww, Quinn got us a cute one,” The hoarse voice chuckled. “You just sit still, princess, we’ll have you all wrapped up and ready for the evening’s festivities in just a moment.”


Whoever had him captive was strong - brawny, muscle bound, with short hair. That much he could glean from his struggles, and he was rewarded with these scant details. Multiple times he had tried to tear the blindfold off, but when the person struck him hard on the shoulder with something metal, he almost blacked out and stopped struggling instantly. “That’s better, princess,” The hoarse voice growled, and Tim felt himself being dragged the last few feet. Judging by the hollow metal knocks, he realized his captor had dragged him under the bleachers, out of immediate sight. And with darkness rapidly approaching, Tim doubted anyone would be able to see them. But he could scream. He began trying to work the gag out of his mouth, but then his tormentor kicked him to his knees again. “On all fours, right now,” The voice snarled.

He didn’t so much kneel as fall to his elbows, swaying slightly, hands going up to take the blindfold off. A booted foot kicked at his hands, and he heard the long crack of duct tape being unrolled. A long stripe of it was smacked firmly on his face. “You know, it’s such a pity,” The hoarse voice crooned in his ear. “I wanted to have some fun with that mouth of yours before the rest of them got here. Oh well. We’ll have you trained before the evening’s over, though.” A plastic cord, some sort of braided stretchy material, was wrapped tightly around his wrists and knotted firmly around one of the metal support beams which held up the bleachers. Timothy felt himself whine a little, and the person laughed lowly against his neck.

Timothy locked his ankles around each other, but the man tore them apart with an ease which terrified Tim. Each ankle was locked to a separate support beam with the same sort of stretchy fiber, and Tim felt the fabric of his jeans stretch uncomfortably tight around his legs and the seam between them. It felt as though the muscles in his legs would rip apart any second now, and his captor stepped back as if to admire his handiwork. Tim tried screaming through the gag, but all that came out was a muffled grunt. He tried pulling his legs closer to his chest, but all he managed to do was make his hips buck up slightly. “Oh, yeah, princess,” The hoarse voice growled. “Keep doing that and I might just be tempted to fuck that pretty little ass of yours before the rest get here.”

An icy sheet of terror flared through him, and Tim began struggling further. A hard, staccato blow with the metal object - he was fairly sure it was a bat of some sorts - smashed against his shoulder and he screamed. The sound was completely muffled, but the man must have seen his face turn red, and Timothy could hear the grin in his voice. “Yeah, hurts, doesn’t it?” The man asked softly. “More of that’s coming your way if you keep this up. I’ll break every one of your fucking ribs if I have to - we only need your ass and your mouth, anyway.” He laughed again.

There was a snicking noise, and Tim tried to guess the familiar sound. He knew when a cool metal object pressed against his leg and the man began cutting his pants off, starting at the cuff near his stretched ankle. His captor moved his scissors quickly, with ease, and he had slice up one side of Tim’s jeans with his sharp scissors before Tim had time to even register the cool breeze against his bare leg. The same treatment was given to the other side, and soon his new jeans were in two pieces. “You know, I love saving the underwear,” The hoarse voice told him. “Because even after we’re done with you, I still like smelling them. Smelling your fear. And you know what you smell like?” He asked, sniffing Tim with exaggerated breaths. “You smell like a cheap, filthy whore. You smell like a slut. And I’m going to enjoy fucking that lily white ass of yours.”

His coat was sliced off, and he was soon left in his undershirt and his dark boxer shorts. There was a touch against his buttocks, a pair of big hands resting against the globes of his ass, and the man massaged them through the material. “You have a juicy, tight ass, you know that?” The hoarse voice purred. “Lets get you out of these silly clothes - they don’t suit you. And I wanna see you naked, too. Because those boys that get here - well, you know them. Boys will be boys. And I think I want to see you with a man’s cock between those plump little cheeks.”

Snick, snick, snick, went the scissors. In minutes, the scissors were dull and Tim was naked, spread eagled, and gagged.

“Oh, Christ, you look good,” The hoarse voice laughed. “Can’t want until those kids get here with the camera and start filming. We’ll plaster you all over the internet. Maybe sell a few copies on the side. You know, magazines and porn sites pay a lot of money to see actual rape sex. Mostly, they claim its consensual, but it’s not.” The man continued methodically, and through Tim’s hyperventilating he heard the jingle of a belt and the purr of a zipper.

Thick fingers grabbed roughly at his cock, and Tim yelped, the sound unable to reach his own ears. The man squeezed a few times, thumb playing with his balls. “Nice cock, princess. Maybe six, seven inches? Mm? And if you’re real good, I might even suck it. Do you want me to? Mm? Want me to get you off before those boys get here and do all sorts of nasty things with you? Buck your hips upwards if you want me to.”

Tim stayed perfectly still. He didn’t want to tarnish the memory of Derek’s gentle blowjob last month.

“All righty then, we’ll do it the hard way.”

A wet digit was pushed at Tim’s puckered ass, and he felt a rough, dry sensation as the finger was jammed in harshly. “Wish those boys would hurry up and bring the lube,” The voice muttered. Another hand dropped between his legs and fondled his cock again, stroking it quickly. “Oh, that’s it, princess,” The hoarse voice coaxed. “Get nice and hard for Daddy-O.” A rough laugh. “You really are a slut, aren’t you?”

Tim felt tears dampen his blindfold. Yes, he was. His cock was responding to his captor’s touches. He was aroused and begging for more, even though his mind screamed at him that it was wrong, he wanted to go home, run away, never see anyone again.

Suddenly, white light cut through the darkness of his blindfold, and although Tim couldn’t see anything, he heard the approaching rumble of motors. Car doors slammed, and he heard low voices laughing, talking, and the hoarse voice swore under his breath. The finger disappeared from his ass, and Tim breathed a sigh of relief. The crunch of boots on gravel alerted him, and he heard several wolf-whistles, a few metallic bangs as boys slapped the bleachers. “Hey, Domingo,” Shouted a voice. “You got us a cute one this time, huh?”

“Not me,” Domingo’s hoarse voice answered. “Quinn this time.”

There were several cheers, as Quinn was no doubt slapped on the back. A few dull noises signaled a table being set up, and a loud thump followed soon after. Tim strained his ears - judging by the noise of liquid running into cups, the boys had brought a keg. There was more mingling, talking, laughing, and Tim felt sweat bead along his back. What were they going to do with him? Would they just fuck him and leave him? But any hope of that evaporated when he smelled pizza. Obviously, the boys were settling down for a rowdy party.

And Tim was to be the main attraction.



“Oh, fucking hell,” A voice crowed, close to his ear. “Lookit, he’s blushin’. Whose got the toys?”

There was a noise as a bag was dropped on the ground and a zipped dragged open. Tim strained to hear through the snickers and laughter, and he heard a few loud, hollow whocks - evidently someone was climbing up the bleachers. There were a few muffled curses, and then Tim heard the whine of a camera being turned on. “Camera’s filming,” A voice announced, and then Tim felt a hand on his ass. “Perfect,” The same voice whooped, and Tim recognized it faintly. It was Quinn, probably gloating over his prize. Tim felt tears streak down his face.

“Now, we have a few rules, princess,” Domingo’s hoarse voice instructed. “Follow them and you won’t get hurt. If you don’t follow them - well, there’s always my bat, and I think one or two of the boys have some jumper cables.” He paused while the boys laughed appreciatively. “Plus, we’re gonna have some fun with that mouth of yours, and we need you not to scream. Okay? If you do, you’ll be gagged again and we’ll connect some pretty nasty things to those nipples of yours.”

Tim froze as he felt the tape being peeled off. He didn’t make a sound as a pair of fingers jerked the rag from his mouth. “Very good,” Quinn cooed. “Let’s see how good you are at sucking cock, little slut,” He smirked, and Tim felt something firm and warm near his lips. His head jerked back instinctively, and Quinn’s fingers tangled through his hair, jerking his forward. Tim opened his mouth to cry out, and found the head of a dick in his mouth. It didn’t taste particularly bad, but he didn’t want to give any pleasure to his captors. “Oh, nice,” Quinn groaned, and shoved a few more inches of his cock down Tim’s throat. The younger boy coughed a little and tried to draw back, but the hands in his hair were cruelly tight. When Tim had his nose buried in Quinn’s pubic hair and his balls against his chin, Quinn stopped moving. “Start licking, fucker,” Quinn growled.

Unwillingly, Tim began licking around Quinn’s dick, choking slightly from the width of it down his throat. Quinn pumped his hips, moaning a little. “You’re a fuckin’ natural, princess,” Quinn panted. “Keep going like that, yeah, that’s it, mm.” Tim tried frantically to remember what Derek had done to make him feel so good - and then began humming around Quinn’s cock. “Shit…” Quinn gasped, seeing stars. “Jesus, you’re good at this. You’re a fuckin’ whore.” Quinn felt himself getting closer, and his hands went back to Tim’s head, keeping his face firmly planted against his hips. “You’re gonna swallow every drop, you motherfucker,” Quinn ordered, teetering on the brink, and Tim felt a rush of salty-sweet jizz spurting down his throat. He coughed, but Quinn kept his softening dick in Tim’s mouth. “Swallow, princess,” He hissed, and Tim did so. Quinn took out his cock with a soft ‘pop’.

“Okay, boys, he’s all yours.”

Almost instantly, Tim felt hands - dozens of them - pawing, groping, slapping, pinching, twisting. Someone slid under him and started sucking at his nipples - hard, vicious sucks, accentuated with a bite to each nub, and Tim yelped aloud. “Can’t have that,” Someone else said, and Tim felt his jaws pried open and another cock - this one smaller - shoved into his mouth. His cries were muffled around the cock, and he felt a warm, wet mouth began sucking aggressively at his dick. Someone else, a random stranger, was working a cold, wet, lubed finger into his ass. The intrusion was strange and painful, and Tim tried jerking away from them, but with the restrictions he couldn’t move an inch except buck his hips up and down. A chorus of eager voice whispered to each other.

“Can I get out the clamps now?”

“No, he’ll be in too much pain.”

“Fuck, I wanna shove my cock up his ass.”

“Someone grab a paddle. Let’s spank this naughty princess.”

The last comment apparently was followed, and Tim felt another load of seed erupt down his throat at the same time he heard someone rustling through a bag. Something hard and unyielding scraped his ass, and he wiggled away from the touch, whimpering slightly, and there was a rousing laugh from behind him. “Someone stick a cock in his mouth - we don’t want the screams, do we?” As a dick was pushed unceremoniously into his mouth, he felt a blinding, cracking pain across his left ass cheek.


“Oh, yeah, your screams feel so good around my cock,” Domingo snarled in his ear, pumping his thick, meaty cock down Tim’s throat. Tears were streaming from his eyes and he was choking around Domingo’s dick, but the older man just laughed and pounded harder, his balls slapping against his chin. There was another stinging smack against his ass cheek, and he tried to shriek again, but Domingo just pushed his cock farther down his throat. “Keep spanking him,” Domingo shouted gruffly. “He feels so fuckin’ good when he screams.”

The boys took turns with the paddle - one of them even took off his belt and then there were two boys spanking his ass. The pain was horrific, and Tim’s throat felt raw from his muffled screams. Domingo kept pounding his face mercilessly, grinning at the sobs and strangled cries which came from the young boy’s mouth. When his ass felt as though it had been bruised beyond repair, the spanking stopped. “C’mon, whose first?” Quinn called, and there was a storm of volunteers. Tim felt a pair of cold hands grip his bruised, swollen ass, and there was whooping and shouting as he began slowly pushing the head of his dick up Tim’s tight asshole. Tim screamed again, but Domingo hadn’t taken his cock out and was still muffling the sounds he was trying to make.

His vision was slipping in and out of focus, and he felt his head drop down to his chest when Domingo pulled out his cock, which was glistening with saliva. The boy’s cock was almost fully sheathed inside when a familiar, blessed sound filtered through the pounding in his ears.

A siren.

“Shit, cops!”

There was a rush, a mad scramble, as people and items went flying, car doors slamming, motors starting. Someone reached down and raggedly sliced Tim’s bonds, leaving him prone on the ground. Several other people began dismantling the camera, table, and keg which they had brought, and they screeched away, gravel flying. Tim sank against the cold ground and tasted blood in his mouth. He must have passed out, because he remembered dimly waking up, his body aching, ass on fire as he twitched thickly. The sirens had faded away, and he realized the cops had simply been passing by. Whatever the cops had seen, it hadn’t been him, and Tim felt a hot, painful sob working out of his mouth.

He reached up and took off the blindfold with numb fingers, and he lay there for several moments, crying and trying to quell the horrific pain which shuddered up his spine. In the darkness, he groped for the shredded remnants of his pants, and realized his underwear was missing.

Because even after they’re done, I still like smelling them. Your fear. And you know what you smell like? You smell like a cheap, filthy whore.

His quivering fingers reached for the pocket and he took out his new cell phone. Pressed a button. Held the plastic phone to his ear with the greatest effort known to man.

There was a sleepy, groggy voice on the other end. “Hey, Tim, what’s up?” Said Derek’s deep rumble, accented with his sleep. He heard a rush of air into the phone, like a dry sob. “Tim?” Derek asked, sitting up in bed.

“D-D-Derek,” Tim sobbed shakily. “I’m a-a-at the footb-b-ball field.”

There was no hesitation. “I’m on my way.”


Much shorter than the other one, I’m afraid, but still full of hot smut! Next up: Tim gets some gentle lovin’ from his new guardians, Derek and Seth! All will be explained in the next chapter. Please tell me what you think!

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