Bbillings

The Rape of Christopher Owens

Marc had never really done the dinner-and-a-movie thing with another guy before, particularly alone, but with Chris Owens, a smallish, annoying 15 year old who had somehow befriended him, that's what they did on a cold, fall evening. Chris had paid for the dinner, so Marc figured he should chip in with the movie, and they had a good time, albeit, it was kind of strange to basically go on a date with another guy.

In their suburban high school, it was, of course, strange to be considered gay, so Marc kept pretty quiet about his lust for man flesh. He wasn't completely in-tune with whether or not he was gay or bi or even straight-but-curious, but he knew that he'd basically take sex any way he got it, and he had a particular interest in just-barely-pubescent boys. He also knew that whenever he was in-between classes, he'd always park himself right in the center of two urinals in the men's room, whether he had to pee or not, hoping for just a little peek at some privates.

Being the older of the two boys, and the only one of them who could drive, Marc had to have Chris narrate the directions back to his house one more time. It was there where it all started.

"You want to come in for a little while?" Chris asked as they pulled into his driveway. "It's still only like, what, 8 o'clock?"

It was actually 9:30, but Marc still had a good two hours before he had to be home, so he accepted.

Chris gave him the standard introduction to the parents and basically ignored his little brother completely. Marc didn't even get the kid's name, he was simply referred to as 'the boy' and was shoved off, literally, when he asked his older brother if he could play with them.

It was to Chris' room where they went, which was almost a second-floor loft, with access to the roof above from a staircase that stretched over Chris' futon bed, which he had left in sofa-mode. Blue carpeting with the occasional piece of stray clothing covered the floor, movie posters adorned the wall, and a small desk sat in the corner, an impressive triple-thick stack of DVDs was piled from the floor up to Marc's height next to the monitor.

"So, what do you think?" Chris asked. He seemed a little nervous, probably, Marc figured, because Chris didn't have many friends. He was very small for his age, with a body that wouldn't look out of place on a 7th grader, despite being a sophomore in high school. He didn't play sports, and he was unbelievably annoying to those who made fun of him for his size. Marc had even done a little of the tormenting himself, though that was probably 3 or 4 years in the past now. For whatever reason, on the first day of school this year, he sat down with Marc and his friends one day at lunch, and while they weren't great friends, Marc at least found him bearable. And damn cute. His copper colored skin and his blonde hair gave him the appearance of a California surfer boy recently transplanted, and his striking greyish blue eyes set him apart from the hundreds of clones. Marc had seen his soft, smooth boy legs in the changing room during a gym class the two had shared last year, and even gotten a peek at his perfect bubble butt once, but long-hanging shirts had prevented him from having a better view of anything more personal.

"You've got a thing for movies, huh?" Marc replied casually. He wasn't sure whether or not this was his first same-sex date or just a really random hang out with his buddies, but regardless, he wanted the boy to calm down. Chris became rather antsy and annoying when he was uncomfortable, and Marc very much wanted to avoid the strange voices, the over-the-top acting and everything else that went along with a nervous Chris Owens. "Do I have a thing for movies?" His friend asked sarcastically, gesturing at the plethora of posters that covered every inch of his walls. "I've always wanted to be an actor, like Jim Carrey."

No surprise there. Marc loathed Jim Carrey, and it occurred to him that Chris in an annoying mood looked an awful lot like Jim Carrey in just about any movie he had ever been in. "Hey, you're into that whole sci-fi thing, right? You might appreciate this."

Rushing over to his closet, he opened the doors and led Marc through. Inside, he saw a rack of his friend's shirts, a few boxes that looked like they were stuffed with his old toys, and a whole wall dedicated to Star Wars, with a few cardboard stand-ups, a large shelf full of action figures, and a Millennium Falcon hanging by a piece of wire from the ceiling. "Cool, huh?"

Marc actually was intrigued. As Chris had mentioned, he was a bit of a sci-fi geek, but he didn't think he was this obsessive. He certainly wasn't as into Star Wars as one of his other friends, and he had no love for Star Trek, though he did appreciate reading some of their novels. Overall, though, Marc didn't think he was half as obsessively geeky as some of the kids he hung out with regularly.

The two continued talking for a little while, and ended up playing Monopoly – Star Wars edition to be sure – Chris sitting on his bed, Marc on the floor.

By the end of the night, Marc had to admit that he was actually having a good deal of fun, and that he was beginning to actually like Chris Owens, the most annoying kid in school. Tomorrow was supposed to be his weekly poker night with four of his friends, but it had been canceled since two of them were off with their families for the weekend. "Dude, you want to come over to my house tomorrow?"

"Hell yeah," Chris said enthusiastically. He had a glimmer in his eyes, and added, somewhat quietly, "I really like you."

Now that little comment had Marc wondering what exactly Chris had going on in his brain. Nobody had ever told him that before, particularly another guy. It could be Chris' uncomfortableness with people, or it could be that the date he felt like he was on was, in fact, a date.

"So let me ask you," Marc started, not really sure how he was supposed to continue. He had absolutely nowhere to go with this one without alienating his new friend, so he just dropped it. Asking if the boy was gay certainly wouldn't get him anywhere, and neither would anything else he could come up with. "Nevermind. You got a ride to my place, or are should I pick you up?"

"I'll get there. Don't worry about it."

"Cool, I think I'd better go though. My mom might freak out since it's so late," Marc said.

Chris had already stood up to put the game away, inadvertently sticking his amazing round butt right in front of Marc's face. He seemed to realize it a little too late. Or did he? "You like the view?" Chris asked, playfully peering through his skinny legs. Marc didn't quite know what to do for a moment.

Now this all couldn't just be coincidence. After basically going through the motions of a date, the whole "I really like you" comment, and now this. Chris was gay. And he was trying to be discreet about saying it, without saying it. "Actually, I rather like this view instead," Marc finally said, making up his mind.

He spun the boy around, and slid his arms behind the boy's legs to take him off his feet, landing his beautiful ass cheeks right on the edge of his futon-bed. His head and shoulders ended up resting on the top half of his futon, which angled up perfectly, bracing his back and giving him a great view of what was about to happen to him.

Neither boy said anything as Marc caressed Chris' crotch area over the top of his pants with one hand, using his other to deftly remove the clasp on the boy's belt. It made an awkwardly loud jingling noise, so Marc counted himself lucky that the two were not interrupted by watchful parents or curious brothers. Opening up his friends pants, he could feel his own teenage penis hardening in time to his friend's,which was growing rapidly with anticipation. As he tore at his friends' boxers, removing both them and his pants in one fell swoop, Chris lifted his beautiful bottom to help, and Marc was treated to a marvelous sight.

A half-hard cock, bent sideways, and off to the left, about 4 inches [10 cm] long and thicker than a finger, but still with some room to grow, sat on a bed of perfectly groomed pubic hair, which looked thick in comparison to the baldness all around it, even between the boy's legs, where Marc knew he himself had grown a veritable forest. It looked as though the boy had gotten his hands on one of those razors that barber's used to make sure they had a nice even cut, and used that on himself. In fact, his peripheral vision showed that to be correct; the razor, complete with attachments, was sitting on his side-table. Chris' balls were hairless and beautiful, though clearly this was shaved rather than natural. They hung limply down between his legs, almost to his ass cheeks, perfectly emphasizing their delicious shape.

A small treasure trail led upward, which Chris had, for some reason or another, decided to leave unshaven, so Marc let his left hand slide upwards, exploring a little under his shirt, while his right hand got the enviable duty of coaxing his friends' hardening cock into submission.

As he began rubbing it tenderly about halfway up the short shaft, a small glob of precum oozed out of Chris' dick, and down the underside of his shaft, settling itself right in between his beautiful balls. The sign couldn't have been more clear; Marc started down there. Using his tongue to move them about, he tickled the scrotum around each testicle, and gently took each one into his mouth one at a time to give them the attention they deserved. He had never seen any porn actors, or anyone else at all really, who had such perfect little eggs. Just as the second ball flopped out of his mouth, a finger on his chin gently pushing upward reminded him of what other treasures the boy wanted him to try out.

Sliding his tongue right along the line the precum had started, Marc worked his way up Chris' fully grown 5-incher [12½ cm]. It was about an inch or so smaller than his own cock, but then again, he was about a foot [30 cm] taller than this boy too, so it kind of made sense. In fact, Chris had a pretty big cock considering he was such a small boy in every other area of his body. Using his tongue to draw small circles around the tip of the rock-hard dick in his face, circling the boy's pee-hole, he slid both his hands down underneath the boy, gripping his juicy buns, one in each hand. God, what an ass the boy had!

"Do it," Chris muttered, looking down on him. Putting his hands on either side of Marc's head, he said, "Let's see how good you are."

Chris gave a few soft pushes with his hands, but Marc knew what he wanted to do, so he took complete control. He had never had anything more than an on-top-of-the-clothes handjob done on himself, and he certainly had never been in this position before, but one of his favorite things to do when his parent's went away was to browse through the tapes they kept hidden in their closet. Doing his best to mimic the dark-skinned Asian girl he saw on video, he dove onto the dick, letting it's head tickle his uvula, while his own lips kissed the boy's sack once more.

Again and again he plunged down, and it took only minutes before Chris' ass checks twitched and tightened, and the hands against his head pulled him off by the hair. As Marc let out a pained whimper as some strands got yanked from his head, his pain quickly turned to pleasure as a tiny amount of runny cream hit him first on one cheek, then his upper lip, and then dribbled off onto his chin. As fulfilling as it was to have the boy shoot a load on his face, Marc almost had hoped it could have lasted longer. He had many more tricks up his sleeve.

Chris' cum was divine, albeit runnier than what Marc himself could produce. He lapped it all up, though, cleaning his own face first, and then squeezing out what little he could that still hung in the softening shaft he had before him. Without a word to each other, the boys cleaned themselves up, and Chris walked Marc downstairs and out to the almost broken down pick-up he inherited from his dad.

"Tomorrow?" he asked, getting into the car.

"Tomorrow," his friend confirmed, with a sheepish smile and a wink. Yes, tomorrow would be a very good day.

On the drive home, Marc came. And came. And came again.

Within moments of leaving Chris' house, Marc had to unzip his pants and set his own dick free. He had moved quickly when leaving the house so that Chris' parents and brother weren't able to see that his pants were bulging; an impressive, but blatantly obvious sign of what had been happening upstairs.

The first load came quickly as he was driving out of Chris's complex, turning left onto Algonquin Road, twisting his orgasming organ off to the side as he shot his seed so far that it came close to splattering on the windows on the passenger side. He imagined what it would be like to feel the smooth touch of the boy's hairless legs on his own, which were much hairier. He remembered back to his first and only girlfriend, Jenny, on that beautiful summer night when she had twined her freshly shaven legs around his own, and when he could feel the entirety of her soft calves and thighs pressing on his, thanks to the shorts they were both wearing. That was the night she had given him his most memorable sexual pleasure, a handjob on top of his clothes. She didn't allow him to take it out, and he wasn't allowed to touch her back, even. She stopped right before he came. Bitch.

Well, at least that little experience had been supplanted by tonight, that's for sure, and he was suddenly quite glad that he had dumped her shortly after that night.

The second time, he came while driving past Ela Road, which couldn't have been more than five miles [8 km] down from where he had turned the first time. His cock stayed hard, and cried out to be jerked more, even moments after blowing his first load. Looking at his own cum slowly sliding down the side-door panel of the inside of his truck, it was Chris' smooth liquid cum he was thinking of; such a sharp, vivid contrast to his own. The feel of it splashing on his cheek and chin, the warmth, the intense taste. Chris' was more clear than white, and it flowed like a river. His own was glacial, thick and white, which he shot in short, intense bursts. Marc imagined it decorating the face of his new lover, and that caused another cannon-burst to occur, which he only just managed to get over to the side quick enough. As he did it, he had to wonder whether it might not look even better streaming out the boy's asshole. Something to think on, for sure.

As he crossed Roselle, a mile or two, no more, he had gone completely soft, and then hard again, thinking of the delicious little boy he had left behind, and all the fun they would be having tomorrow, though he didn't quite know when they were getting together. By the time he hit Meacham, where he turned to head home, the seat next to him was covered in little cum droplets once more, his still-ready dick flushed crimson with the strain of firing pleasure shots at such a rapid pace. He had some cleaning to do before anyone could ride in his car again, that would be sure.

For much of the morning, Marc was cleaning last night's mess out of the inside of his truck. He tried to keep it pretty clean, since it was really the only thing he could do to make it anything more than a pile of junk. If it was to be a clean pile of junk, well, at least that was something.

For the rest of the day, Marc sat around waiting. He knew that it might be tough for Chris to give him a time when he could make it over if his parents were supposed to drive him, but even after multiple calls and texts, he got nothing from him. By the end of the night, he had figured that something must have gone quite wrong, since he had neither seen nor heard anything from his friend whatsoever.

It was late at night when he got the first text. Flipping open his phone, he read it without looking, and was really confused. "You fuckin serious?" it said, and he didn't have the number in his phone. Within just a few minutes, he was bombarded by texts, some from his acquaintances at school, but most from unknown numbers. Piecing the puzzle together was pretty easy. With all the 'gross' and 'fuck u homo's' he had received, it was pretty simple. Chris had told.

And that meant bad things for Marc.

By the time school came around on Monday, it seemed that everyone had known. After meeting with his friends, he found out that Chris had indeed told people that Marc had gone down on him, and apparently he even was showing a picture.

When Marc got his hands on this supposed picture, he was at least a little relieved. It was, in fact, a real photo of the event, apparently taken from Chris' webcam sitting on his desk, which Marc hadn't noticed, or even thought about. Fortunately, it didn't show much, and it was really grainy besides. Chris apparently had enough modesty to pick a shot where he still had his pants on, and you couldn't see his face at all. Marc was much clearer, hovering over Chris' crotch, but because of the photo quality, all you could really say about it was that it resembled Marc. He did make a mental note not to wear that particular shirt ever again, though, since that would, of course, give away the fact that it was him.

His defense was pretty easy. Since nobody really liked Chris, it was pretty simple to play it off. Sure, they had hung out over the weekend, but surely that photo was fake, did you see the shitty photoshop job he did? And after seeing the movie, he had left. Chris was probably just looking for some attention anyway.

And for most, that pretty much worked. The story hadn't gone away after a week, though, and Marc was starting to wonder if this was going to be something that haunted him throughout his entire high school experience. Then, in looking for a good cover story, he had finally used this incident to get up the courage to ask out Rebecca, a girl he had been interested in for a long time. She turned him down, however. She said she didn't want to date a gay guy.

And that pissed Marc off. It pissed him off a whole heck of a lot. Whether or not he would get revenge was not even a question, it was how he was going to do it.

An opportunity was quick to present itself. Not even three weeks after the incident occurred, Marc had gotten word from one of his friends that he had overheard Chris saying that his parents were out of town for the weekend, and that he was going to a movie with one of his other new friends. If possible, this other kid was even more annoying and disliked than Chris was, so they had found a happy match. According to his informant, they were going to meet at the theater around 7.

And that was how Marc found himself on a ladder he had pushed up to the Owens residence at 6 o'clock at night on a cold, wet November evening. The cover of darkness had allowed him enough of an opportunity to sneak around unnoticed, especially wearing black from head-to-toe, including gloves and a ski mask that effectively masked his appearance.

He had known, of course, where the house was, and he had figured on finding the ladder in the garage. Using the twilight to help hide him, he had skulked over to the house, parking a good five blocks away from where Chris lived, and well out of the way so that there was no way he'd drive by and see the truck on his way to the theater. Setting the ladder on the far side, away from his friend's bedroom, and surely out of earshot, he was able to climb up easily, and see exactly when Chris left the house, driving his Dad's Sebring, which he certainly wasn't allowed to do, since you needed to be 16 to get a license. It had been perfect timing, as Marc had only needed to wait about ten minutes out in the near-freezing rain.

After ten minutes had passed, Marc felt certain that the boy wouldn't be coming back. It was then that he crawled over to the other side of the roof, where he found the door Chris could use to get up onto the roof from his room. It was closed, but locked only from the inside with a chain deadbolt, similar to what Marc's house had on the front door as a last-resort. A simple lock cutter, also picked out of the garage, and slid deftly into the crack between frame and door and made simple work of the lock. Pushing the door in, he took off his black ski mask, shook off some of the wetness, and crouched to get through the door. He was in.

Chris' room was empty, as expected, and he had closed the door from the hallway, which was exactly as Marc had hoped. Moving quickly to Chris' computer, he was hoping that he could get his hands on those surveillance pictures that were giving him nightmares. Had Chris decided to show off any more of those, the evidence would likely be damning. He remembered, of course, to put a towel over the webcam, since that could only cause him trouble. Luckily for Marc, the stupid kid didn't have any password protection on his computer, so finding the pictures, copying them to his flash drive for fond memories, and then deleting them from Chris' computer completely took only a few minutes.

But then, something completely unexpected happened. Light suddenly flooded the room, and 'the boy' appeared. Looking to be around 6 years old or so, Chris' brother was surprised to see Marc, but not afraid. "You're that boy who is my brother's friend," he stated simply. "I remember you."

Thankfully, the boy didn't run and hide, in fact, he moved closer. "Why are you here?" he asked.

Marc, thinking quickly on his feet, remembered that Chris was not fond of this little tyke, and tried to play on that. "Your big brother isn't very nice to you, is he?" He asked, changing the question completely in hopes that the youngster would forget the strangeness of having a veritable stranger sitting in his brother's room alone.

"No, sir," the boy said, crossing his arms. "He is a big meanie. He hits me, and he pushes me, and he's just bad. I hate him." He nodded his head at the last, as if in an attempt to convince Marc of the seriousness of his big brother's crimes. But at that thought, Marc had a brilliant idea.

"Well, actually, your brother has been pretty mean to me too," he said, spreading his arms wide in what he hoped was an open, honest gesture. "I'm here to play a mean trick on him, but I need your help." The boy was in on it immediately. Marc then directed the boy to take off his shirt, and removing the towel from the webcam, carefully staying well out of the way of the lens, and used Chris' computer to take a few shots of his brother posing for the camera. With only a little coaxing, Marc was able to get his brother to pose in his underwear as well, which he was very proud to show off, and then in the buff. Marc took a bunch of pictures of his brother naked, doing multiple close-ups of the tiny little penis, even coaxing it to a hard on with a two-finger handjob for a few shots. The boy put up with everything, encouraging Marc to make his trick extra-mean to really get his brother into serious trouble.

"OK, now that should do it," Marc said, instructing the child to put his clothes back on. "Now remember, if this is going to work, who told you to take off all your clothes?"

"My brother did," the little boy replied by rote.

"And who took all those naughty pictures of you?"

"My brother did."

"And did you see me at all?"

"I don't know, who are you?" Perfect. Marc had coached him while snapping the pictures, and it worked really well.

"OK, what I need you to do now is go downstairs and watch some TV. But you need to let me know if you see your brother come home, OK?"

"Can I watch anything I want?" the boy asked hopefully.

"Sure can," Marc replied. This was going much better than he thought.

The boy left, and Marc quickly replaced the towel over the webcam. He spent a good amount of time moving and renaming the pictures he had just taken, making sure to name them exactly the same as the photos Chris had secretly taken of the blow job he had given him weeks ago. Same folder, same file name, same everything. He even made a copy for himself. While he didn't really think of the kid as a sex object, who knew what might float his boat later, and maybe he could even sell the pictures to some pervey guy online.

He still had more to set up. Going downstairs to the kitchen, he rummaged around, and under the sink, he found exactly what he was looking for – an opened bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey. A quick search of the bathroom gave him chloroform and rags. Knowing that Chris' mother was a nurse made him sure he could get that. He brought it all back upstairs, noting that curiously, the show the younger brother had chosen to watch was a rerun of Jay Leno. Kids were sure strange.

After that, he really didn't have much to do, so he set about exploring his friend's personal files. He found some old school papers, and a journal that had three entries, none of which were interesting in the least. He also found a couple of nudie pictures the boy had stashed, but all were busty women, which reminded him of something he thought rather important. Chris wanted to be an actor when he grew up, and these pictures pretty much confirmed that the Chris was straight-as-an-arrow. His internet history was full of lesbian sex orgies, and seeing that meant Chris felt pretty comfortable with looking up anything he wanted. If he were gay, this would have proven it. He had played his last role perfectly, Marc thought to himself.

It took a good four hours before he finally got news from the boy that Chris had pulled up in the driveway. He was, apparently, alone. Good. Very good. A quick reminder to the boy about what his job was, and he was ready. He turned off all the lights he had turned on, and hid himself in Chris' walk-in closet, with all the Star Wars paraphernalia.

Within ten minutes, Chris had already terrorized his little brother and gotten him off to bed. When Marc heard the door to his room click open, and then slam closed, he took a deep, silent breath. It was time.

As Chris walked by his closet, Marc pounced. A rag soaked in chloroform and forced onto his face not only stifled the scream of surprise, but also put the boy out cold in a matter of seconds. Just like in the movies.

Working quickly, Marc threw the now-unconscious boy onto his futon and double-checked to make sure the room's door was closed securely and locked from the inside. He then removed Chris' shoes and socks, then undid the familiar buckle and took off the boy's pants and boxers. Not stopping to admire the scenery, he then took off the boy's sweater and undershirts, rolling the plain white t-shirt he had been wearing into a perfect gag, tying it tightly around the back of the boy's head. A roll of duct tape, also taken from the garage earlier, worked to secure the boy's hands behind him.

And then, he groggily started to wake up. Perfect, Marc thought. Waking up naked and bound, alone in his own room, with his biggest enemy standing over him 3; it would be scary for anyone, much less a timid little 15-year-old kid who had just revealed a certain private secret to the world. As soon as he regained some of his recognition, he started a sorry crawl backwards, in a vain attempt to avoid what was about to happen to him. His little cock was flopping around lazily on a ball sack that was hugging his hips. Marc was pleased to see that it was a tiny little thing that he himself could have matched before he even hit puberty.

"You know, I actually did like you," Marc said. "But then you had this little gay ruse," he stopped momentarily, looking deep into the blue-grey eyes of his prey. His hair was closely cropped, probably recently shaved with Chris' little toy, and even though he was afraid, he was still going to fight. Perfect. God, the boy was a beauty. "It worked, you know. You're actually a really good actor. But you got me mad when you went and told everyone what I did. Particularly since you enjoyed it so much."

He then went to one knee, and using his height and weight advantage, grabbed the boy by his unbound legs, and pulled Chris back towards the edge. The musky scent of cock filled Marc's nostrils, but he wasn't about to give Chris the pleasure. The boy's flaccid member gave an involuntary jerk as he too remembered that glorious night.

"You could have had so much," he continued. "You know that I'm into you, and you could see how much I wanted you. All you had to do was give a little back now and again, and I would have sucked you off every single day." Marc could feel Chris' body heat against his own, even as Marc was clothed. He was starting to get excited. "Now I'm going to do something you're not going to like. But I will."

Standing up, Marc carefully unlatched his own belt, and started undoing his black pants. He took his time about it, making sure that Chris could see every detail and take it in, letting his fear grow. Marc was a bigger guy, having more than a foot [30 cm] on Chris in height despite only being a few months older than his prey, but as a former football player, he was much stronger. As he slid his pants down over his underwear, a dark navy-colored boxer to match his outfit, the difference between the two boys became more and more apparent. Marc had strong, muscular legs, while Chris was feebly trying to use his undefined chicken legs to cover up. Marc was also rather hairy, with dark brown protrusions sticking out at any and every patch of seemingly bare skin. When he finally removed his underwear, showing off his impressive man power, Chris made a greater effort to escape. It was nearly at it's hardest, not only thicker than the smaller boys, but longer, and slightly darker in color, despite never seeing the light of day. Dropping his pants to the floor, he stepped out of them to give himself more freedom of movement, and began.

Marc took his time with the boy. This was, after all, a first for both of them, and Marc wanted to make sure the moment was something that neither of them would ever want to forget. Running his hands down the arms of the boy who was to be his first victim, Marc couldn't help but appreciate the soft, undeveloped muscle tissue and smooth skin of the boy's arms. Marc knelt over the boy, his sagging balls brushing against the other boy's penis, which was growing harder and harder despite his best efforts to the contrary. Running his hands up the boy's arms, Marc was not surprised to find that the boy's underarms were shaved bare as well; just a little bit of black stubble was able to be felt down there, and felt completely different than his chest, where clearly no hair had ever grown. The boy's nipples were average sized, very proportional to the rest of his body, and took only one rough pinch apiece to start coming to life. In their agitated state, they looked every bit as delectable as the nipples of any porn star Marc had ever seen, and he couldn't resist running his tongue around each. A slight gasp and slow moan crawled out from behind the gag, and at a quick, playful bite, the boy jumped back, not quite sure whether he liked it or not.

Moving down his prey's body, he found the end of the boy's treasure trail right at his belly-button. Marc traced the area with his finger, and let his hand slide down just a little bit, which got Chris to spread his legs wider in anticipation. Marc lifted himself off the boy for a moment, moving down to assume the same position he had been in just a few weeks prior, but this time, instead of sucking the boy's dick, he lifted Chris' legs into the air, exposing the perfectly round bubble-butt that Marc had been so lucky as to squeeze while Chris had shot a load onto his face. Oh the memories.

And oh what could have been. Marc could feel Chris thinking that in his head as he ran his hands over the brilliantly white behind, alternately caressing and pinching until large portions of the boy's pale white ass were bright red. Chris took the little torment well, without a sound, only jumping a small bit at each harder pinch. Marc knew it hurt, but Chris wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

As Marc finally went to spread his ass cheeks, he also reached for the nightstand next to the bed, where Chris kept his razor, and, as Marc had found snooping around his room, his bottle of mineral oil, which, Marc figured, Chris was using as a poor man's lube. Using both hands, he parted the cheeks and looked down on a beautiful pink sphincter. No surprise, his asscheeks were freshly shaved, which made Marc all the more eager. Using his first three fingers, he applied liberal amounts of mineral oil to the outside, and inside of the boy's ass, ignoring the sharp twitches of pain and muffled cries of protest trying to work their way out from the gag. The mineral oil worked surprisingly well, letting Marc's fingers slide in and out with liquid smoothness, letting Chris' tight little hole slip and slide around the new fingers protruding in his forbidden zone.

With just a tiny bit to rub onto his ramrod, Marc lined up, kneeling on the bed, with his friends legs lifted up onto his shoulders, and plunged into the dark oblivion that was the boy's virgin anus. Marc pulled no punches, he drove his cock mercilessly into the boy's bowels, not caring at the amount of muffled screams or writhing in pain; the arm restraints were doing a miraculous job, but the boy still bucked and fought. His near-silent verbal protests only spurred the rapist on even more, and Marc's hips crashed into his victims, each time with greater intensity and greater speed than before. Having thought about this dream moment every night for the past two weeks, and watching it unfold just according to plan, would have been more than enough to lower Marc's endurance to a two-minute endeavor, but regardless of how long he spent bucking his hips and rearranging Chris' intestines, it felt like a lifetime for both. A lifetime of pleasure, or one of pain depending on who you asked, but Chris' still-erect penis bouncing around in time to the rhythm of the sex gave an indication that maybe he might want more.

Marc gave him nothing though. He had already given the boy enough pleasure, the way he saw things, and it was time to take it back, by force. Even as he reached orgasm inside his victim, and shot a load off that seemed to coat the inside of his rectum with his boy-sauce, Marc knew he had more in him. Sliding his cock out of the boy's dripping asshole, now purple from the strain of holding in the older boy's larger organ, Marc moved purposefully up his friend's body and dangled his manly member right in front of his friend's face. Cum flowed freely from the boy's gaping hole, dribbling out of his ass, and all over the boy's sheets, mixing with the mineral oil and the boy's own juices to create a disgusting, but strangely sexy cocktail.

"This dick is disgusting, wouldn't you agree?" he asked pointedly, shaking his still-hard dick in front of his face, allowing a little droplet of cum to fall from the tip and on to the tip of the boy's nose. The boy's muffled attempts at screaming had slowly reduced to a whimper as he had accepted the inevitability of what was happening while Marc was fucking him, and was now silently accepting whatever happened without protest. Marc felt comfortable in removing the gag. For a reason. "Now clean that cock. Clean it good."

And with that, Chris opened his mouth, tears streaming out the corners of his eyes as his head leaned back, and he took Marc's cock in his mouth. He took Marc's order literally, using his tongue to scrape some of the slime off as he took more and more of it in with every passing swipe of his tongue. The combination of mineral oil lube, asshole juices and cum must have tasted every bit of awful, but the boy swallowed it all down, bit by bit.

It took only a little longer than the time it took for Chris to finish cleaning the older boy's dick for Marc to cum again, this time pulling his dick out and slathering a fresh load right on the pretty face of the boy who's virginity he had just taken, and to whom he had given his. The copper toned blonde looked simply stunning with his eyes closed, leaning back to take the bulk of Marc's massive cannon-shot right into his right eye-socket, with droplets running right up to the hairline, and all the way down his face, skirting his petulant lips by less than a few centimeters.

Leaving the boy there for only a moment, Marc went back to the closet to retrieve the final piece to the puzzle, the alcohol. The only time he had ever tasted alcohol, he had ended up getting so drunk as to black out, and as such, he had absolutely no idea how much it took to get a person to that level. Unscrewing the cap of the whiskey, it took only a single swig to realize that this was some powerful shit. He settled on five big mouthfuls, forcing the boy to drink by shoving the bottle into his mouth and closing his nose. The last thing of all was the final remnant of Marc's seed, which he purposefully saved for last so that the boy could wake up with the taste of fresh sperm in his mouth. He used his semi-soft dick to collect it all off the boys face, dipping it down into his victim's mouth, forcing him to eat it.

He waited only a little while to be sure that the alcohol was taking effect, and it was taking effect quickly. After dressing quickly, he dribbled a little bit of the beverage on Chris' clothes, some on the floor, and carefully capped it. When he saw how incapable Chris was of doing even the simplest of writhing and speaking, Marc removed the hand and arm restraints, and put the boy down in his bed, where he hoped the boy would be able to sleep off the drunkenness, giving him time to escape but still leaving the memory of what had happened to him fresh in his mind. Gathering his things, and making sure to clean up as much evidence of his having been there as possible, he eschewed the way he had come in and left out the front door instead.

Marc then briskly walked the five blocks over to where he had parked his car, hopped in, and drove himself home. The cool autumn breeze blowing over his sweaty body made him shiver; it made him feel blissfully alive, aware of every sensation. This time on the drive home, there was absolutely no need for him to relieve his craving; he felt as though he shot every last ounce of his cream onto, or into the boy that night, and for a change, Marc was able to fall asleep that night without even his midnight ritual wanking.

The next few days were stressful for Marc, worried that Chris might try to turn him in. He burned the chloroform rag, and took most of the tools and supplies he had used with him, disposing of them in different areas. The lock-splitters found their new home at the bottom of the nearby Salt Creek, while the chloroform bottle and the duct tape were left to degrade buried at far ends of the nearby forest preserve.

Back at school, Chris was still trying to spread rumors around the school, this time trying the idea that Marc had somehow snuck into his bedroom and had his way with him at night. People were starting to see the strange truth: that Chris had some sort of hopeless obsession with Marc, and that drove them even farther away from the mad, raving, and quite faggy boy.

But eventually, Chris did call the police. It took until the Wednesday after the rape, but he did call it in. Police reports on the issue were not available for Marc to see, but the officer did notify Marc that Chris was likely very drunk that night, and had tried to show them photographic evidence of Marc's misconducts that somehow served to get him in even more trouble than he was in for drinking underage, though what that could have been, Marc was unable to ascertain. It took only a weak alibi to clear his name.

And in the end, schoolyard hottie Rebecca did end up going out with Marc 3; but the sex was not nearly as good.

The End