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A Man's Decision
By Emile, 2010
Usual Caveats apply
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Dean leaned in, nuzzling my stubbly cheek with his lips, and whispered "spread em wider cowboy...". His hand was wrapped around my meaty right thigh, hefting it up higher, guiding my arm underneath the hairy muscle until my bicep squeezed against the inseam of my leg. The position hurt like crazy, the skin around my arsehole was stretched tight as a drum, and every poke and prod of those invading fingers I swear was about to rupture my skin. I could feel Dean's boyfriend pushing up my left calf, forcing that leg up further as well. My skin bristled, if not from the discomfort of forcing my leg high, then from his warm moist breath as he slurped and sucked at my boxer's muscle, the fold of my pit and neckline, leaving dark red hickeys as he went. I was their little straight fucktoy, and they wanted me to know it. Dean reached down, giving my aching banana another couple of tosses, just enough to keep the sap drooling. The two fingers that had been poking at my cherry now pushed in firmly, and spread out til my pucker was wide as a sheeps gut ready for sausage stuffing. I could feel the prodder fumbling around with his prong, lining up the engorged head in a rush, quick to pierce my sphincter before I disappeared. I guess, when you're a weedy 18 year old fag, fresh out of the closet, to chance to drill a blonde tank stud like me doesn't come every day, and despite my groans, he wasn't gonna lube up or slow down for no-one. "That's it Brad, fuck him hard" Dean ordered, leaning over the table and clapping his young protege on the back. Yeah, this was no loving bedroom scene, I was spread wide holding my legs back on their dining table, with a bunch of guys watching and panting, as Dean and his partner held me down, and young Brad fucked with brutal careless bone-slamming thrusts that only a teenager can do.
I was his birthday present, a week late apparently, but Dean had drummed up the quick party as soon as he'd gotten hold of my gym bag, and they were gonna make the most of it. There were 18 other guys, each with a 'present' for Brad that involved me, and each of whom weren't going to leave without a piece of my arse or mouth for themselves - once Brad had finished, naturally. Dean explained this all to me in the hall after the guys dumped me there, as he stripped me of my last vestiges of dignity, unwrapped the dick plug from my piss and cum control engorged fat, and led me naked to the waiting party.
Being fucked was awful, but it wasn't the worst to come, I knew. They seem to have lined up the presents in advance. The first was a fairly bland leather harness, Brad's size, so it chafed and cut into me, cross straps digging in under my pecflesh and shoulder bands pulling at my neck, but somehow they stretched down the cockstrap enough to force my bloated tool through the steel dickring, making sure it quickly became uncomfortably hard in its kinky holster. The permanent marker, inking up my hard gynmasts body with unspeakable filth on every free and highly visible zone was a slower and more humiliating gift, especially as they taunted me with the knowledge it'd take weeks to scrub off the demeaning insults. The DOG scrawled across my forehead was the worst. But then, the metal nipple clamps were worse, much worse, not shame, but real blinding pain, and they still tore at my nubs terribly. The bit-gag wasn't much better, and I'd almost choked on my screams into it when they smeared icy-hot over my 'JUNK' inked stalk and ballbag, coating the pink prickbush with the burning cream. Someone had started slapping my nads rhythmically like a bat and ball around this point, as the others stretched me back over the table, and soon I was moaning for them to stop, but the gag mufled everything. Eventually, when I was in place, and my nutsack throbbing intensely, Dean looked over and stopped the assailant - apparently not one of the presents, just a sick and twisted little diversion while they prepped me for being fucked. And now, number 6, Brad got to dry fuck my precious pucker as hard and fast as he liked.
"Oh man, oh man" he started crying out, little spurts of precum making him slip and squelch in my fuckhole even more. He wasn't well endowed, but he made up for a lack of size by sheer brutality, and I started screaming into the gag as he built up to cum. "Oh fuck, oh boy, aah, aah, fuck, I'm gonna, I'm fucking gonna blow, here it comes dumbfuck, oh, fuck, I'm cumming!" The little turd didn't need to scream it out, I could feel him flooding my guts as he did so. Slowly, he eased up on the pounding, and stopped, slowly withdrawing after a moment, pulling his fat helmet out of my throbbing arse with an audible pop. My sphincter was burning, and I yearned to lower my legs and cover up my exposed freshly raped bunghole. But Dean and his boyfriend held my thighs firm, guiding my fingers to grip tighter. "Now we know you're a bottom, but everyone's got to fuck some arse once in their life, and it might as well be this stud, eh" Dean quipped, to my growing horror. "But our other present we think you'll get hours more fun from, and just to show you what it can do, we thought we'd give you a little demonstration!" I heard a gurney wheel over, and scrunched my head on my chest, to see a massive dildo heading my way, mounted on some kind of metal piston. It looked like one of those tackle dummies in football practice, with the padding removed, and a mean rubber fake dong welded onto the crossbar. "Oh boy, please don't do this" I mumbled into the gag, but they got none of it, lining the oversized plastic porker against my already aching hole. "Yeah we know you're a seasoned dicksman, so we got you something extra sized..." Dean added, as the blunt head forced its way into my dilated hole. If I hadn't just been hole-punched by Joel and then dicked by Brad, I doubt I'd have taken it, it must've been close to Joey's mammoth size. I watched wide eyed as they dribbled the barest trickle of oil on the shaft, none on the head that was already wedging me open, and then ratcheted the fuck machine closer. It was barely in, and it felt like it was ripping my hole apart. "Now, this knob here controls the speed, while this lever sets the depth. How about we start slow, and let it gear up to, uh, maybe 9 inches, yeah? It'll take a while - this setting fucks at about 10 strokes a minute, so once it's on we can go get some dinner, and rest up. Don't wanna peak too early eh. I was freaking out - the massive plastic cockhead was buzzing in my cornhole, and it hadn't even begun to fuck. While he'd been talking, Dean passed a strap across the dining table, and his partner cinched me in across the pecs, so I was held down. They swung around two vertical arms on either side of the fuck machine, to reveal heavy boots gaffer taped to metal plates. "We've fixed these to the footplates, so we can lace him in tight." Unable to resist, they guided my feet into the tight boots, lacing them up tight so my feet were trapped. My legs were still spread wide, now in a horizontal crouch, and there was nothing I could do to retract them. "Now I'm reliably told that the feeling of the buzzing fuck machine against your g-spot will make you stiff as a rod, and when in full swing, you can cum without touching your cock in minutes. Of course, on this setting, you'll probably just hover a little below shooting, that writhing gnawing tempo that makes you twitch and itch but completely unable to cum. He flipped the switch and the machine began slowly forcing its way up my chute. Still tender from Brad's punchfuck, I could feel every cunthair of its progress, and began uncontrollably moaning into the gag. The others chuckled, and began filtering out of the room. When they were gone, he reached down between my spread legs, pinching my retracting foreskin and smiling as my tingling fucker bobbed and weaved in frustration. "Enjoy there, studfuck, we'll see you in about an hour. By the end of tonight, no-one will ever mistake you for a breeder again. Oh, and that lube, it's chilli oil..." I tried to yell into the gag, but it was futile.
They returned much, much later. I was hoarse from screaming, and my fuckhole felt like it would never close again. The relentless pounding never got any easier - the hefty size and chilli oil left me in constant agony, and my prick was so overstimulated it looked like it would break its skin from swelling, bright red and blotchy, half curved towards my abs in an exaggerated banana shape, too hard for too long without relief. The pricklips gaped and bubbled with precum, coating my six pack in a lake of sauce, a slow drip of desire I couldn't turn off. Dean turned the knob down, and the machine stopped plunging, but stayed wedged in my arse, humming against the stretched cavity. "Now" he said "if you cum, I'm gonna crank that dial up to the max, and set it to fuck you the full 12 inches, understand?" As he said this, he reached in between my legs and began slowly, ever so slowly wrapping his fingers around my pumped engorged stalk, gently tugging down at the foreskin further and further, until my prickskin was taut from cockhead to root, and my fat salami stood up straight from my hips. My cocklips flared and began pumping slugs of sap that could've been mistaken for cum if they weren't still translucent and sloppy. My chest heaved in agony, and I moaned silently into the gag, using every fibre of my body to resist the urge to spurt. My toes curled and my back arched away from the table, until I was stiff as a board, bucking against his hand in desperate fuckneed. At the last moment, just as I felt like I couldn't hold back the floodwaters, he let go, making my dick jerked up and slap my stomach so hard it made an audible thwack. I yelped, the colour rushing back into my prickroot, and slumped, my cocktubes still fiery with barely contained juice.
"Okay, test is over for now, unless you shoot, and then we'll strap you back down quick smart. Now for the next present. For this, were gonna have to untie you, and take that ridiculously small harness off." They unstrapped me, pulled me off the fuck machine, and let me sit up, finally letting my legs dangle over the edge of the table, well fucked hole hidden, and stiff aching dick in full view. They even took the gag out, but now I was hoarse anyway. "Now I hope you're not too proud of that manly chest hair of yours, cause this next present is a makeover. See pinning down and fucking a straight punk is fun and all, but Brad really wants to step it up a notch. He's always dreamed of turning a prime stud like you into a slutty sister, know what I mean? A real whorish tramp drag queen lookalike, except there's no mistaking the dick. My tongue felt like sandpaper, but I managed to croak "uh pleease, I'm not into that, I don't like cross dressing..." but I got a sharp slap across the face for that. "Of course you don't. We don't really either, but we figured it would be extra fun to parade your arse out on rent boy row in a little tartan dress, just for kicks. So come over here into the chair, and Steve here will get the shaver.
An hour later, and I was ready for the outing. I was completely smooth - everywhere - my head, my pits, my crotch - not a fleck of hair remained. After the shave they'd oiled me up in Nair just to make sure, removing every iota of my ruggedness, even the stubble off my cheeks. They'd given me a hot pink bob wig to replace my mohawk, and obscenely red lipstick, but otherwise left my face normal, and obviously male. Brad had strapped me into a kind of corset that pushed my chest up, and then a halter top which barely covered my chest, so it looked like I was flashing tits. My engorged swollen nipples from the titclamps slipped out from under the shoulder strap with every movement. As promised, they'd given me a tartan micro skirt, so short it didn't reach the bottom of my arse, and knee high fuck me boots. I begged them to let me cover up my prick - the dripping head hung lower than the hem - and eventually they found some panties for me - crotchless panties, that did nothing to support my dong. And last of all, Dean produced an impossibly fat buttplug, forcing me to bend over and grab my ankles, so he could ram the pussyfiller into me, keeping my stretched sphincter wide. When I stood up, I bucked from the feeling, and could barely take a step without it grinding my chute. That is, if I could've taken a normal step anyway, in those boots, my dick swinging and titflesh hanging out. "Please please don't make me go out like this" I begged, but they were insistent, dragging me out to the SUV and pushing me in the back. Four guys came with - Dean and his partner, Brad and Steve, while the others stayed back in the house. I was sat in the middle between Brad and Steve, who made my widen my legs as Dean drove off, so my package was completely exposed. My cock had drooped to half-hard while they'd worked me over, and now Steve casually pumped my prick in slow strokes as they went. I was mortified. Finally they slowed, and we were in the trashiest part of town. Seeing movement, Dean stopped the car with a jerk, and Steve suddenly withdrew my hand. With a grunt of glee, Brad swung the door open, yanking me across him, so I stumbled out and on to the pavement. As I fell, they screeched off. Suddenly I was standing there, looking like a shemale slut, in front of three angry looking doped out callboys. 'Oh man' I thought, 'I'm in for a beating, or a pack rape, or both!' I heard the car jerk to a stop up the road - too far to run, but easy watching distance. 'Oh fuck' I thought again, as the boys started approaching me, "this was the next present, they wanna see me fucking gang raped!"
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