Cody 4 - Moneybags

by Emile

Copyright 2007.  This is a work of fantasy and the writer does not suggest or condone any particular activities.  You should obey the laws of your juristiction, ie consensual sex between adults.

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Cody was a fucked out wreck coming back from the motel, slouched in the seat, legs akimbo, cock flopped to one side, cum leaking out of his inflamed hole.  It was hard to believe that the fuckbag musclestud with dull eyes next to me had only two weeks earlier been a cocky jock without a care in the world.  Same taut muscles that would stretch an A&F tee and fill out jeans like a poster boy.  Same sexy lips and chiselled jaw.  Same musky aroma (although increasingly masked by the heady scent of dickcheese, arseslime and stale sweat) but unlike before, barely the glimmer of a fight.

Now I'm not one just for turning jocks into free fuckholes for guys to offload into, (although that's all good and well), and I felt I'd broken him too easily, like a christmas toy wrecked before new years.  What I think he needed was a bit of time alone, with just the threat of exposure dangling above him, everpresent yet remote, to build up his sexy fear and resistance.  Enough guys on campus had seen him that with all the goings on in the frathouse, I barely needed to intervene.  So as we pulled in close to campus, I handed him a webcam, and told him I was going away for a while, and that all he needed to to was report in nightly to a site I'd set up for him, to check his progress.  The site was a blog, already uploaded with pictures of the sleeping stud from that first night, to which the fuckfest photos would be added.  He had two video entries to give a night - one "Cock Shots", with status updates on his hooting dicksleeve (narrated, of course), the other "Fear and Loathing" of his treatment by others.  For that entry, he had to sit naked at his desk, ankles astride the monitor, and jerk his knob until he finished - a minimum 15 minute monologue.  Before or after the Cock Shots update, can't be too demanding.  Posting naked personal accounts on the big wide web should keep him nervous, and it was a good way of gauging when to come back (if his uncut dong didn't develop complications sooner). As well as face shots, full frontals, dick pics and soon the arse fuck session, the site contained his full name, college and frathouse, and a guestbook for visitors.  All public, of course.  I wondered how long it would be before someone stumbled across the blog when googling their campus, or frat.

I should mention that Cody came up excellent on camera - really photogenic, his thighs almost pop out of the screen as he hugs the monitor with his calves, dork arching up towards the camera, bloated and throbbing with need.  After he returned, his unsatisfied dick plumped up to its previous, and now near permanent, half hard state, making wearing clothes itchy and uncomfortable, as his fat sausage rubbed constantly against his leg (his words).  The juicy foreskin was pulled back a little from the dull erection, and the rim now hugs his glans just a little behind his wide piss slit, like a split peach.  That makes the dribble of precum that almost constantly leaks from the stalk problematic, some encrusting around the edge, but the bulk still slaking off the head, staining shorts, keyboards and bedsheets alike.  Apparently he's taken to pushing his stalk near vertical down one leg, so the tip is grazed by the hem, so when his cock drools, the rivulet of sap snakes down his leg and doesn't stain the pouch. Not sure how he gets rid of it (he glossed over that in the blog), I might have to give instructions on how often he can lick it up or leave it drooling. As it is, he says he sits alone in most of his classes, his classmates giving him a 2 desk berth on all sides, and he's not sure if its the smell of dickdrool wafting up from his crotch, or sweat soaked into the translucent tee, or just the sight of him slouching there, fat skin cigar poking out one leg of his tight shorts, beefy thighs and guns stretching the clothes to ripping point. Personally I think it's all three, and the vacant stare on his face that makes him look like a fuck flick fluffer.  And thanks to Horace, I've now met a few.

See, to keep myself occupied while Cody struggled through college, I gave Horace's agent a call.  They were back at the studio's ranch, already filming his debut with a stallion, when I rang. I told him I'd enjoyed working over the young stud, and would be happy to take a more permanent position. The agent thought for a moment. He said he'd really liked what I'd done, and they had quite a bit of trouble with Horace's oral work.  He took pretty much anything up the arse now, but still had these sentimental qualms about oral sex, even kissing, he felt it was 'personal'. He'd really been freaked out when I'd tongued his tonsils in the surgery.  The problem was, after all their cuts, there was only 16% of his income left, which went to him, money he needed for drugs and to send back to his poor family back west.  "Not a problem" I said "I'll make him a willing puppy, you can pay me his 16%, which'll give him a great incentive to co-operate." The agent chuckled, and agreed.

The next day I drove to the ranch, arriving in the late afternoon.  The sun was dropping, and they called the final cut for the day.  I came in to see two wranglers holding a chestnut stallion, as another pair of guys dragged Horace off its rigid stalk.  He'd been on all fours for hours, arse in the air, and yet still managed a gut wrenching howl as they pulled him off the enormous horse prick.  I went over and joined the agent. "Ah just in time" he said.  "Horse, you remember this gentleman?  He'll be helping you get rid of your squeamishness."  Horace looked up at me, his eyes wide in fear and recognition.  He was so exhausted he could barely talk, and kneeled there, battered in horse cum, mouthing a silent protest.  The agent continued "and since the poor man has to make a living, you'll be paying him from your cut - all of your cut - until you improve, alright?"  He let out a quiet plea, something about his mama and two brothers, but with cum bubbling out of his lips, it was hard to take him seriously.  His agent just clapped a hand on my back and let me away from the pleading star, loudly welcoming me aboard.

He took me to one side to sign the paperwork while one of the strapping lads that had unempaled Horace slung his beefy arm over one shoulder and guided Horace limpingly back to his trailer, still filthy and completely exposed, his protest turned to hoarse pleas.  Horace seemed to be trying to cup his fat bouncing balls with one hand, and cover his thick tool with the other, but he was hustled along at a pace that left nothing to the imagination, particularly as he let go to wipe some cum drool from his cheek.  Glancing up at my gaze, the agent told me "One of the boys always has to help him home".  At his trailer was a security guard, a beefy guy I first thought was there to protect him, or something, but as they arrived at the beat up mobile I realised it was otherwise.  The guard gestured for him to put his hands on the trailer, kicking his legs wide in a search position.  He stood there, chatting to the rancher for a while, so Horace was fully exposed, his beefy arms and legs spread, wide shoulders and rippling back, arse up and tackle hanging low and heavy.  His bubble butt was spread by the stance, and his thick thighs quivered keeping the stance after just having been fucked hard by stallion dick.  Even from here I could see his exertion keeping his rosebud tight in that position - all the more embarrassing then when the abused hole winked, burping sloppy horse cum, the goop coursing down his inner thigh. A few guys took pictures with their cellphones, or just stared, laughing, until the guard finally felt ready, and began a slow, and somewhat pointless (since he was naked) pat down, caressing his body down to his arse.  Every time he touched a sensitive part, Horace flinched, but he bucked violently when the search turned into a cavity search, the guy fingering his well fucked arse, scooping out horse cum and holding it to Horaces nose, like evidence.  Whatever the search was, drugs or weapons, he eventually passed, and he and the rancher climbed into the trailer and out of view.

I signed the papers and the agent gave me a tour of the ranch, explaining how things work.  There were four tiers - the top tier was the directors, producers, cameramen, agents and consultants, like myself.  They all tended to be hard gay men, willing to do anything to produce and market a successful fuck flick.  Part of their strategy for fresh blood was to recruit young bloods, 18 to 20, from their 'catchment teams' in latin america and eastern europe.  They found these young hot studs, with lean bodies and handsome faces, and offered to take them out of poverty and to the west, in return for a few years indentured service at the studios.  The studios paid well, and many a young 20 to 22 year old had walked out their gates and in to their dream lives of fast cars and consumerism.  The pool of 'skilled migrants' was divided into two tiers - the second tier was the straight boys, including those who couldn't dick or be dicked for cash.  They had the menial jobs, and it must've seemed to them that they were on the lowest rung - particularly as we on the upper eschalon took pleasure giving them the most uncomfortable jobs - oiling up the stars, mopping up the studio floors, cavity searching for drugs and alcohol (both strictly controlled on site).  But they were the second tier, and they basically controlled the tiers below them.  We didn't care how rough or careless they were when they scraped down a sloppy superstud, so long as he looked hot on camera.  The rule was that anything went, so long as it left no visible scars.  The third tier, who bore the brunt of their anger, were their gay and pay-for-gay comrades, who formed the background cast of fuckboys and eye candy for the movies.  These mega dicked studs were underpaid and few made it the full two years becoming a fucked out wreck, either physically or from the constant abuse of the first and second tiers.

But the lowest rung, the trash whores to all others, were the stars themselves.  Drawn from the west, they were boys in money trouble, from drugs and gambling mostly, but sometimes the rarer addiction like Horace's, which wound them into trouble.  An obliging network of friends would refer them, as an alternative to being dumped at the bottom of a harbour -  and they too could work off their troubles for the studio.  On camera they were the focus of attention. Off camera they were the focus of abuse.  They were fucked and fucked up by everyone, from the janitor to the supporting cast, their trailers the revolving doors of the lot.  I smiled, on top of the world, relishing how my luck had turned.  We ending back near the trailers. He offered me my own, but I declined, telling him I'd share with Horace, so I could do some private work.  He warned me against it, since his trailer was the "big party place" but I was adamant.

I wandered over to the star trailer. As I got close, I could hear grunting, and the trailer rocked slightly.  I went up, prising the door open, to find Horace sprawled on the plastic table, arms limp, legs slung over the set-hand's shoulders, as the young tyke brutally fucked his arse.   Horace saw me, and tried futiley to prop himself on his arms, his titan tits heaving with fear.  From the waist up he could have been a wrestling champion, veins popping from his sculpted arms, chest slabs the size of hubcaps, but from the waist down it was all porn star - his shaved tackle throbbing, unreleased dick drooling, as he was skewered on the ranch man's pole.  I told the guy to stop, and for the first time, he noticed my presence, jerking back with such force he almost fell out the door.  His surprise soon turned to anger, at having spoiled the fuck.  I looked down.  His hefty cock (weren't the all?) was covered with a condom, slick with horse cum, and the tip was rapidly filling with oozing precum, since the guy had been close.  I guess he figured the sheath was enough to protect his own dignity, although he was none to clean himself.  "Take that off" I barked, "you can unload on his tongue."

Horace's eyes snapped open, and he begged me to let him go, but I marched right up to the splayed musclestud, grabbing his tackle like a vice.  It was a move I'd practiced on him before - my middle fingers thrusting in his hole as my hand closed around his nuts, so as I closed my fist he'd get shooting pain in both his cunt and nads at the same time.  I took a firm grip and thrust forward, sending him skitting across the table until his shoulders reached the edge and his head hung over.  "Okay stud, ready to offload?" The brute stayed iron hard watching me manhandle Horace, and effortlessly flipped off the condom, walked around, and pistoned his tool into Horace's perfectly positioned throat.  Horace choked and gagged, even after the guy slapped him, but no matter how bad the blowjob, he was so close to the edge that after a few seconds he came with a roar, filling Horace's gullet with scum.  I'd released my grip on Horace and had wrapped my sticky fingers around his throbbing dick, wanking him off in time.  By the time the dude pumped his last slug down Horace's throat, his own cock was hard and drooling prefuck onto his cut abs.  "Now get the fuck out" I barked, and the guy couldn't have pulled his pants up fast enough.  In moments the door banged closed, and we were alone.  As I kept jerking, I asked him softly - "Horse, can you taste the cum".  Quietly, a defiant yes, his voice still rich with bubbles of cum.  Horace's dick was enormous, and bloated with fucklust, not having cum since his session with Cody.  "Good boy" I purred, still jerking his fat tool. "You'll get used to that taste.  Now why don't you run your hands over your sexy body, tweak your nipples, massage your bald crotch, like for the cameras.  Yeah make yourself really hot.  Now lick off the dudes cum from your lips,  really savour it.  No, don't gag, keep petting yourself - look you're aching hard now, your cock is almost popping out of my hand.  Okay, now I'm just going to slip an elastic band over your dork like this - no moaning - and another one just below the head like this - excellent - see how your fat tool stays rigid and engorged.  Now if you do just as I say, in an hour or so I'll let you take them off.  If I don't, well, those bands can sure cut into ya!  Okay Horse, now scoot up on all fours, so I can give you a nice sloppy kiss - although you'll have to swallow all that protein first.  Yeah, get on all fours on the table, like a good little piggie.  When we're done, you can lick that condom shiny clean, inside and out.  No buts.  And then we'll see how you can make space for your newest roommate.

Cody 5 - Star Shots

by Emile

Copyright 2007.  This is a work of fantasy and the writer does not suggest or condone any particular activities.  You should obey the laws of your juristiction, ie consensual sex between adults.

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Two weeks after I moved in to Horaces cabin, I took a break to drive back to Cody's campus.  I'd booked his first modelling shoot on my agency.  Before I left I had to take care of some things.  First, I grabbed a poster from Horace's latest movie.  It featured a close up of the hunky stud, from armpits to mid-thigh, every tanned muscle in high definition.  He was porn star perfection, flawless honey skin wrapped taut over his oversized rippling torso, the now smooth skin contrasting with his dark aureoles, hanging from the square base of his pecs, like little caps, just a little stretched from our ministrations.  He filled the whole poster with his brawny body, except the glistening brown shaft visible between his legs, sliding slickly up his bubble butt.  His arselips were just visible gripped around the thick horsecock - actually a plastic prop since the real horse could hardly keep still long enough - but the same cuntsplitting thickness and length of the real thing, and lathered with real horsecum for authenticity.  Across the centre of the poster, held in Horace's strong hands (just the hint of bicep flexing either side of each pec), was the word "HORSEHUNG" stencilled out of sheet metal.  But my favourite part was Horace's silicon swollen nads, resting full and tight on one thigh, a tight rubber band clearly visible high on the hairless sac, cutting into the skin, while his half hard choad flopped down from his smooth crotch over them, just a drop of precum dangling from the dicklips, above the poster edge.  We'd milked him to the brink of orgasm before taking it, and then smacked his plump balls hard until the engorged log bobbed down, giving it that sexy needy arch towards the camera.  His bloated tackle was like a magnet, drawing your eyes to it, a sure winner when it hung above him at all the public (and private) signing sessions we'd booked for him in the nation's adult stores.  But this poster was destined for a different poll position, right over Cody's frathouse bed.  I even had it autographed - "Great Fuck!    Horse" across the other thigh, while I pumped his raw arse full of my spunk.

I even took time out to say goodbye to Horace - in public - a nice long tonguefuck as I roamed his hunky naked body with my hands, making sure his cock was hard and drippy, throbbing helplessly against my palm, before leaving him cold and horny.  It was just before shooting started, so all the guys stood there, ogling and cheering.  If Horace had been relieved when I first told him I was taking a break, by now he dreaded it. Not only had I instructed Pedro and Luis to keep up the nightly suck-and-fuck lessons, but I'd forbidden Horace from cumming until he sucked off 10 cocks in one day - something he was a long way off.  His fat dong and swollen balls jutted out from his tight, smooth waist like a lever every day on the set, and his 'condition' made the musclehunk the butt of laughs and jeers from all the crew.  Still he'd begged me not to make his cocksucking public, as he knew once he was branded a cocksucker, his porn career would only sink to new lows.

So I left Horace with instructions on how to get dicked while I was away, in thick marker pen up his forearms, the list coiling around his wrist until his brawny arms were covered in explicit commands.  He was pretty cut up about it, crying and begging me to stop, since he spent his life in singlets or shirtless.  As I gave him my farewell tonguefuck, all the crew could see the start his perverted list, curling from under the sleeves.  When he stripped, it would get worse - it was hard keeping the lines in proportion on his beefy biceps and shoulders, and some words, like "clean knob"  bulged out at the viewer in massive letters.  For the backchat, he got another message, down his throbbing shaft, as the crew would soon discover, "keep me aching / stop me cumming" - one line down each side.

The snaking black letters were permanent marker, and although one of the commands was not to wash it off, I relished the moment he secretly tried, and discovered the lettering would not fade for weeks.  Against his bare shaved skin and taut rippling muscles, the effect was electric, he looked like a hard core prison slut under his master's thumb.  Perfect for "Cellblock Cocks II - The Impaled".  If all went well, perhaps we tattoo it on.  I set up a webcam in the trailer to monitor him, gave the squirming buck a final french kiss while squeezing his perpetually collagen swollen tackle, and left for town.

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Cody's gig was a fashion shoot for a boys magazine.  Swimwear was the excuse for the flesh piece, and there'd be plenty of near naked shots in there.  After spending so long around fucked out beefcake, I was looking forward to the more exquisite pleasure of taking the lean college jock down another peg.  The surprise humiliation would be that Cody would be the cover boy - staring out at everyone from the magazine racks - wearing only a pair of soaked white boxer cut swimwear, the translucent fabric revealing his pierced horsecock to the world.  He'd have fame to match his cocky blonde attitude (well, the attitude he once had) - the publishers had his name, campus and blog site - although maybe not the fame he'd aimed for. This, of course, he'd find out later - since he'd begged me to keep any photos 'private'.

I picked him up late, enjoying the scene as he hopped from one bare foot to the other, the loose running pants and thin muscle tee doing little to stave off the cold. I handed him two pills as he climbed in the car.  He told me he didn't do drugs, but I backhanded him, still in the parking lot so his fratmates could see.  Meekly he swallowed them, and I gunned the engine, patting him on the thigh.  He squirmed around, resisting the touch, so I reached further over to give his cock a friendly squeeze.  It was hard already and I could feel the loose skin, now freed from its tether, sliding down the shaft, enveloping the mushroom head.  He drew his breath in with a hiss when I squeezed, both from embarassment  and pain, as the hard cock throbbed against my hand.  I smiled, knowing how much more awkward it would be when the Viagra kicked in, when we got to the shoot.  The other pill was a little relaxant, that'd make him seem a bit punch drunk on the set, but would give him a wide goofy smile for the shots.

I gave him the poster, and as he unrolled the filthy image, I told him he was to hang it over his bed, while starting to finger his cock through the running pants.  He squirmed in horror and discomfort, so I made him put the poster away and shuck his threadbare tee, so I could distract him with a slow aching handjob , turning the heat up to max so he broke out in a sweat. He begged me to stop, but didn't resist, fear still in his eyes.  Every now and then I fingered his barbell piercing sitting high on his fat wet pecflesh.  He winced as I twisted it, the homeboy jock still burning at the helplessness of his predicament.  His throbbing, tethered cock didn't help either.  I traced down his smooth sweat-beaded chest, following the damp cuntlick of hair to his crotch and gave it one last squeeze.  "Eh don't get too excited boy, we're here!"

Now Cody was a seasoned model, having shown off his sexy body since he was a grommet, but somehow I knew it would be different.  None of the solicitous comments and shy fans on this set. Instead of the thousand dollar locations, with their armies of professional assistants, this was a smaller affair - just a few dozen guys crammed into a basement.  To offset intense heat of the lights, the air-con was on full blast, making Cody's nips pouty as he walked in shirtless.  The makeup artist, a fat, flouncy guy in a floral shirt, threw his arm over Cody's shoulder, drawing him towards the bench.  Suddenly, at the top of his voice, he screeched "Ugh, you smell TERRIBLE!  Such filth!"  All eyes swivelled around, boring in to Cody's flesh.  He self conciously hugged his shoulders as the queen carried on.  He pushed him towards a makeshift shower in the corner, demanding he clean himself up.  It was priceless to watch Cody awkwardly shuck his shorts, his half flaccid dork and balls flopping out in front of everyone (to shrieks of "Ewww, the smell..."), and climb in to the tiny cubicle, so small his elbows touched the sides, and he had to lift his hands high to wash his pits.  The water barely drizzled out, and the shower curtain only reached half closed, so all the crew got a great look at the hunky jock as he desperately tried to soap off the sweat and precum.  "CLEAN PROPERLY UNDER THAT HOOD" the queen screeched, "I CAN SMELL DICKCHEESE FROM HERE!" By now most of the crew were sporting bulges, as they stood arms folded, watching Cody struggle to get his arms forward and wash under the hooting skin.  True enough, as he retracted the hood for the first time in weeks, a powerful smell of old dickcheese wafted out.  With any luck, a few more weeks of this and he'd attract a nasty infection, a great excuse to get him cut.  He winced as the industrial soap stung his pecker, the water barely strong enough to wash it away, and he had to all but step out of the cubicle, dick dangling, to soap his bubble butt.  When he turned off the taps at last, we all went back to preparing the set, and he got out, naked and drippy, soap still streaking his lean body, and asked desperately for a towel.  We ignored him, even the makeup artist had managed to disappear, leaving him shivering until he reached back into the shower, wrung out the facecloth, and scraped off most of the water with it.  The cold gave him goosebumps, and his dick was shrivelled, eliciting further screeches from the queen.

Then he was packed into the makeup chair, buck naked, and forced to sit thighs apart with his equipment exposed while he was prepared.  I don't know what was worse for him, having some fat old queen fondle your balls and caress your chest in the guise of preparation, or the running commentary he gave at the top of his voice to the room.  "Oh MY, I'll need extra powder for those fat balls of yours.  Look how shiny they are, there's not a single hair on them.  They're like boy balls, big big balls!"  He had to sit with his hands above his head, thick corded upper arms hanging next to his perfectly framed face, pits exposed and heaving chest out, while the guy primped and primed his flesh.  He was told to tighten his abs and hold them, each one incised clearly, for 10 minutes while the guy did his business, clearly a hard ask for anyone to stay in that position for long, especially given how exposed he was, but worse for Cody since every time a trickle of sweat emerged from his pit, the queen screeched at him, swiping at his offending lats like a bear cub.  Just like a cub, his nails caught the flesh each time, leaving red scratches across his sides which he had to powder out.  His face was a mask of pain and embarassment.  Finally, when every hair on his head was styled and every curve of his musculature highlighted, we got him up, finally handing him the first item for him to wear, a ridiculously small purple thong.  By now the drugs were kicking in, so as well as his swelling cock, arching painfully against the tether, his face sported the start of that sexy goofy grin, and he had trouble co-ordinating his movements.  He tried to say something like "This ain't right", but the words were slurred.  I grabbed to helpers, nice buff boys who were grinning at him, and the three of us 'helped' him into the thong, pulling and grabbing at the basket until his fat schlong was mostly encased by the material, although the waistband was pulled down inches from his waist.  Clearly following the makeup artist's example, they pinched and mauled his cock and balls as they worked, but despite his grunts, in his punch-drunk state his swinging arms could barely fend us off.  Finally, I slipped one finger down his crack, burying the fabric deep, and he was ready.   We got about a dozen shots in that suit, filthy poses.  First he sat sprawled, legs wide and held apart in his big hands, arms flexed while he grinned at the camera.  Then a karate kick towards the camera so his big bulge was exposed. He fell down after that which was a laugh.  Some shots of him fingering himself - playing with a nipple, the other hand slipping just below the waistline - it was all great stuff.

The second suit was a green neck-to-knee lycra wrestling suit, but in mesh so nothing was hidden.  His aching dork was so swollen now it stretched the holes wide over the cockskin, every vein visible, even the line of his glans under the semi-retracted foreskin, the piercing bulging out of the cloth.  When we repeated the shots with that suit, the images were so explicit we thought the magazine might need to be sealed.  I mean what kind of straight jock wearing a mesh wrestling suit would scoot up the leg hole and finger his fat knob, prefuck spraying over his fingers, while sporting a cheesy grin for the camera?  We'd fed him another few pills, so he was pretty pliable now, although also whacked. He kept stumbling around and hurting himself, which was kind of light entertainment in itself.  Finally, we stripped off the suit and got his third and final item - the white translucent swim trunks.  He was already sweating again under the bright lights, but we oiled him up to give him the sexy 'wet look' sheen the shot demanded. We gave him swimming goggles, as his eyes were glazing over, and draped him sexily over a diving board prop, one knee up so his whole crotch was exposed.  It was all we could take, snapping the last few shots before descending on him like a hungry pack.  The helpless stud didn't know what hit him, vainly trying to fight of the dozen or so guys now mauling his slippery body. Two minutes later, and the sexy leer was replaced with a stunned 'O', as his trunks were slipped to mid-thigh, and he was skewered on my stalk - the photographer snapping a few shots (me thankfully hidden behind his brawny torso) for the spread.  Hands clawed at his flesh on either side.  Then even the photographer gave up, surrendering his camera so he could release his own dripping dick and plunge it between those sexy lips.  We all fucked him, passing him around like a rag doll, until his lean model body was covered in scratches and welts, and his arse leaked cum in a steady stream.  His pouty mouth too was glistening and swollen from a couple of loads shot down his gullet.  The photographer, wiping sweat from his brow, snapped a couple of post-fuck shots of the sprawling hunk, and the shoot was over.

When he came to, Cody found himself sitting in the passenger seat of my car in a dark parking lot, wearing the green mesh wrestling suit, now stained with cum and sweat soaked in from his body.  It was late, and the music from distant dorm parties drifted over the grass.  He was still groggy, brawny arms hanging limply by his side, as I pushed his tee, shorts and poster into his lap, giving the aching cock one last squeeze, before leaning over and unlatching the door.  He just managed to utter 'where am I' as the door flew open, and I pushed him out of the car. "You're on campus baby, near the gym.  I know it's a while away from the frathouse, but I thought you'd enjoy the run.  Now go quickly, it's obscene what you're wearing, you don't want to get caught now!"  It was amazing how sexy he still looked, blonde and chiselled, despite the look of confusion and fear on his face.  I watched as he hauled his tight arse up, and began running across campus, his big cock visibly swinging against the thin material.  Now, I thought, try explaining that away!

Cody 6 - The Brick Shithouse

by Emile

Copyright 2008.  This is a work of fantasy and the writer does not suggest or condone any particular activities.  You should obey the laws of your juristiction, ie consensual sex between adults.

----

Well call me careless, but I'd dropped Cody off miles from his frat house.  This end of campus was given over to sports fields and clinker brick dorms for the less favoured students.  As Cody began jogging over the crisp dewy grass, his pork sausage swinging in the loose mesh suit, he had no idea what lay in store for him in this neck of the woods.  He found out soon enough.  As he reached the far end of the second oval, beaded sweat glistening on his body, the urge to piss which had been welling in his thickening stalk became irresistible.  Cutting off track, he made for the squat amenities block, flickering fluoros beckoning. He dashed in blithely, running in to the back of a tall black dude standing in his path.  It took him a second to realise the guy had his sweats around his ankles and was beating his dick in leisurely stokes, making the ebony knob pulse visibly every time he caressed his long fingers over the slick head.  Another second, frozen, to hear the groan of the guy being brutally fucked on the concrete floor, and for his eyes to acclimatise to the dim interior, and make out the shape of white arse being skewered by black dick in slow, deliberate thrusts.  Whether or not the white guy had come looking for action, he was up for more than he bargained for now, and danger flashed in Cody's mind.

They were faster. In the time it took for Cody to stumble back and turn around, the standing guy reached toward him, easily wrapping his arm around Cody's neck and jerking him back again.  His other arm never left off stroking his pulsing boner.  He flexed his bicep, the solid peak of muscle choking off Cody's windpipe before he could shout out, making him drop the poster.  He held him there, barely able to breathe, and pulled him close, so Cody's back was hard up against his chest, and Cody's legs straddled his thigh.  This way, he could still give his slick cock, now against Cody's waist, a few stokes, while running his free hand over Cody's exposed body in between.   Ordinarily, Cody might have been a match for him, or at least the two built guys would have tousled first, but choked of air, Cody was helpless.  It only took him a few moments to get the measure of Cody's physique in the dark, leaving a trail of dickslime from Cody's pecs to his crotch, enough time for him to decide what he wanted to do.  With his partner still slamming in to the guy on the ground, he pushed Cody against the wall, grinding his head against the tiles so he was pinned between the wall and the black guy's rippled body.

Releasing Cody's neck, he peeled of Cody's shoulder straps as he gulped for breath, stripping the wrestling suit off him in one clean motion.  Cody put his arms out to the wall, trying to brace against the weight that was bearing down on him, but even with his shoulders straining, he could barely lift his chest off the cold tiles.  The guy was incredibly strong, and now he was pushing back, he found he was completely defenseless, unable even to stop bracing for fear of slamming into the wall, crushing his lungs against the porcelain. He could feel the guys breathing against his knotted back, slow and deep like a racehorse, like his actions.  Then, he felt the guy's massive hands exploring him again, this time flesh against naked flesh,  probing.  While one hand began kneading his tight arse, the thumb worming closer to his precious hole,  the other explored his muscular front, roving over his chest, across his abs, tracing the thin sliver of hair from his belly down to the flanged base of his pierced and threaded cock.  He concentrated on that small patch of fur, squeezing his own dick until a gob of precum oozed out, and smearing it over Cody's trim bush until the hair was coated with prickslop.  Cody groaned, part fear, part stimulation, adding to the thick air of grunts and squelching.  Any protest was futile, so none came.  To nail home the point, though, the dude squeezed another thick dollop of juice from his bloated glans, tracing the dickdrool around Cody's goatee, ringing his mouth with slop.  The smell was intense and even with his lips squeezed shut, the batter still seeped in, making his muffled groans throaty and wet.

Yet despite the humiliation of being pinned against a wall, stark naked with a stranger mauling your body, and being coated with his thick juice, Cody's own overstimulated dong, long overdue for release, started burping its own clear sap, a pale imitation of the black dude's milky precum but still enough to coat his stalk and balls, and drip off the ballbag piercing.  When the dude found this out he purred in Cody's ear, squeezing his fat balls and rolling them around until Cody bucked with pain. It egged him on, and his kneeding hand now parted his arse, fingers prying at his moist hole.  He had no doubt he'd be raped, like the guy on the ground before him, but the slow, controlled method of his rapist, the silent heat of the toilet block and his own stubbornly hard cock, all made him feel a hundred times worse than I had ever achieved, like he was an active participant in his own humiliation.

The dude was an expert, playing Cody's body like a fiddle.  As he began working three fingers up Cody's arse, he slid two fingers in Cody's mouth, matching the fingerfuck and facefuck perfectly.  Cody's tongue was coated in the dude's cockslick as the guy slid his index finger over the surface, scraping against his tongue piercing.  As he worked up to the second knuckle, he left Cody's mouth, tracing from his drooling lips down to his pouty pierced nipple, and then down to his throbbing dick.  His searching fingers caught every piercing, finally resting on the barbell at the base of his stalk, that tethered the head in its now painful curve.  Just by wiggling his fingers, he sent waves of tortured pleasure through Cody's body, making his dick jerk and his hole squeeze around the fingers.  Finally, after tuning Cody's body to his pleasure, he gave his own meaty cock one last squeeze and shuffled them around so the head pressed against Cody's sphincter.

The groans on the floor intensified, as the unseen fucker approach his climax, when Cody's own captor became his fucker, piercing him with a steady, unrelenting drive forward.  Cody gasped from the shooting pain as the blunt tool drove into his arse.  Only just recovered from the sidesplitting fuck Horace had inflicted, it was now stretched wide as the black dude grabbed his haunches and began slow full body strokes, each a battering thrust from the tip of his cock to the slap of his balls.  The other guys climaxed in unison, and as his rapist gained speed, they flipped around, filling the air with sloppy slurps as the white guy cleaned off the other.  They got up and the black dude stood beside his friend, giving an embarassing audience to Cody's rape.  The other guy seemed to enjoy standing there, and scooped up Cody's wrestling suit, calling over to his partner, who was struggling back into his gear.  "Jo  bitch, you on tha wrestlin' team, you know this cunt?"  A few seconds later and his face came in to view.  To Cody's horror, he recognised the wrestler from the college gym.  While he'd figured the guy was gay before, his dirty secret of getting black cock was nothing in comparison to learning Cody's own.  Cody was a frat boy, apparently straight and popular too, yet here he was dressed in fantasy gear getting royally fucked up the arse.  The guy grinned as his partner passed Cody's wrestling suit to him.  "I couldn't wear this, I'd look like a complete slut" the wrestler commented, leering at Cody for having been that slut.  Still, he took the suit, clearly wanting it for more private use.

At the prospect of being naked, Cody managed to splutter out "Uh, no, I need clothes" - all the more embarassing spoken between thrusts, and the first words of protest he'd attempted.  The kid grinned, and fished around in his gym bag, dropping something on the floor.  "There you go, and you can come round to get your suit back whenever you want!"  Cody didn't see much more, because his fucker was close to climax now, and slammed his head against the tiles, fucking brutally until Cody jerked up on the wall, impaled on his thrusting dork.  Liberally basted by his oozing prefuck, he slammed in balls deep one last time, flooding Cody's chute with thick slugs of cum.  And then, after a few heaving breaths, he pulled out, letting Cody slide to the floor.

As Cody lay there, ploughed and  exposed, he heard the guy pull his pants up and close the zip, ready to go.  His friend ribbed him, telling him to clean off first, and for the first time he heard his rapist's booming voice.  "I's saving it for next time", and his throaty laugh as he squeezed his cheesy cock, coating his pants with slime. Before they left, he leaned down, his breath on Cody's cheek.  "Name's Leroy, boy.  You best be remembering it, cause next time will be you.  I start shift at 6am, I 'xpect you to come too.  Don't think I can't find you ... frat boy ... so you'd best be finding me."  They started walking out, joking to each other, and Cody weakly called out "Where?"  The muscular black dude glanced back, grinning.  "Why here, bitch, I'm the janitor!"

As their voices faded into the night, Cody sat slumped against the wall, Leroy's load oozing out of his well fucked hole.  His own cock was still achingly hard, betraying his complicity in his own rape. As he struggled with his predicament, his gaze fell to the only item of clothing he'd been given.  The small, cropped hot pink t-shirt of the campus queer soc.  How would he hide his stiff pierced dick and leaky arse now?

Cody 7

by Emile

Copyright 2008.  This is a work of fantasy and the writer does not suggest or condone any particular activities.  You should obey the laws of your juristiction, ie consensual sex between adults.

---

Cody grabbed the poster and ran across the sports fields, trying desperately to ignore the tug of his fat balls as they swung from thigh to thigh, slapping hard against his sinewed thighs with each pounding step. He knew from the growing ache of his low hanging nutsack that the run would hurt tomorrow, but was desperate to get across campus, unseen and out of the cold, as quickly as possible. The fact that once he'd crossed the fields and was running past the dorms, campus police in their black van were shadowing him only made him run faster, although they were used to frat pranks enough to leave him alone for now.  He didn't know it, but the rent-a-cop made a mental note of his face on seeing the Queersoc tee and hunky naked muscular body, something that would come back to haunt him.

He got back to the frat late, too late in fact, the front door locked.  Scared to wake up his buddies, he crept around, tapping on the window of Jamal's small room at the back.  After a few minutes of hopping from foot to foot in the cold, nursing his aching ballsac, Jamal had put on a robe and let him in, making the young jock sit up on the bed and explain where he'd been.  Of course he wasn't allowed to cover up in Jamal's presence, so the half naked stud sat there, legs apart to give his throbbing balls space, and told Jamal about everything that had happened since he left that morning - the drugs, the seedy photo shoot, my post-shoot fuck, then the encounter with Leroy, the second rape, and his run home. Jamal, who sat on a low stool not 6 inches away from his bobbing dork, listened closely, smiling widely when he mentioned Leroy and the fuck.  He leaned forward and cupped Cody's balls, hefting them to Cody's groans before saying "If you gonna see Leroy again you'd better put a cold pack on these babies, they is starting to swell already!  Leroy likes white bait, and he ain't none to kind to his boys!  If I was you I'd be careful, Leroy can be mighty possessive, some boys he takes a shine to he won't let outta his sight, not even when to take a shit...".  Cody was horrified at the thought of being this black groundskeeper's toy, but half naked, balls cradled in Jamal's hands, he'd already sunk so low.  He begged Jamal for advice, but the janitor just shrugged.  He got him a cold pack and let him sleep for a few hours in his bed, troubled restless dreams.

At 5.30am Jamal came back to his cramped room, peeling back the covers to reveal Cody's semi-flaccid horsecock and ballbag, which despite the cold pack had swollen visibly to almost twice their usual size, deep red and shiny.  His pork roll too was still thick and curving, it'd been so long since he last got off that it never went fully soft, and hung there like an uneaten sausage roll, meat poking out the end, grease dripping. Despite the repeated rapes, shaving and piercings, and the mauling and tugging at his muscular body, he was still taut and handsome, and from his murmuring and stiffening dong, Jamal could see a wet dream was creeping over the oversexed jock's mind.  He gave him a few seconds, watching him get uncomfortably stiff and drippy, before snatching away his brief moment of pleasure, yanking his balls to jerk him awake.  He yelled for a second, before realising where he was, anxiety over waking his fratmates taking over.  Jamal solicitously told him Leroy was starting his shift first, and he'd need to hurry if he was to get there on time. He passed on my message to Cody, since he'd rang me in the night, that anything Leroy wanted he was to give him, or the photos would land on the frat presidents desk.  But we weren't without heart, and Jamal handed him some clothes he'd 'borrowed' from the laundry, both unfortunately still dirty - a pair of sweat pants and an A&F fleece - for his jog back across campus.  Sadly, no shoes or jocks to be found, so he'd have to endure a quick jog - more a run really - with his nutsack unsupported again.  "At least, Leroy likes big ballbags" Jamal commented, wondering just how much more swollen Cody's nuts could really get.

Despite the cold, Cody ran a slow jog, the pain ripping through him with every step, and so was late to the shithouse, rocking up at 6.15.  Jamal was already working, whistling as he mopped yesterday's fuckfest from the tiles, but when Cody jogged in the door, breathing heavily, he turned and leant the mop on the wall, white teeth gleaming against his broadly smiling lips.  He took in Cody's model-good looks, his broad sporty body and the bulge of his tortured package, and the fact he'd come back, and seemed to make a decision.

"You late boy.  I didn't know if you were cumming.  Don't you do that again!  But I forgive you..."  Leroy pulled off his shirt, revealing a hard ebony body without an ounce of fat, the dark skin gleaming with a light sheen of sweat.  Leroy obviously pumped iron big time, this was no ordinary janitor's body. He walked up to Cody, unzipping the fleece and slipping his arms inside, around his waist. Up close, Cody realised that the ripped body, though faintly scarred, was smooth and boyish, that this black dude couldn't be much more than a kid.

He was scared, and tried to protest, but Leroy planted his big lips on Cody's, forcing his tongue deep down Cody's throat, while his hands slipped around Cody's tight arse, pushing the sweats to the ground.  It was hopeless, it didn't matter how young, or misguided or cruel Leroy turned out to be, he'd have to go along with it, or be exposed.  Of course I planned on exposing him eventually, of getting him kicked out of the frat anyway, but he didn't know that.  For now, he was willingly letting himself become some black kid's bitch, and as Leroy's fingers began prying at his pucker, lining  him up for another bruising fuck, he realised what a hard journey that would be.

He was right.  For starters Leroy expected his boys to fuck themselves on his pole.  He guided Cody back to a stall, and sat on the seat, his long cock hardening.  Cody, buck naked, faced him, and he lapped up the sight of Cody's swollen tackle as Cody was forced to straddle him, thighs wide apart and gear hanging, and guide Leroy's tool into his precious chute.  It was a long, slow fuck, Leroy holding Cody's waist and guiding him up and down, deep penetrating strokes that made Cody grunt with each squelching burial.  He sped up at last, when he'd stretched Cody's arse to a comfortable manjuice-greased piston, hammering into him until he finally slammed him down, holding him against his wiry crotch as he shot volley after volley of hot cum into Cody.  Finally, with a sloppy pop, Cody pulled off, long strings of milky cum streaming down his legs.

Cody 8

by Emile

Copyright 2009.  This is a work of fantasy.  You should obey the laws of your juristiction, ie consensual sex between adults.

---

Cody was almost out of his mind in desperation when he rang me.  For starters, since Leroy was now fucking him, my good friend Jamal decided that he was entitled to a piece of the action, too.  So instead of classes, Cody spent his days getting ploughed by Leroy and doing his chores, and his nights at the frat getting reamed out by Jamal's cock.  I mean reamed out - Jamal's restraint came from years of experience punch fucking cunts with his veiny 13 inch bludgeon.  The tower of greasy flesh would split the innards of an unseasoned cunt, and even now, it was only with extreme pain and difficulty that Cody unclenched his arsering enough to let the invader in.  Jamal helped plenty, ramming his porker mercilessly into Cody's stretched pucker like a tennis ball in a muffler, with about the same explosive effect.  It took about an hour for Cody to coax the extra large fucker from its drooling half-hard state to full arse punching rigidity, but then since lunch and dinner were now liquid diets from Leroy and Jamal's cocks, it gave him his fill of protein for the day.

Add to that another hour or so spent crouched on the ground, tits touching the floor, one hand pushing his fat balls up and out between his legs, so Jamal could enjoy the smacking sound his own nuts made as they bashed into Cody's own with each pile driving thrust.  It hurt like a dull ache after a few minutes, despite his tough leathery ballbag, but the sensation kept Jamal on edge, and stopped him shooting his load too early.  Plus he knew the gut-kicking jab was a hundred times worse for the jock kid, whose sensitive ballbag was tenderised by constant rough prodding.  Sometimes he even wrapped Cody's angry red testicles in a nice tight chastity sack, rivets pointing inwards against the tortured flesh.  His nuts were so damaged they were permanently twice their original size, making it unlikely he would ever shoot his seed again, even if he was allowed to jerk off.  Only when he'd shot his load up Cody's chute did he allow him to wrap a short towel around his waist, waddle up to his bedroom (trying vainly to hide his filthy body from his fratmates, holding the cum in the whole time), before he was allowed to expel the load in front of the webcam.  After his nightly show, he finally went to bed around one AM, in time to get up at five ahead of Leroy's shift.

But he was out of his mind for bigger issues than just becoming a boyslut - after all I'd fucked him into submission weeks before.  Worse, in his mind, he'd missed his classes for weeks, and received a letter from the trustees that he was being put on academic probation.  Instead his days in his janitor's hut consisted of getting a hard fucking and doing Leroy's work - mostly cleaning out the shithouses on campus, often buck naked, cum leaking from his arse, while Leroy sat back and puffed on stoogies.  It was like a game for Leroy, he would come up beside him, fondle his pecs, squeeze his swollen nads, finger his sore hole, anything to make him flinch, or spill his mop bucket, whatever - any excuse for a hard punish fucking in full daylight.  Cody was still horrified at the idea of being caught.  Leroy kindly played lookout while he toiled away, sometimes only giving him seconds notice - a grunt hello to some jock kid, or a cough as a professor entered - and Cody would have to scramble for a stall and hide while the guy did his stuff.  More than once he stumbled as he went in, or fumbled a door, and almost got caught.

But today, that had changed.  When he heard the telltale footsteps of a swaggering student , he'd dashed for a stall which turned out not to have a door.  Like a deer in headlights, the tanned naked jock stood there dumbly, half covering his hooded dork as it arched towards the spattered bowl, arse clenched towards the hall, like a kid pissing that had somehow lost their pants.  The footsteps barely broke stride, and when he glanced over his shoulder when they passed, he recognised the jersey of his own frat house.  A cold sweat broke over his body, and he turned and stood there facing the room, hopping from one foot to another, hoping the kid would go around the corner so he could duck into another stall.  The kid didn't - choosing a urinal right opposite Cody's stall.  The toilet block was filled with the sound of the jock's strong hard pissing, and Cody crept forward.  When he got to the hall, he found Leroy had done the same, and instead of letting him past, Leroy grabbed one hand in his dirty washcloth, and slipped it around Cody's thigh, tying each end around one wrist.  Cody was still trying to cup his dangling tackle with his hand, and Leroy just slid his palm over Cody's, enveloping the dork, and guiding him to start slowly jerking it off.  Of course it rose to aching stiffness soon enough, the fat head poking out from under its fleshy hood.  Leroy stepped back out of view as the sound of pissing subsided, and Cody realised his predicament - he looked to all the world like he was brazenly jerking off while staring at the jock's back.  He couldn't even bring his hand off his cock without pulling the other one behind him, which just looked like he was playing with his arse as well. 

He wouldn't have time to figure it out anyway.  The jock turned around, his expression passing from shock to revulsion and anger faster than you could say pervert, and he barrelled up to Cody, still clinging onto his raging hard-on, smacking him down with a king hit.  He bellowed "What the fuck do you think you're doing" at Cod kicking him in his swollen tackle while Cody begged, saying it wasn't his fault, pleading not to be hurt, or found out.  Leroy came in and calmed the boy down, shutting Cody up, calling him a repeat faggot flasher.  Naked and hard dicked, Cody could barely think of a response.  Flashing a white pearly smile, Leroy turned to the frat jock, and  offered to broker a deal to satisfy them both.  The frat jock stood arms crossed, like a justice warrior while Leroy explained his solution.  The kid would give Cody his silence, if Cody agreed to take a beating from him.  The only rule, Cody couldn't protect himself.  Say, if the kid wanted to kick him in the nuts, Cody would have to spread his legs real wide, and afterwards, when he could breathe again, say 'thank you'.

The kid was disgusted, and spat his response at Cody, but the dicklump in his pants gave a jerk when Leroy said the last part, and he eventually shrugged his agreement.  Cody was beside himself, but desperate to avoid worse repurcussions at the frat house.  He meekly agreed.  Leroy helped Cody up, deftly untying one hands as he did, and hauled Cody over to the porcelein bowl, forcing him to sit on the rim, legs spread wide, his tackle hanging down in front, resting against the piss spattered bowl.  As he retied Cody's hands to the flush chain high above, he told Cody to slip his big feet back behind the drainpipe and cross them, effectively thrusting his waist forward towards the jock.  The jock had free access to his body.  The jock slowly rolled up his sleeves and pants, to avoid any spatter, and got ready to give the whupping of his life.  "Yeah man" Leroy heard, as he walked out "I thought you were a sex freak, the way you dress and act - it just ain't safe. I'm gonna make sure you hurt to bad you can't fuck no bitch pregnant even if you wanted to.  With that he backed up, drew his leg up and brought it down on Cody's tackle, pincering it against the porcelain rim.  And half an hour later, in agony, bleeding and swollen, his nuts turning an unhealthy shade of purple, he staggered out, ran from Leroy, and called me.  I came and picked up the broken jock, and took him back to the film studio, which was dark, where he collapsed on the floor, into a deep therapeutic sleep.

The next day, Cody awoke to me slapping him on the face.  He'd been sleeping naked in a ball for 14 hours, and was still filthy, nose broken and his body covered in welts and sores.  His tackle was obscenely swollen now, the jock had done some major damage, he probably should have seen a doctor right away.  But I wasn't into that kind of shit, he'd recover more or less, although those model looks were probably gone now.  Still, we'd decided to shoot him, and it was an open shoot and at least two dozen guys from his earlier shoots had turned up to watch Cody suffer.  I asked him to stand, so we could all see his hunky body and all the guys got a good look at his tackle swinging as he tottered to his feet.  He was dazed and confused, and seeing all the men around, flashes going off in his face, he was even more disoriented.  After the first dozen 'warm up' shots, two guys stepped in to oil him while I pressed two blue pills down his throat.  The agony of having the two brutes roughly slap warm liquid over his bruised body, and kneed and tug at his abused tackle, was almost too much for Cody, who yelled and moaned with every grope.  Soon the pills kicked in, adding the dull ache of his own body stretching skin as his dork rose to full mast.

He stood their awkwardly, helpless to resist, confused what kind of a shoot this could be, pleading with me to take him to the hospital, as they slid their hands all over his body.  They were thorough - caressing his pecs, shoulders and back, sliding down his crack, between his meaty thighs and finally oiling his already dripping cock until it shone brightly.  He moaned and bucked, now also needing to cum, so we took a few centrefold shots before handing him a skimpy thong to slip on.  He protested, lisping because of his split lip, that it was sick, taking pictures of him all bashed up wearing that.  I shook my head.  "Actually, bullnuts, it's all the rage, although the other models mostly use make-up for the boxer effect.  But with you, we get the real thing! 

Of course the shots were filthy, almost pornographic, but we knew plenty of gay magazines that would pay good money for the shots, not to mention the market in the gear itself which sold for top dollar once it had cradled a hunk's cock like his.  The constant stream of dickleak that now slaked from his gaping pisshole was like liquid gold.  Of course this meant he had to wear plenty of different costumes for the shoot.  He struggled with each one, maybe because of the drugs, or the injuries, or the lack of material to encase his hard equipment and swinging balls, or maybe because the assistants kept grabbing his arse - but after 30 minutes we managed to snap some good 'come fuck me' shots, including the cover shot in the translucent boxers, his snaking battered dork poking out below the hem, a droplet of prefuck stretching out towards the ground.  The photographer mouthed off about their circulation as he reviewed the photos, and Cody's face fell - hundreds of thousands of guys would be seeing his face as a trashy slut dick whore. Knowing how humiliated he found his newly stretched foreskin, we selected the final shot, where the hood half gripped the hard dork like a sleeve, just in shot.  Plenty of guys would get fantasies from that.  But for Cody, how private would his life be now?  I went over to him, massaging his corded shoulders as he slumped with the realisation.  "Don't worry, this magazine won't hit the stands for a week yet, and I'd bet there's not more than, what, a dozen guys on campus that would buy it.  How bad can it be?"  I thumbed and rolled his foreskin, adding "but of course, if you want to keep it secret, you might have to offer them something too...".  He flinched.

That could have been a wrap, but the photographer didn't just want shots for the magazine, so we decided to go on to part 2 of the shoot.  It was a little game - we all gathered close around Cody, and I told him to surrender the boxers and sprawl on the ground, hands apart and legs akimbo so we could all see his throbbing tackle arching painfully from his waist, still concealed beneath his loosened foreskin.  Reluctantly he slipped off the scrap of material, spreading his lean body before us on the white sheeted floor.  Against the lips of his un-virgin chute I placed the behemoth (and none to clean) dildo that featured in the Horsehung poster, which I'd brought down from the ranch. Cody's eyes went as wide as saucers.  He began to edge away, begging me to stop, but I smacked him into submission, reminding him he already took Jamal's cock, so what difference would a bit more stretching make. It was a lie of course, this thing was huge, but we were determined to break Cody down completely.

We blindfolded him, ready to start.  The game was simple.  We put things on Cody's tongue, if he guessed 3 right in a row, he won.  Each time he guessed wrong, I fed an inch of fake horse cock up his chute.  If he was too slow, a whack on the nuts would hurry him up.  If nothing else happened, the game ended when the hunky freshman had the full 15" lodged up his fundament, although I suspected anything over 5 inches would be a real struggle for the unprepared, what with the girth and all.

Round One - I spooned the foul jelly-like goop on his tongue- one, two, three teaspoons, until it filled his mouth and trickled down his throat, making him cough and gag.  Since I kept spooning it was hard to hear his answer through the goop, but eventually one of the guys guessed he was saying "cum".  Wrong. "Headcheese" I told him, screwing the blunt dildo past his sphincter, and he bucked and moaned, and had to be held down by four guys.  "Actually, three day old headcheese to be precise. You'll need to be clear, too, cum's not enough - say 'dog cum' or 'donkey cum'."  He coughed and made retching sounds - would've vomited if we hadn't been holding him down, so he was forced to swallow whatever came up.  He looked so cute, tight lean body struggling, like it had that first time in the motel.

Round Two - and I placed the foul condom on his tongue.  He gagged but closed his mouth, forced to savour the taste and make a guess.  "Condom" he said raspily, and I flicked his ball, grunting 'more information'.  "with dickslime... and cuntjuice..." he continued.  I was impressed!  This cuntboy had talent.  Round Three I poured directly down his gullet, not stopping until the whole lunchbag was emptied, although since he had trouble swallowing mouthfuls, much of it overflowed his lips, coating his chin and coursing down his neck.  At first I didn't catch it through the coughing and milky bubbles, but finally the guess - a dejected "dog ... cum". 'Congratulations' I exclaimed 'two down, one to go', as I scooped up the rivulets and fed them back into his mouth.  I wonder when the arrogant jock had tasted dog cum, or if it was a lucky guess.  He was coughing cum and cheese now, his packed stomach churning, so when I poured in Round Four - castor oil - he didn't have much time to tell. He was groaning badly now, cramping and gagging, and sadly, his guess (if you can call a gasping "motherfucker" a guess) was wrong.

We gave him 5 minutes to recover, and he crawled away from us to heave, throwing up a massive puddle of slop.  I had to admire how masculine he still looked, back muscles rippling, bi's and tri's pumped, as he knelt on all fours and heaved.  His sphincter was still tight enough to grip the heavy tool even as he crawled, holding the 14 exposed inches aloft, bobbing before us.  As he knelt there, panting, the pool spread so wide it trickled between his fingers and coated his knees below his hanging package, and he was forced back towards us, leaving strings of filth clinging to his body.  I put my hand out against the butt of the dildo, quickly stopping him backing as the shaft resisted, forcing the head a little further up his chute.  So he was forced to remain there as the cheeseslop trickled over his hands and around his ankles and feet, until he was surrounded by it. We left him there, blindfolded and on all fours, broad back arched and head tilted up, for the rest of the game.

His guesses were worse, perhaps because the lighting guy had taken three clips off his rig and clipped them to his nipples, and hooting foreskin, looping the three together with cord and pulling them tight, until his foreskin was stretched between his abs and nipples pulled down hard below his chest.  So a fistful of pubes, a jug of human cum and even a quart of my piss all chugged down his throat unrewarded.  True, he would have guessed the last one had he not spluttered "augh it burns" beforehand.  I think someone had smeared menthol on the stretched hood.  Also, four inches of ever widening horsecock dildo wouldn't help.  On the upside, the shots of the hunky jock kneeling in cumslop, arching up to swallow crud with his arse stuffed with dildo, were coming up really well.  When he got the next one wrong (sweat, which he failed to identify as human sweat, although I'd have taken ballbag sweat too), his legs gave out before I'd even shoved the dong another half inch, splattering into the ooze.  He screamed as I screwed it to the inch mark, writhing around in the juice as he tried to jerk himself away from the clips and scramble up to alleviate pressure from his mashed tackle.  I gave him a few ballbusting whacks for that, and he eventually calmed down.  Amazingly, despite this, he managed to collect himself, and correctly guessed human snot and horse cum, although he rocked from knee to knee now, his balls bright red and throbbing along with his stretched foreskin, which had been wrenched off its clip when he fell.  The last round was an easy one - as one guy dropped his pants and teabagged him before I could come up with my goods, and after sucking on the sweaty sac a few times, his muffled "guy's balls" was sadly accepted by all.

Annoyed at being pipped, I ground the dildo one last inch into the humpy arse, relishing the suctioning sound as it stretched his hole at least twice the width it had ever previously accomodated.  He collapsed again, screaming, but the game was over and we left him thrashing around helplessly as we all surveyed the photos, jerking off til we came, adding to the puddle around him.  He finally managed to right himself, just in time to cop 3 loads in the face, and grabbed at the dildo, desperately trying to dislodge it before he even took off the blindfold.  I placed by boot on the end, applying just enough counter pressure that the dong wouldn't budge, until he stopped struggling, leaving the intruder wedged inside him, and tore off the blindfold.  The look of fear and hatred in his eyes brought me back to his first moment's realisation, when he'd still been cocky and tough, thinking he could punk me instead.  But for all the anger, he was helpless, and in an act of submission, his thighs untensed, submitting to the pressure I applied to the massive dildo.  I let the gargantuan pole slid in another half inch, to drive the point home, and relented, knowing his last resistance to becoming my sex pig was spent, despite his tough and sporty exterior.

I left him there a while, leaking and dazed, until the others left, and then let him clean up at the basin.  When he was fairly clean and only slightly dick-smelling, I gave him back a thin white tee and tennis shorts, both of which revealed every inch of tanned flesh below, telling him to dress for the trip home.  He pulled on the clothes and silently got into the car.  He closed his eyes as I began driving, and it wasn't until we neared that Cody realised I was driving him back to his campus.  He began to get agitated, climbing up his seat, hands balled into fists. "Please don't make me go back" he begged.  I grabbed a nipple, pulling his arse back down onto the seat.  "Look here musclecunt, you stay at varsity until I say so. I'll deal with your basher, mark my words.  But you can't be too careful now - what I want you to do, when you get back to your room, is to get a webcam, and to give me daily reports on whatever happened, keeping it as sexual as possible.  Any guys that leered at you, any propositions, how your aching dick is doing - everything.  And since your basically fucked in your sports therapy course, I've spoken with the Dean, and he'll let you change your enrollment to major in queer theory instead. Classes are Tuesdays at 9am, I'll make sure Leroy lets you off.  Oh, and when you go to class, wear what you're wearing now.  He looked down - you could see both aureoles of his nipples through the shirt, even the dark marks of the bruises.  The shorts were no better, as well as his crotch stubble above the hem, you could clearly make out each bloated ball and his long snaking cock against the loose fabric.  "But they'll think I'm a fag" he sputtered.  "Well you swing on enough dick" I responded, giving his schlong a squeeze, instantly producing a stain on the front "they'll ask about that, and you better be honest about how much cock you take, or I'll tell them personally.  The look in his eyes - hope of a reprieve, dread of the unknown, was priceless.  I dropped him off at the frathouse door, still wearing his trashy little uniform, and drove away to deal with the little frat punk that had bashed him.

I'll leave the story about that spunky tight arsed jock for another time, but suffice to say he makes a good understudy for Horse, although it took a lot of hard convincing before he accepted the new role.  Anyway, back to Cody. He concealed his pain and was accepted by the boys, keeping his meagre clothes on as much as he could.  Leroy and Jamal went easy on him, at my request, and he began to assume some normalcy about his life.  That's what I wanted - for him to just get comfortable, before I took him down the next notch.  And Cody was trapped even worse now - when he got back to his room, he found I had taken all his posessions while he slept, except the meagre essentials.  Hs computer was also on, camera light blinking in front of him.  At the bottom of the screen in big text was my welcome - "Hey Cody, a friend rigged this up while we were busy - now it's all automatic for you!"  His shoulders slumped a bit, another piece of privacy chipped away. 

Somehow, Cody's life got back to a version of normality.  He showered in the footy shorts, still hiding his filthiest piercings, and used the same explanation for his bruises as he had offered the frat buddies for his tat and piercings - some kind of fight club he was in.  He was sporty and tough, so they bought it, which also helped him explain away some of his odd hours and skimpier clothes. Still guys noticed his shaved body, swollen dork, and so he didn't find anyone in the frat who really cared about him, not enough for him to confess his awful situation, and find some way out of it. He had a tenuous grip on acceptance and respect.

Behind closed (but not soundproof) doors, his solo video postings were going well enough.  Usually he posed for the cameras on all fours, arse up and towards the camera, so his balls hung low and his dick was squashed back facing the lens.  His wide back rippled as he strained to look back towards the cam while keeping his arse tight and balls dangling.  His body had recovered mostly, he even seemed to be enjoying his reputation as a street fighter, he'd told the Queer Theory dudes as well, so that while they suspected a lie, nothing had come of that yet.  He hated the course, but then, that was the idea - I wanted him trapped in a life not his choosing.

I was racking my brain what my next move would be.  But then one night, I and the other voyeurs were treated to something unexpected - as the cam came on, there was Cody bouncing up and down on what looked like a fat dong, the owner invisible except a pair of meaty thighs and his roaming hairy arms as he roved up and down Cody's sexy body.  The unknown impaler was, Cody quickly explained as he bounced, a guy who'd stumbled across the magazine shoot that day, freshly minted, and recognised him.  The sick college fucker had wasted no time in getting his share of the action.  Obviously they'd been going at it a while, Cody's dork was iron hard and straining, and sweat gave their bodies a sexy sheen.  I was more aroused than angry that this musclestud had presumed the right to buttfuck my little stud, it was an intention of the public blog after all.  But I'd expected some slow degradation by the frat, not this quick possessive fucklust.  As Cody explained, the guy had said he'd keep it a secret if he could fuck him on camera, to which Cody reluctantly had to agree.

Why bargain, I thought?  But as I stared at the screen, I noticed the little fucker was still clothed, a grey singlet hugging his armpit just visible beside Cody's lats, and satin shorts half down, waistband still hugging his lower thighs.  The clothes looked kind of familiar - and it hit me in a flash.  This guy was a townie - wearing the training gear of the football club I'd admired about town while I was there.  This was fantastic - not only was the little college studmuffin getting reamed by a townie, but one whose own testosterone filled clubhouse would crucify him for man on man action.  No wonder he'd been hopping to fuck the little manslut in secret.  So I sent Cody an email - his new fuck friend was more than welcome to unload in him any day he wanted, so long as he did it on camera like that and wore a condom (which Cody swore he was).  Of course, I told Cody if he came, it was Cody's job to unpeel the condom and lick it clean, on camera preferably. The guy grunted with lust when he heard Cody reading the instructions, shooting a hefty load into him soon after.  And then we all were treated to a show as Cody slowly popped off the fat cock, exposing the taut abs of the footballer, reached down and unpeeled the stretched sheath, feeding the drippy hot goop into his waiting mouth.

The footballer obviously had ideas of his own, wiping off the remaining juice from his stalk with his hand, and using it as lube to jack off Cody's own throbbing hard-on.  He was in agony, thighs stretched and straining to keep him aloft of the guy's dick, still chomping on the rubber, dicksnot dripping down his throat, while the guy expertly manipulated his foreskin, smearing dickcheese over Cody's own slimy head, driving he jock insane.  It was none to clean, but that didn't seem to stop him, relishing the chance to make Cody buck and leak, desperate not to cum without permission, let alone online.  But the dam was near bursting, and as the dirty townie massaged his dicksleeve with one hand, and tweaked his nips with the other, Cody came with a roar, shooting gallons of cum towards the camera, his cockhead visibly pulsing as each load spurted out of his overloaded stalk.  In the moment, his legs gave out, collapsing down onto the guy's sticky lap, cocksnot dripping from his lips as he panted.  The guy kept kneeding his cock, sending him into overdrive, and making him buck from the manipulation, but stay achingly hard.  With his free hand, he scopped scum off the keyboard, feeding it to Cody, adding it to his own load, and kept scooping it up.  I quickly realised the guy must've told him not to swallow anything, because soon his mouth was overflowing with scum, the condom practically floating on his exposed tongue.  The guy's own dick had hardened and snaked under Cody's, and he jerked them both hard, sending Cody to the edge of another orgasm.  It was hot and perverse, watching cum drip from Cody's lips as he was fed more and more, his own cock drooling with a second load brewing.  He made Cody pinch his own nips while rolling his cockhead, sending him over the edge and cumming another, more watery load.  Cody yelped this time, more pain than pleasure.  I wondered how many frat buddies had heard the fucking, or Cody's cry, and prick their ears towards the unmistakable sound of cock sucking.  How many would then spot the townie when he left?  This new twist of events could turn out to be a lot more than Cody had bargained for...

Cody 9 - Horace's Tale (Horses Tail)

Emile 2009

Usual caveats apply

---

Well while I'd been busy with Cody, I got a call from the studio.  Horace had tried to run away - well kind of crawl away really.  It was late evening and Pedro and Luis had been taking turns in fucking his face and arse, and then forcing his head between his legs so he could tongue out the juice from his own gaping cunthole.  They'd been going at it for 4 hours, since shooting had stopped, and the beefy muscle freak been crying and getting all sniffly as they rammed their choads down his throat and pistoned into the already slick crack.  But they got bored of the usual training, and told him they wanted him to lick his own arse.  He freaked, tried to jump up, but after a day of buttfucking he could barely walk, and only managed to half pull himself of Luis' gigantic veiny dork before Pedro had slapped him back down.

Once they calmed him down a little, they doubled the size freak over on his ragged 3 seater couch, Luis prising his knees far apart and tying them to the armrests, forcing his hole up and wide.  The position was agonising, and Pedro flailed about, taking both brawny men ages to grip his sinewed forearms and tie them to his ankles. From there, the trussed silicon junkie was theirs, and no matter the pain or his screams, they slowly leant on his back, forcing him to almost double over, crushing his fat pecs against his leaky hard knob, still pulsing between his cut abs, and bringing his swollen cocksucker lips closer and closer to the winking (well, pulsing) hole.  Man and horse cum clung to the ring in clogged chunks, trapped to the few remaining arsehairs and fed by a constant stream of junk from deep inside.  It was foul, and being up close to his own boycunt broke through all the fragile mental barriers the straight beefcake had set up between his rising bodybuilding past and his degenerated dysmporphic porn present.  He gagged, but not before they forced his lips to suction down on the busted hole, closing the loop, so as to speak, so he could do nothing but swallow whatever came out, including the spoogy bile he coughed up to it in the first place.  He nearly choked, breathing only his nose half buried in sopping smelly cunthairs gave some respite from being forced to ream himself out,  They kept him there an hour, five in all, and it was close to midnight when they finally allowed the cumdump to prise his lips off, gasp for fresh air and straighten his bowed back.  And, they said, that's how they left him, arms and legs spread wide, violated hole still oozing slightly, his big crushed balls and throbbing dick still rubbing against his chiselled midsection, leaving a trail of needy dickleak stretching up to his titan tits.

Somehow, during the night, he found the strength to snap off an armrest - no mean feat for most, but his tree trunk legs and melon arms were still impressively strong, when he hadn't been exhausted on the set.  Once he was partly free, he wrestled out of the bonds and crawled across the floor, his fat dork and pumped and stretched balls dragging - something that made him easy to find, since his dickleak, smeared out by the heavy sack, made a glistening snail trail to the door.  He'd not been locked in that night, and when he got out of the door, managed to stumble down the stairs, catching his arsecheek on the bottom steel tread, and letting out a yelp as the pain ripped through his tender hole.  It was his undoing, as a ranch hand heard the naked titan call out, and looked up to see his naked form crawling in the grass, one beefy hand clutching at his muscular arse.  The wily ranch hand didn't alert him though, just watched from a distance, slowly shadowing the abused mule as he crawled slowly for freedom.

It was, by his account, a treat to see, the oversized mancow catching his stretched nads underknee several times, causing him to double over in silent wheezing agony, as he desperately tried to keep quiet.    Likewise his dork dragged across the ground, causing him to cradle it regularly from the beating and scratches of dragging prickskin over rocks and sand, but he was still to fucked to be able to stagger more than a couple of paces before dropping back to his knees.  By 1.30am, the star fuck had half crawled, half staggered out of the compound and to the next farm along.  the rancher watched as he staggered up to the porch, cradling his heavy tackle as he banged on the door, begging for help through the screen.  He rancher chuckled to himself and came back to the studio to tell the guys.

See, the ranch hand knew the stud couldn't get far, and the house he'd chosen to run to was no challenge to them.  Old Ray, who lived in the house, may have been a near blind and deaf old guy on the outside, but most knew what a wily and sick fucker he was underneath.  He trained guys for private clients, and liked to be near the ranch so he could borrow a guy or two to help him.  His latest charge was a 25 year old former model, with a 40" chest and 32" waist, whose hot and hairy body had graced a few magazines with only the thinnest fabric keeping his bulging package from the cameras.  Like so many other charges, he was turning the aggressive A list top into a dick-hungry fuck-anywhere bottom, and from the reamed and  swollen arselips that gaped in front of one of the house's many hidden cameras, it looked like he'd taken him a long way already.

So it was that while his charge was locked in a hidden room with as 12 inch rubber dong, a smear of vaseline and an idea of his punishment if he didn't shove it in to the hilt by sunset, that Horace stumbled up the stairs and flopped (literally) into Ray's house.  Ray was a generous man.  After making sure the model was raping himself quietly, he offered charity to our aching cumslut, and promised to hide him, and even found some clothes, even if they were only a smelly old pair of boxers that Horse flopped right out of, and a filthy singlet that scratched his nipples raw.  Of course, Ray had cameras stashed all over the joint, so we got to see Horse sit uncomfortably on the hard stool Ray set down for him, legs akimbo to balance on the low seat, his tackle hanging down from the leg. Ray pretended not to know, but kept accidentally swinging his cane and whacking the swollen dong, or prodding him to make a point, scraping his foreskin flap along his thigh.

Horse never complained, but tried to rest up on the short and heavy iron cot that Ray made him pull down to sleep on.  After making sure the model had enough pissy gruel and viagra for the day, Ray alternated Horse's drinks between an adrenaline that made him jumpy and itchy and really uncomfortable for one of two days, so he could barely sleep and was scared of discovery at any moment, and when he was almost crazy with sleep deprivation, aching pain and fear, slipped him some sedatives and roofies that knocked him cold out on the bunk in his boxers, his arms and legs flopped over the sides like fresh catch.

Of course Ray did the most unspeakably filthy things with him while he was knocked out.  Seeing how Horace was recovering his strength, for instance, and could possibly set off any day, he rolled up the shorts to his waist and pounded his inseam with the butt of his cane hard, just on the pubic bone next to the thigh, so he could barely close the leg, let alone stand on it, without being in brutal pain.  A couple of smacks hit his ballsac, but Ray was much more calculating than that.  He rolled Horse over to expose his slowly healing arsepucker, and dragged him by the ankles until his fat tackle dropped between the fabric and the frame.  From underneath, he pinched together Horaces low hanging sack and generous foreskin, pressing them against a rusty hangnail until the point broke through the skin, piercing his cock and balls together underneath the bed.  Even when he was fully concious, Horace couldn't be sure if the brutalising pain was from accidentally having hooked himself on the old frame or something more sinister, and he couldn't reach around to free himself either. 

Just to be sure of that, Horace's tits were level with a long split in the fabric, which lined up with one of the hard iron crossbars.  He'd already felt it biting into his back on previous nights, but would soon find the real reason for the exposed and rusty bar.  Ray reached under the unconcious hulk, pointing a glue nozzle between the bar and the fat titmounds bulging through the fabric.  Squeezing a healthy dollop of the superglue between them near each nip ensured that even if Horace tried to lift his bodyweight off his crushed nips, they'd be held firm against the chafing steel. Being effectively trapped to the cot, his bulging arms uselessly sprawled out above him, Ray took the chance to brutalise the slowly healing sphincter now winking in front of him. He pressed the dirty rubber cap of his gnarled cane against Horace's slowly recovering hole, rubbing the arseflesh raw until it tiny red cracks around the stretched sphincter snaked down to the wide cane plug.  Horace bucked and moaned in his sleep but was so drugged out he could barely resist the mechanical rape, even when he pushed the cane deep, sinking it inches into his unresisting bowels.  There was something more depraved about how Horace still had the old boxers on, so while his buttcheeks and tackle had come out of the fabric, Ray still needed to push aside the thin strip of material that had until then hidden his manpussy, before brutally ramming the stick in.  He knew the fabric would cover the worst of the damage from Horace's eyes.

When Horace awoke, of course, he was wracked with pain, shooting up his arse, tugging at his tits, not to mention when he tried to roll over and his pincered tackle jerked him back in place.  That was about when he felt the heat and smelt the aroma of another guy, a rank, sweaty pussystuffer, hovering over him.  Ray had woken up his charge, whose slippery hands still clung to the mega dildo, sweat and vaseline smeared over his hairy body, from the position he'd passed out in the secret room.  He had a mission - he would release him - for just one week - if he gave the guy in the other room the hardest, deepest punish fuck he was capable of.  To Horace's horror, only seconds after realising his predicament, the colt bore down on his arse like a meat tenderiser, slamming into him, spearing his sore arse deep and hard, theonly lube their intermingled sweat, making Horace scream with pain.  As he was thrust against the bed, not only did his whole body ache, but his pincered tackle pulled and scraped, nearly tearing an inch long hole in his precious foreskin, dragging the ball sac too. His mantits too yanked and dragged, until finally he ripped free of the crossbar trying to brace himself with his brawny arms against the onslaught, his pouty tits red and searing from losing their top layer of skin.  He bellowed like a trapped lion, or more accurately, a pig on a spit.  And all the while his rapist was himself still buttstuffed to the hilt.  Little did Horace know, in that first arse-rending rape, not only had his career as gay pin up boy come to an abrupt end, but that he had just become the bottom of the trash heap - a slave's slave.  Poor Horse would never be the same again.

Cody 10 - A New Life for Cody

Emile, 2009

Usual caveats apply.

---

Well back at Cody's frat, the poor little musclestud's luck just kept sliding downhill.  For his next webcam report, as the feed went live, we were treated to a priceless image - his hard packed body straining in his tight body hugging wrestling suit, contrasted against the shiny blown up picture of Horace's sticky hard dork on the poster he'd put up behind him.  I didn't know if his new fuckbuddy had made him do it, but it was a great scene, something I'd have to put on his homepage. I could hear faint thumping noises in the background - a frat party underway, and I wondered if he thought he could get away with it while his frat mates were distracted.  To my mind, if a guy strolled in with a girl looking for a spare room for a fuck (which was likely) then there was a good chance they'd fuck him up and rip it down - or worse.  I made a mental note to get him to unlock the door.

As he turned towards the webcam, he noticed something that hadn't been in the room before - a big colourful present with his name on it (dropped there by Leroy). He came over, bewildered, and I told him to shuck the outfit to mid-thigh. It was great seeing him stretch the shoulderstraps wide and peel the suit down his body,revealing his mantits and incised abs, rolling it down over his cock until just the head was trapped in the fabric, big balls bulging out either side.  His cock was still uncomfortably hard, so I made him stay like that an unwrap the present.  I'd run a poll on the website about how to spend his cut from the photo shoot. By popular demand, two items were chosen, and as he tore off the cheesy print, his mouth opened in shock.  The first, still in it's big, graphic box, was an 11 inch chrome dildo, a hard smooth unyielding chutestopper which he began gulping just thinking about.  The box alone would be hard enough to hide, let alone the fake shaft itself, although I think he realised where it would be kept.  The second item, which I explained was his punishment for having cum the last time (even if it was at the hands of his new manfucker), was a matching polished chrome cock sheath - with a wicked curve to keep his tackle down.  The attached cockring I knew would press on his internal tether uncomfortably, but the feeling of cold steel pressing in on his shaft was irresistable.

Of course, the rest of his journal was taken up with getting the hunky straight stud to try on his new rewards, a great treat seeing him try and suppress his grunts and groans from the party outside as he forced the unlubed and cold dildo up his shitchute, and then, having hoisted out his swollen tackle, cramming them in to the clearly undersized chastity device.  Eventually, sweating and sore, he managed both, and we made him do two 'turns' of the bedroom to show them off.  Clearly it was tough for the jock stud, the dildo grinding his innards with every step, the sheath squashing his tackle and banging against his thighs, he really looked in some pain.  I told him he didn't need to stay on for long, after all, he had a party to attend.  He looked scared, and begged to call it a night, but what would be the fun of that.  I reminded him who was paying the bills - that he'd be out on his arse if he crossed me - and reluctantly, he agreed to comply.  I was going to allow him to change for the party, but since he'd been so intransigent, I made him pull the wrestling suit up.  Just that.  He panicked, and began rattling the camera, blubbing like a girl.  He was a wreck, destroyed, his manhood on the verge of cracking, a freak show male whore in the making.  I called him up and soothed him, telling him I wouldn't make him do it if he really, really didn't want to. He calmed down, still sobbing, his chest heaving as he breathed deeply. His cheeks and pecs were matted with tears, it was touching. "Talk to me" I said, and he blurted it all out, the humiliation of taking it up the arse, of being surrounded by male sex, of being a sex toy, always on display.  The frustration of being trapped.  The acute shame he felt around all his frat buddies and classmates, like he was slowly becoming the butt of all their jokes.  I told him I understood, even (to the anger of the guys online) told him he could have a night off - of sorts.

Since he had no good clothes of his own, I told him to sneak next door, and grab some gear from his neighbour - something nice, and come back and put it on.  He looked worried, but took the chance, unlocking and sneaking out.  In a moment he was back, sheepish for having run into a couple of girls in the hall.  We saw them through the door - lustful eyes grazing over his body, not quite catching the equipment he covered with the gear.  When he locked the door and came back, he showed us what he'd found.  It wasn't the best - a crumpled white shirt and tan shorts - but still a hell of a lot better than he'd been in months.  I told him to go ahead and put them on.  He began to peel off the wrestling suit, but I stopped him.  "No fuckface, you just need to look normal, isn't that right?  Put them on over."  He frowned a little and struggled into them both, realising things weren't quite going to go as planned. The shorts rode low on his waist, and the shirt was a little thin, the shoulder straps showing through the sides.  I also made him button it low, so his big smooth chest would show.  He was aching and uncomfortable, but at least he looked fairly normal - but for the mesh wrestling suit anyway.  One final command I left him was to leave the light on, and the webcam running.  With any luck, I hoped we'd see some more action tonight.  It was enough, and despite the tearing pain up his arse and around his cock, he limped out into the party, to attempt to chat to the girls.

Well we did see action, of a different kind.  Only minutes later, Cody fell back into the room, with a shiner on one eye and looking a little bruised on his chest and arm.  The shirt was open and they'd caught sight of the wrestling suit, and maybe a bit more.  He fell hard, but my attention was taken by the two guys that burst in after him, screaming a torrent of abuse, calling him a sexfreak and faggot, getting ready to bash him some more.  They froze when they entered, catching sight of the poster, their teeth gritting with determination.  But the smaller guy, a stocky blonde nugget who filled out his tee nicely, grabbed his friend, pulling him backwards before he could slug him again.  "Fuck man, they'll take our charter... "  They paused a second, cogs turning in their meatheads, and the taller of the two, still clench-fisted, now spoke softly, voice just as cold as before.  "You just better watch yourself.  We know your kind, getting all political, got a point to prove.  You dress like that for your boyfriends, not 'round here - got it?!  College might say we can't kick out out, but if you so much as breathe where the rules sez you can't and you're outta here."  They stormed out, slamming the door, and the ashen, beaten jock crawled over to the computer, switching it off before I could type a word.

Now I'm sure Cody would have jumped at the chance of leaving the frat by now, even his dreams of college were tempered by the knowledge of the horrors it could hold.  But I'd hear nothing of it, and bright and early the next morning, rang him to tell him just that.  His voice on the other end was a gutteral whisper, the deep baritone full of sexy need, anger and frustration.  "They moved me" he hissed "they dragged me downstairs at 5am, chucking my stuff after me.  I'm next to the fucking boiler room, man! The computer, everything, smashed. I'm in the basement man, and it's like 100 degrees in here!  You gotta get me outta here!"  Well, this was new, him begging me to come.  I thought I'd milk it some more, asking him some more humiliating questions.  Yes, he was still in the mesh suit, having nothing else to wear, and no, they wouldn't let him in public like that.  Yes they'd seen his arching tethered cock and noticed, calling it a 'nasty donkey dong'.  Yes he ached all over, they'd punched him in the nuts, traps, chest and shoulder, as well as his black eye.  Yes, his dick ached with fucklust too.  Really ached bad, since the mesh rubbed against it constantly, and every breath of hot air aroused him.  Sadly, the poster had been torn to shreds by the boys, along with his textbooks.  "Not to worry" I told him, "I'll come and rescue you just as soon as I finish breakfast.  Say midday."  His voice was small, asking me to hurry.  "Don't you worry 'bout a thing.  Tell you what, why don't you shuck that suit and beat that aching cock a while, til I get there.  That should distract you from your fears.  Well, dull pain often does. See you in a couple of hours!"

I grabbed a box of stuff and headed to the frat.  First I went in to meet with the frat president, posing as the concerned parent.  He was a square jawed quarterback, dark brown hair tousled from sleep just adding to his rugged looks.  He was unsure what to make of me, and concerned about there little 'problem'.  I told him that we'd always known our 'son' had been bent a little out of shape, and when he got a sports scholarship we thought this might be the one thing to 'cure' him.  I told him anything they did to make a man of him was okay by me.  Just don't kick him out of there'll be hell to pay.  I got the president, and three other guys standing around the office to help me down to Cody's new room.  Man it was hot in the basement!  The guys came down, pointing me to a narrow door, that must've been the janitors closet at one time.  I noticed it had a latch, and told them they might need a lock to keep him in at night.  With that they flung the door open (since my hands were full), revealing the sweat soaked jock, beating off on the ground in front of them.  They all looked stunned, especially Cody who was light a deer in headlights, still gripping his greasy pole.  "Pig" I screamed, lunging in and backhanding him.  The jocks snickered behind me.  I turned around, shaking their hands to thank them for their assistance, and sheepishly they left for upstairs, leaving me on my own with Cody.

A few hours later, after sunset, and Cody had exchanged the hot boiler room for the cool outside air, which make beads of sweat glisten on his body.  He wasn't in a good way at all - I'd seen to that.  But he was all alone, as I'd dumped him, all alone with no-where to go.  Well I'd put it this way to him - the frathouse was clearly out of the question now - even if he wanted to, he knew the beating he'd score if he did (and I'd trained those little jock studs well!).  I refused to take him in - he was garbage now.  So I told him as I saw it, he had two options.  He could try and hitch a lift to Horses - a long way to go buttstuffed, cocksheathed and naked (I didn't mention he'd gone 'missing'), or he could high tail it into town, and try and find his townie friend - but then they'd probably both get bashed to shit if found, and he would cop some serious abuse from the teamster if not.  I left him with both addresses, two $1 notes, the cockring and sheath, a necklace with dog tags and a ropes of my cum criss crossed over his face - nothing else.  I figured either way, I'd know about it soon enough, and could turn it to my advantage.

But fate jammed her smelly fingers in. Moments after I'd gone, a bright light shone directly at him, illuminating his body from his aching jaw to his thobbing dork, bursting from between his fingers.   It was a perfect scene, which a blinking red light  indicated was being caught on camera, of the abused musclestud clutching his shaved ballbag and sticky uncut tethered cock with one hand, the folds of dickflesh poking out of his fingers at the base of the sheath like an overstuffed fishing net, while the other desperately tried to shield his eyes from the harsh exposing light.  Not a cuntlick of hair, not a trickle of arsecum was lost in the blinding arc of light.

Someone came forward into the light, the black leather pants, jacket and gloves revealing, to Cody's horror, a motorbike cop on duty.  His face was in shadow, but the skin tight leather hugging his rippling body, and the way he slowly massaged his truncheon, sent shivers up Cody's spine.  'Hands Up' he barked, forcing Cody to lift his cum streaked mitts in the air, pulling up the hem of the tight tee to reveal his taut abs, bobbing dick and hanging balls to the harsh flood light.  Worse, as his eyes began to adjust, he noticed the gleam of the officer's straight, white teeth, obviously relishing his absolute power and Cody's helplessness. Without even saying a word, he pressed the truncheon against Cody's windpipe, forcing him to stagger backwards out of the light until his back pressed against the cinderblock wall.  He almost choked before the cop released his grip, telling him to spread 'em for a pat down.  Frontal.

Out of view of the camcorder, the officer had total control over the freshly fucked stud.  He raised one hand up, grabbing Cody's wrists and raising them above his brawny shoulders.  Now his hairless pits and heaving chest were exposed to the gloved left hand, while the other roved down, squeezing and mauling his throbbing cock, the finger slipping under the foreskin and gliding against the sensitive cockhead.  Cody involuntarily groaned.  Realising his sensitivity, the cop manipulated his fat dong until it was lurching against the sheath, traped in the cop's  leathered fist, glistening with precum despite the cold air.  He mauled Cody's brown nipples until they were hard and pouty on his chest, pulling hard until Cody pushed his chest up and out, and barking at him to 'keep his man-udders out".  It was incredibly uncomfortable, on tiptoe, shoulders back hard, his chest out and cock straining against the tether as the cop kept playing, taking paticular pleasure in pulling at his generous foreskin, testing just how long and wide it could stretch.  Scraping at the inner lining, still mucousy from our ban on cleaning, he pushed his smeared finger deep down Cody's throat, gagging his grunting pleas with his own cheesy cockslime.

He spun Cody around for a back pat, he pulled Cody's hands down hard, cuffing them behind his neck.  Cody felt him pull the chain under the necklace before cuffing his other hand, the dog tags preventing him from lifting his hands over his head without choking himself.  He was immobilised, his hands behind his head and body exposed to the sadistic cop. The cop took particular pleasure roughly shoving him forward and kneeing his thighs apart, quite brutally so they stung and he fell forward, scraping his cock and pebbly nips against the wall. He thoroughly searched his cavity, all but fingerfucking his lubricated arse, stretching the hole around the mega dong as he jammed them in.  Pushing two cumsoaked fingers against his nose, so the arse juice and cum slicked his upper lip, he sneered 'what's this, boy, contraband?'.  Cody stammered, unsure whether admitting the obvious would be worse for him.  He needn't have bothered, in a second the cop had spun him around, pushing him forward towards the bike while radioing for backup using his shoulder mike.  He pushed him towards the bike, making sure the camcorder caught his whole exposed body in its lens, and then once past the handlebars, he whipped a can of pepper spray from the holster, holding it in front of Cody's face.  "You gonna play along preppy boy, or will I need to use this?". Sweat beaded on his body from fear and cold.  He blurted "I'll do anything", too quickly, noting the cop's wide grin.  The cop dropped the can, not letting go of the nozzle.  "You'd better" he grunted.

In the distance, the police wagon rumbled towards them, and the cop relaxed his grip.  Scared of what waited him, Cody took his chance and pulled away, trying to sprint across the field.  He had no chance, his fat balls swinging against his thighs made him canter in pain as he ran, his arse still sending shooting stabs with every step.  In a moment the cop was on him, pinning him to the ground.  To subdue him, he pointed the can at his most sensitive parts - not his eyes, where the other cops would have asked questions, but a long, cruel squirt of the burning liquid right into the lips of his hooting foreskin.  Cody screamed, but could do nothing as the cop held his hair with one hand and deliberately massaged the long foreskin over the glans, intensifying the burning fire.  Cody began struggling with all his might to pull his hands up over his head and protect his vulnerable package, but the cop put a quick stop to that, squeezing a quick volley of spray at each armpit, the searing pain across his denuded, broken skin forcing him to quickly clamp his triceps down, trapping his own hands behind his head.

By now the wagon had arrived, and two cops jumped out, eager to help their fellow officer as he subdued the incalcitrant jock.  They bolted over, and seeing the naked jock squirming on the ground, assuming he was trying to escape, one squarely booted his balls, a sickening thud that made Cody convulse and dry retch.  The other's truncheon caught him on his lats, sending a juicy welt up his side, matched only by the split lip that quickly followed from his steel capped boot.  Their impromptu beat up meant my efforts in the boiler room would now go unreported, and the sliver of a chance that Cody would bring justice to his side was lost.  He begged them to stop, screaming his innocence, but one of them - the tall heavyset cop that had first smashed his bloated balls against his sole - caught sight of the scrap of paper in his cuffed hands. "What this" he said, snatching it out of his grip.  The first address, naming a porn stable, he dismissed as a fucked up rent boy's dream home, but the second he recognised as an ordinary house in town.  "Now what have we here" he continued, grabbing at Cody's nads and mauling them til he screamed.  "Looks like this little exhibitionist has an accomplice..."  And so it was, that Cody and his townie fuckfriend passed out of my control, and into the big, broad outstretched arms of the law.  But that, my friends, is another story.

The End.