Author: Michael Thomas Ford
Category: LGBT
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I started to just turn away from the jerk and ignore him when something inside stopped me. Maybe it was the rally, maybe it was just a lot of pent-up frustration; I’m not really sure. Whatever it was, before I knew it I was walking over to the guy. Stopping right in front of him, I looked him in the eyes as I said, “Nine inches, huh? Who’s it belong to, your mother or your girlfriend?”
The man’s face reddened with rage as his buddies started laughing at him. “Fuck you, faggot,” he screamed. “No pansy talks to me that way.”
Not feeling like getting into a fight with the guy, I walked back to my friends, leaving the fuming man yelling insults at my back. As I did, a large group of men and women closed in around me and blocked the enraged asshole, who was trying to get away from his friends. A small woman wearing a Lesbian Avengers hat walked up to him and said, her voice filled with quiet rage, “Unless you want a whole bunch of really angry dykes to show you out, I suggest you leave. Now.”
The man looked at her and spat on the ground. “Fucking lezzie,” he snarled. “You need a man to show you how it’s done.” The woman didn’t move, silently standing her ground until the guy and his friends finally backed off and walked away. They left quickly, the crowd chanting “shame, shame, shame” until they had disappeared from sight. The whole experience made me feel very alive, as though I had stood up to the class bully and won. While I didn’t even know the woman who had supported me, I felt like we had fought the battle together. When the rally was over, I walked back to my apartment feeling very proud of myself.
I live in a warehouse district, made up largely of meat-packing and storage facilities that are crowded with workmen during the day but empty at night. I like it that my neighborhood is nearly always deserted after six o’clock; it’s kind of like living in some sort of ancient ruins. After the noise and excitement of the rally, it was nice to be surrounded by peace and quiet. The sky was dusky with oncoming night as I made my way through the empty streets, and I was enjoying the descending evening shade.
I was taking my usual shortcut through the alley running between two old deserted ironworks near my building, and wasn’t really paying much attention to what was going on, when suddenly someone came rushing up behind me and pushed me against a wall. The breath was knocked out of me as my body slammed into the bricks, and I felt the weight of a large man pressing against me. I’ve been mugged twice since moving to the city, so my first thought was that the guy would just grab the wallet out of my back pocket and leave.
“Thought you were really cute back there, didn’t you, queer boy?” a voice hissed in my ear. My heart froze as I recognized it as the voice of the guy who had harassed me at the rally. He must have followed me all the way home. “You and that dyke bitch making me look dumb in front of everyone,” he continued, pushing me more forcefully against the wall so that my face was scraping against the rough brick. “Well, now you’re the one who’s going to look bad, soon as I finish roughing your pretty face up a little.”
I thought about screaming for help, but I knew the chances of anyone being around to hear me at that hour were small. Besides, it would just make the guy crazier than he obviously already was. I was on my own. The guy had bent my arm behind me when he shoved me, and one hand was still on my wrist. His other one was on my collar, pushing against my neck. There wasn’t much I could do.
“Let’s just take a little trip inside here,” he said, pushing me through an open doorway and into a cavernous room filled with old bits of industrial equipment and other trash, the remnants of the foundry that had thrived during the days when the city was an active shipping port. “We don’t want to draw any attention to ourselves, now, do we?” he said mockingly as he pushed me roughly in front of him. He continued to hold my arm behind my back as he looked around. “There’s got to be something around here I can use to teach you a lesson,” he said.
While he was searching, I tried to think back to what my friend Anne had taught me about self-defense after the last time I’d gotten mugged. I’d thought it was all a waste of time until Anne, who weighs about 90 pounds, had me on the floor with her knee at my throat in less than three seconds flat. She had taught me a couple of things, but it had been a long time ago, and I wasn’t sure I remembered what to do. But then, just as at the rally, I felt myself overcome by rage at the man whose hands were digging into my arm.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed back against my attacker, throwing him off balance just enough so that I was able to bring one foot up and stomp down on top of his as hard as I could. At the same time, I broke free from his grip and, bringing my arm up, slammed my elbow in the direction of his face. I felt it connect with his flesh and heard the sound of bone smacking against bone as I drove him backward with the blow.
Wheeling around, I saw the man standing behind me holding his hands to his nose. Blood was dripping from his fingers, and the front of his sweatshirt was stained with drops of red. An expression of surprise was on his face as he looked down at the blood and saw what I had done, and his eyes were dark with pain. Before he could come at me again, I ran toward him and tackled him, my arms going around his waist as we both tumbled to the floor.
I landed on top of him, hearing the sharp intake of air as his back smacked against the concrete. My knee was between his legs, and I held his wrists over his head, my body pinning him to the floor. While he was a big man, he was only a couple inches taller than I, and my anger was making me even stronger than usual. I looked down at his bloodstained face. “Looks like things didn’t exactly turn out the way you wanted,” I said.
“I’m going to kill you, you bastard,” he yelled, trying unsuccessfully to throw me off.
Putting my knee on his stomach so that he couldn’t move, I pulled the belt from around my waist. Holding his wrists together, I wound the thin strip of leather around them and pulled it tight, sliding the end through the center several times to secure his hands. When I was sure that he couldn’t get loose, I eased up on him and put my hand on his stomach. Fumbling with his buckle, I pulled it open and yanked his belt off, then threaded it through the bonds around his wrists so that it acted as a kind of leash.
Standing up, I pulled on the belt, bringing him to his knees. He tried briefly to scramble to his feet and run, but a quick kick in the chest pushed him back to his knees. “Don’t bother,” I told him. “I can’t have you following me home, and I want to put you someplace where you can sit for a while and think things over before the cops come get you. And don’t bother screaming, because you know as well as I do that nobody’s going to hear you.”
Making him walk on his knees, I led him into a corner of the warehouse where steel catwalks crossed overhead. Several skylights above us let in the moonlight that had crept in as night fell, and we stood surrounded by the pale light. Moving behind him, I threw one end of the belt over the crossbars of the walkway above. Then I pulled it down so that his arms stretched up and he had to get to his feet. When he was standing, his knees buckled slightly so that he couldn’t quite get his balance, I secured the belt around the metal bar. There was no way he could break out of it, and he stood glaring at me as I smiled triumphantly. “What a pretty sight,” I said. “A fag basher all tied up nice and pretty like a punching bag for me to work out some of my aggression on.”
“Fuck you,” he said. “You wouldn’t even know what the hell to do with a real man, you fucking pansy. It was just a lucky shot you got the first time around.”
“I don’t know,” I said, walking over and running my hand over his bloodied face. “Looks like pretty good work to me.” He tried to pull his face away, but I held it tightly in my grip and looked into his eyes. Some of the anger I’d seen earlier had been replaced by fear, but I still saw a lot of rage roiling behind the darkness.
“What is it you’re afraid of, anyway?” I said. “You afraid that maybe we’re just as good as you are; that in fact we’re just like you?” I ran my hand over his sweatshirt. “You afraid we’re just as g
ood at sports? That maybe one of your precious Yankees is a full-blown cocksucker and you don’t know it?”
“There’s no way I’m anything like you,” he said. “No fucking way.”
Running my fingers to the bottom of his sweatshirt, I slipped my hand underneath and onto his bare skin. I could feel thick hair on his stomach, spreading out over his torso as I moved slowly up to his chest, pushing the sweatshirt up as I went along. “Get your fucking hands off me,” he said.
I took my hand away, letting him think he had won. Then, grabbing the collar of it, I pulled. The material ripped, and I kept pulling until the front of the sweatshirt hung open in tatters, his whole chest bare. His pecs were rounded and well developed, shaded in the soft dark hair I’d felt earlier, and the hair went right up to his neck, where it had been clipped into a neat curve. While I hated the guy, I had to admit he had one damn fine body.
“You touch me again and I’ll scream my goddamned head off,” he said. “Cops will have your ass in jail for sure.”
I laughed, watching his face fill with confusion. “You’re the one that likes going around beating up queers,” I said. “What are you going to tell the cops, that some little faggot went and beat you up?” I walked over and ran my finger up his belly to his chin, pushing it up so I could look into his face. “Or maybe you’ll tell them that you’re the queer one.”
He spat at me, a spray of wetness hitting my face. Picking up an old rag from among the trash scattered on the floor, I wiped my face off. Then I balled up the dirty cloth and pushed it into his mouth, silencing him. He tried to spit it out, but couldn’t. “You know,” I said, putting my hands on his chest again, “they say the guys who make the most noise about hating gay men are the ones who have something to hide. Maybe we should find out just what kind of secrets you’ve got hidden away.”
Ripping more of his shirt, I pulled it off of him so that he was standing bare chested. The moonlight washed over the ripples of his body, which were evident even through the hair that covered his chest. His raised arms were thick and solid, and the ridges of his abdomen were clearly defined. Moving behind him, I saw that his back was just as beautiful, the shoulder muscles bunched tightly where his arms were pulled overhead.
I put my hands on his back and started to trace the curves of his bone and muscle slowly, feeling the heat of his skin beneath my hands. I ran my fingers up to where his closely cropped hair had been shaved on his neck, brushing my fingertips along the line where skin met hair. I could feel him shiver as I did this, and I knew he was enjoying it in spite of himself. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” I said in his ear.
I moved back in front of him and saw that his eyes were closed, as if he was hoping it was all a bad dream and he could wake up somewhere else. Reaching out, I pinched one of his large, firm nipples between my fingers and watched as his eyes flew open. I continued to rub it as his face was creased by winces of pain and then pleasure as his body began to respond involuntarily to my touch. I gripped the second one and twisted that as well, feeling them both swell as I worked them over. He was writhing against the restraints as I played with his tits, and I felt a perverse burst of pleasure as I watched him.
Leaning down, I took one between my lips, fluttering my tongue over it lightly and cooling it by blowing on it. I licked the overheated bud and the skin around it gently. Then, moving my mouth over his mound, I slipped my tongue into the dark cavern of his armpit, licking and sucking at the damp hair. When I drew away, I saw that he was still looking at me, only now the rage had turned to a look of confusion, as though he was ashamed at feeling pleasure from what I was doing to him.
“Bet none of your girlfriends ever did that to you,” I said as I slipped my hand down to his waist. Quickly unbuttoning his jeans, I slid them down his legs, where they settled between his feet. He was wearing white Jockey shorts, and there was a considerable bulge in the front. Rubbing my hand over it, I could feel a fat cock and set of big balls nestled between his thick, muscled legs. I could feel my own prick start to stiffen as I played with his package, and wondered what he would look like erect.
Grabbing the waistband, I ripped his shorts down the front and pulled them away, throwing them onto the dirty floor. His dick was as big as it had felt and hung nicely between his legs, the clipped head hanging along his thigh. I was surprised to see that his bush had been neatly trimmed and that his balls, unlike the rest of him, were shaved smooth and bare. Hefting his sac in my hand, I rubbed the soft skin. “Not many straight boys I know shave their equipment,” I teased, watching him turn his eyes away. “You must like it this way.”
Letting go of his cock, I went behind him to survey his ass. His cheeks were thick and meaty, the curving mounds smooth at the top and then shaded with dark hair closer to his legs. I hit his butt with my open hand and felt him tense under my touch. Kneeling, I parted his cheeks and looked into his wrinkled pucker. Like his balls, it too was clean shaven, the skin pale and white. Leaning in, I licked the tight opening, tasting the sweat and musk of his skin. The hair on his ass brushed against my cheeks as I pushed my tongue between the tight lips of his chute, pulling them farther apart with my fingers. Inside he was warm and clean, and my tongue swept along the lines of his walls easily, pushing deeper and deeper into him.
I licked at his rosy hole for several minutes, pulling my tongue out of him and then sliding back in, massaging his ass cheeks roughly. When I pulled away, I reached between his legs and found that his cock had hardened. Thick and pulsing, it stood up at an angle above his dangling nuts. Standing, I wrapped my hand around the throbbing tool from behind, giving it a couple of long pulls. “Just as I suspected,” I said. “If this is nine inches then mine should be starring in porn films.”
Stroking his prick some more, I felt him moving his hips so that his cock slid along my fist. “Looks like someone’s a little horny,” I said. Wetting my finger in my mouth, I slipped it back down to tickle his asshole. “Looks like that hole of yours is just waiting for something,” I said as I probed his opening. “Maybe it’s time for someone to give you what you need.” I pushed harder, and my finger slipped in up to the second joint. I felt his ass ring clamp around it as I invaded him, and I wiggled it to loosen him. “Just relax,” I said. “You know you want me in there.”
With a little more pushing, I was able to get a whole finger inside him. Then I pulled out and, without warning, pushed two back in. His whole body spasmed as I stretched his shitter open, and he stumbled against the belts as he leaned forward to escape the pain. I relaxed, letting him get used to my presence, and then started to slowly fuck him with my hand. After a few minutes of continuous stroking, his ass was loose enough for me to put another finger in, and soon I was gliding in and out on the juices that started to leak from his virgin hole.
Reaching around him, I felt his prick again. A heavy load of cock slime was dripping from his engorged head. Pumping him a few times, I pushed out another stream and watched over his shoulder as it dropped to the floor in a long, sparkling thread. “Couldn’t be you actually like this, do you?” I said. He didn’t respond, so I pulled my hand out of his ass and grabbed his balls tightly. “Maybe I should just leave you like this,” I threatened. “Let you hang here with your big cock all stiff and your balls aching for the cops to find tomorrow morning. How would you like that?”
After a moment he shook his head, and I could hear him trying to speak. I pulled the gag from his mouth. He breathed in several long breaths and then said, quietly, “Don’t stop. Please don’t.”
I fingered his ass some more and he started to whimper. “How badly do you want it?” I demanded. “How badly do you want another guy in your ass?”
“I want it,” he whispered. “I want you inside.”
“Tell me how you want it,” I said, adding another finger to his ass so that he groaned. “I won’t do it unless you ask nicely. After all, you weren’t so nice a while ago, were you?”
“Please,” he whined. “I’m r
eally sorry. You have to fuck me. You have to fuck my ass. I can’t stand it anymore.”
I hurriedly undid my own pants and pulled out my raging poker, which had long ago stretched out to its full size, not as long as his but quite a bit thicker. I rubbed the big head against his asshole, letting him feel my meat just a little bit. “Tell me how you’ve always wanted it,” I ordered.
“Okay,” he said, practically begging. “I’ve wanted it for a long time. Now do it. Fuck me. My balls are about to burst.”
I still had the condom I’d picked up at the rally in my pocket. Fishing it out, I rolled it down my prick, then pressed the tip against his slimy hole. I slid just the head of my cock inside him, just enough to drive him crazy. “Oh shit,” he cried out as I penetrated his crack. “Stick it all in. Stick your big dick right up me.”
Gripping him around the waist, I slammed into his ass so hard that the belts tying his hands together creaked under the weight. He grunted loudly as I plowed into his tender shitter and forced him onto his toes as my cock drove upward. I could feel his ass cheeks against my groin as I buried myself inside his butt, my balls pressed tightly against him as I drove every inch of my crank into him. “Feels good having a dick up your ass, doesn’t it?” I growled as I started to pump him.
He began to moan almost immediately, and as I fucked his ass harder and harder he let out groan after groan, his voice rolling through the big, empty room. He took every beat of my prick with another whimper of pleasure, and when I pulled out and fucked just the first couple inches of his ass tunnel he started to beg again. “It feels so fucking hot,” he said. “Put the whole thing back in. I’m going to shoot all over the place.”
I plunged in again and started to screw him really hard, slamming into his ass repeatedly. It was strange to think that only a couple of hours ago he had been calling me a faggot and wanted to beat the shit out of me and now he had my cock deep in his ass and was begging for more. As I fucked him, the idea that I had turned the tables on the guy and taught him a lesson made me even more excited. I knew we were both going to come shortly, and I wanted to make it good. My head was swimming from the heat of it all, and after several more pumps of my cock I started to blast away inside him, filling the rubber up with a big load.