Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Ma, Rape, Gay, BDSM, DomSub, Rough, Humiliation, Gang Bang, Interracial,
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - I make a huge error in judgment and get caught alone. In the end I responded positively to what was happening, which is probably what saved me.
When the shadow passed across the doorway behind me, I didn't look up. I had heard the car pull up, and it was probably a coach or a parent volunteer, and at the moment I was concentrating on repairing a net at my feet and not feeling very social. Instead I silently cursed that someone was blocking the light just as I was tying the final knots. Belatedly it dawned on me that whoever had just walked up could help me hang the net I was working on and my disposition quickly changed. I started to turn, curious now who it might be. Suddenly a hand slammed into the side of my head, knocking me sideways into a stack of boxes full of field paint, which toppled over as I crumpled to the floor in pain.
My team had practiced earlier in the day, and I had already been home where I showered and changed into clean clothes. On a whim, I passed by the fields one last time on my way back from the grocery store just to be certain that everything was set for a small tournament we were hosting in the morning. To my dismay, I found that one of the brand new goal nets we had installed had been stolen. This was not the first time this had happened, and I had a pretty good idea that the local immigrant soccer team now had a new net, but this knowledge didn't help me much now that the sun was down and daylight was fading fast. Thus it was with a sense of urgency that I was trying to get one of the old nets repaired and installed before total darkness set in. Focused on the task at hand, the unexpected attack caught me totally off guard.
For a moment I lay across the scattered boxes, too stunned to move or to comprehend what happened. The pain was intense. Instead of hitting me with a fist my attacker had slapped me with a large cupped hand directly over my ear. The resultant concussion reverberated through my ear and into my head in a burst of light, causing complete disorientation. Survival instinct kicked in and I tried to shake it off as I struggled back to my knees. I was blind-sided by another blow, this time to the other ear. The impact spun me completely around in a loop so that I landed face down on the net I had been repairing mere moments before. In that instant, as my body rolled out of control, I saw three forms silhouetted against the doorway, and through the searing pain my mind connected the dots. I knew exactly who my attackers were.
My hands covered my ears as I writhed on the floor in agony. This left my flanks exposed and I felt a swift kick into my side. It hurt, but it was not that well delivered, and I quickly curled into a ball as I tried to will the ringing in my ears to stop. My equilibrium was impacted by the blows and I felt nauseous. For an instant I thought I was going to vomit, but I choked the bile back down, coughing violently. I hadn't been hit since high school, and I couldn't believe how bad I hurt. In a matter of seconds I had been completely incapacitated.
I shook my head in an effort to clear it, my breath coming in short gasps as I waited for the next blow, but it never came. In that brief instant of respite, my mind assembled the few facts, and though I was stunned, I understood what was happening. Two weeks prior, a car filled with black guys had pulled to the rear of our 22 acre site, into an area where only official cars were allowed. This was not that unusual. The road around the property backed up to a densely wooded area, was somewhat secluded, but still provided a clear view across the soccer fields so that any cars or people approaching were easily seen. As a result, it was a preferred parking spot for couples, or as in this case, for individuals engaged with drinking and drugs.
The difference on the day in question was that some of the younger teams were still practicing nearby. Usually the parking occurred after everyone left. When I caught the unmistakable smell of marijuana carried on the wind towards the practice area, I approached the car and threatened to call the cops. The guys cursed me, but they promptly left.
About a week later, I saw the car was back, and without hesitation I called a friend on the police force. A cruiser showed up a short time later. After a lengthy discussion, the carload of blacks left, and I walked over to the police car. The officer showed me two bags partially filled with marijuana. One had a smaller bag inside which contained small white chips that the officer informed me was crack. He had found the bags in the bushes. When I asked why he let them go, he shrugged, saying it was almost impossible to prove ownership since he didn't find the drugs in their possession.
As the pounding in my head began to subside, I continued to act as if I was in intense pain, playing possum as I tried to think what to do. These guys were clearly looking for payback, which I should have considered before I came out here alone, and now I was in dire circumstances. Daylight was almost gone, and we were at the rear of the property, shielded from the roadway by a screen of trees and bushes we used to conceal the unsightly shipping container that the club used as a storage building. There was a hotel directly east of the property, and during the day anyone on this side of the hotel would have a direct line of sight to the storage area. However, as the light faded, so did visibility, and with a distance of about 300 yards it was unlikely anyone would hear me if I yelled. Both doors on the heavy container stood open, but as I sneaked a peek backwards all I could see were silhouettes. The three guys were talking excitedly between themselves, but I wasn't paying attention. I was scared.
Suddenly I felt hands on my back and then with tremendous force my shirt was ripped down my back. A well made soccer shirt, it didn't tear easily, and I was dragged helplessly across the filthy floor as my attacker snatched and pulled until the shirt finally tore free from my body. Irrational though it was considering the situation, my first reaction was anger that the guy had just torn one of my favorite shirts. That was the least of my problems. The hands were back at my hips and with horror I realized my shorts were the next target. It took two of them, and they laughed as I fought back, jerking me back and forth violently until both my shorts and my underwear ripped free. My balls had gotten pinched in the process, and I fell back to the floor in agony. A foot pressed down hard on my neck, jamming my face into the grit on the floor as I felt my sandals wrenched from my feet. The foot on my neck continued to press down viciously, cutting off my air for a second, and then lifted off. I curled back into a ball, gratefully sucking in air and cupping my balls as I awaited the next attack, the need for survival suppressing my shock at being naked.
'Dat white boy's sorry he fucked wit' us now. Hah!'
They laughed and talked about me for a minute. Then an unmistakable command penetrated the fog in my head. 'Get up!'
No doubt the words were addressed to me, but I didn't move. It was a mistake. The kick was into my back, on my right side. I sensed it coming at the last second and tried to move, but it was too late. Once again I was writhing on the ground in pain.
'Get up!' It was a deep, commanding voice. One guy was much bigger than the other two, and it had to be him giving the orders.
I was gasping for breath and hurting, but I had to avoid being kicked again. Slowly I rolled over onto my hands and knees, balancing precariously as my left hand held my aching side where the blow had landed. I tried to stand, but in the end turned on the floor. 'Give me a second.'
Avoiding eye contact, I was definitely hurting, but I continued to make more of it than I had to in an effort to buy time and hopefully convince them there was no need for further attacks. Though I was now acutely aware of my nudity, it still hadn't registered why they had ripped my clothes off of me. The reality was too far removed from my thought processes to register.
'Grab some of dat rope over there.'
Alarms sounded immediately in my head. On the shelves along the wall, there were a number of short pieces of heavy nylon cord that we salvaged from nets that were replaced. I may not have yet deduced what was about to happen, but I was alert enough to know the situation was spiraling in the wrong direction. As the guy to my right stepped past me towards the shelf, I bolted for the open space he vacated. Feigning injury had worked. My assailants had lowered their guard, and when I rose up and moved suddenly forward I might have made it had it not been for the net. It caught around my foot and pulled me upright as I took my second step. My foot pulled free, but the damage was done. That split second cost me my chance for escape as a big hand grabbed my arm, and then a hard back-hand caught my cheek. I crumpled against the boxes of paint once more.
I felt a knee in my back, and then my arms were wrenched violently behind me, causing me to cry out. 'Gimme that rope.'
My wrists were pressed together and I felt the cord winding around them over and over. I tired to fight, but three sets of strong arms kept me helpless. It only took a minute, and then they released me and stepped back. My hands were tightly bound and I fought against the rope with all my strength, causing my tormentors to laugh at my futile efforts. Finally I stopped and tried to catch my breath.
'Get whitey to his knees.'
My arms were grabbed and I was pulled backwards harshly, until I was kneeling on the net that was still spread across the floor. The cords dug into my knees. Bound and unable to protect myself, I slumped forward and hung my head low, waiting for the next blow.
'Look at dat pitiful little pecker.'
'Is that what a shrimp looks like? Pink and puny?'
As they laughed it reminded me once again that I was naked. I couldn't believe what was happening. Ten minutes ago I was rushing through a net repair, trying to beat the darkness. Now as the light continued to fade, I felt like I was battling for my life. My thoughts were interrupted by a sound that could not be mistaken, and for the first time it occurred to me what might be about to happen. The zipper was being lowered slowly, but there was no doubt what it was. Then I heard a belt buckle. My chest tightened and my heart began to pound as I continued to stare at the dirty floor. I had to find a way out of this.
'Git him up. Make him look.'
Hands on either side lifted me out of my slump. The guy to my left was snickering. 'Dis is gonna be good. Sooooooo good.' I couldn't tell if he was talking to himself or me, and I didn't have time to ponder it. His partner grabbed a thick handful of my hair and snatched my head back.
For the first time I looked at the big guy, the obvious leader. The remaining light was to his back so I couldn't clearly make out his features, but I could see enough to know I was right in my earlier conclusion. This was one of the guys in the car two weeks ago. He was huge, towering over the other two guys. His shirt had been removed and his broad chest and shoulders showed the muscling of a guy who was accustomed to manual labor. In the poor light I could see a thick pink line across his chest and one across his flat abdomen, scars from some past event that I sensed I didn't want to know about. There was anger in his features, and he looked down on me with a menacing glare. It was very intimidating, but that wasn't the source of the fear that rattled me to my core. His pants were open and three feet in front of me, draped over the top of his zipper, was a massive cock.
His lips curled up in a grin, but it was not a pleasant smile. 'You can call me God.'
The two that held me laughed gratuitously at their leader, and then it was silent for a moment as I looked up at this giant man, studiously ignoring his exposed member. He matched my gaze with one of contempt, and then slid his pants down and stepped out of them. He was totally naked. I pulled on the rope holding my hands, but to no avail. When he took a half step forward, I began to panic. Suddenly I couldn't breathe easily; I was hyperventilating.
'Look at it whitey.'
The hand in my hair positioned my head by force so that I was facing the big guy's crotch. I cut my eyes left and right, gasping for air as I tried to look anywhere but where he wanted. Less than two feet in front of me, his big cock was difficult to avoid, and finally my eyes settled on it almost of their own accord. Panic welled up inside me once more. His cock was huge, and it wasn't even hard. I had never seen anything like it, and I knew what he wanted.
'Dat's right. Take a good look. White girls love it so I reckon a white boy will too.'
I struggled against the arms that held me, but their grip simply tightened. It felt as if half my hair was being pulled out. I tried a new tact.
'No, please. Let me go. I'm sorry about the other day. I saw the cops let you leave, so there was no harm. I was just worried about the kids. Please.'
'No harm? Stupid mutha fucka we lost some good stuff.'
'I'll pay you for it. I didn't mean for that to happen. I'm sorry.'
He took on a mocking tone which of itself should have told me pleading was useless. 'He's sorry. Ain't dat special? Should we let whitey go?
'He did offer to pay.'
'Oh, he's gonna pay.' As they laughed, I got the joke, but it wasn't funny. I didn't know what to do, and was praying someone would come walking up. But I knew it wasn't likely to happen.
The words sank in and I knew what he meant. I tried to turn my head away, my scalp burning as I was restrained.
'I said kiss it. Show some respect, mutha fucka.'
He leaned forward slightly, and I forced myself backwards, fighting the hands that held me. I saw the blow coming, but was helpless to avoid it. His slap caught the entire side of my head, his hand huge. My head exploded in a star-burst of pain, my ear ringing once again. The blow knocked me over, my scalp seeming to rip away from the hand in my hair. As I hit the floor, I recognized the coppery taste of blood in my mouth.
I thrashed about in the dirt for a moment, and then hands were pulling me up once more. I braced, ready to be struck again, but all they did was laugh.
'I t-t-think he's shy.'
They laughed some more as I tried to shake off the effects of the slap. The hand returned to my hair, and then I heard a click and something cold contacted my scrotum. My sense of touch merged with my sense of hearing and I realized what the click was from. I didn't have to look down to know I was being threatened with a knife.
'Wanna keep your balls?'
I hesitated, my fear over-powering, and then with some effort I nodded my head.
'Then show some respect, like da man says.'
I looked up at the mean face of the leader, my eyes now filled with tears. Suddenly they were running down my cheeks. I might have pissed myself had it not been for the knife at my balls. I couldn't quit shaking.
'Looks like whitey is getting' da idea.'
I hardly noticed the chuckles. I needed a way out, but could think of none. For the first time the word rape entered my mind. These angry black guys intended to rape me. The tears flowed and I let out a small sob.
Paralyzed by fear, I didn't immediately move, and I felt the pressure increase on my scrotum. That spurred me forward. I had read accounts that suggested when rape was inevitable, it was sometimes preferable not to fight it, that living through the experience was most important. I always wondered if such advice angered women, and now I suspected it did, for it angered me. As I neared the massive black cock in front of me, I stopped. I simply couldn't do it. The hand on my head pushed forward, but I pushed back.
A hand grabbed my balls and pulled them away from my body, the skin of my scrotum taut. I had once watched a horse being gelded, and when I felt the cold blade re-contact my skin, I knew what was happening.
I shouted it, making sure I was heard. I was scared of what they expected of me, but I was more afraid of the knife at my balls. My assailant didn't release my balls, but he didn't cut them off either. I realized I was covered with sweat.
'You're wasting my time.'
With tremendous effort, I forced myself to lean forward. His cock was thick and dark black, and I kissed it about the middle of its length. That was it. All was quiet, and I knew they expected me to do it again, but I didn't. He had said kiss it, so I kissed it. I didn't have to be a genius to know that wasn't going to be the end of it, but it was worth a try.
'Make me hard.'
My throat went dry. I had quit crying, the tears were useless, but I continued to shake. I felt my balls pulled painfully away from my body and I grimaced from the discomfort. I didn't know what to do, so I did the only thing I could do. I leaned forward and began to kiss along his huge cock.
He smelled of sweat and left a salty trace on my lips. I kissed him over and over, unsure what to do next, wishing it was over. He pushed my head back roughly.
'Ever had ya dick sucked whitey?'
I knew where this was going, but had no choice but to nod.
'Then do it right, or pay the price.'
Taking short, shallow breaths, I stared blankly ahead, seeing nothing. I was helpless. The situation was hopeless. Fear was overwhelming me. I knew I had no choice, but perhaps I could improve my situation slightly.
'I just can't do it with that knife on my balls. I can't think of anything else.'
There was silence, and then the grip on my balls was released and the knife moved away. Some unseen communication had taken place, and I slumped downward, grateful to have one less concern for the moment.
'Now suck my dick, and don't do anything stupid or we'll cut more than your balls off.'
The threat was unnerving, but it galvanized me to action. I had to survive this intact. Leaning forward, I put my lips against his cock, and then licked downward. I avoided his glans, turning back the other way, prolonging the inevitable.
Like many guys I suppose, I had entertained fantasies about sucking a cock every now and then. But these were my most privacy fantasies. I had never shared them with anyone, not even with my wife, and I rarely considered it. In my wildest dreams, the idea that it might occur in real life was never even a remote possibility. In fact, unless I was loosened up by alcohol, which was the case when those rare fantasies came about, the idea of sex with another guy repulsed me. So I couldn't believe what I was being forced to do, and I tried to blank my mind, to deny the reality.
My assailant stood over me with his hips thrust forward, his hands on his sides. He was an imposing figure. As I licked along his cock, I felt him begin to swell slightly.
'You might as well get on with it whitey.'
His words startled me, as if I thought he wouldn't realize my avoidance of what he wanted. His circumcised cock continued to grow, ever so slowly, and I finally gave in and licked his thick cock head.
'Dat's more like it.'
I continued licking his glans, remembering all the things I liked about a cock sucking, thinking it might just be best to get this over with. But I couldn't make myself do it. As he swelled, I begin to marvel at how huge he was, and then to my horror I realized what I was thinking. This was not something to admire. He interrupted my thoughts.
'Take it in your mouth.'
Oh God, this was it. I stopped licking him. I stopped moving altogether. Once again I felt paralyzed. I heard the knife click open once more, and I tried to look to my left, to see what the guy was doing with it, but the grip on my hair tightened and restrained me. The huge guy in front of me reached down and lifted his massive semi-hard cock to my lips.
'Suck my dick you little white faggot.'
His voice was menacing. His appearance was menacing. The hands on my arms and my head help me firmly in place. I didn't know what to do. The tears were back. Helplessly, hopelessly, I opened my mouth and he slid his cock between my lips.
He was thick and he forced his way in. 'Watch your teeth or I'll cut you.'
I opened wider, accepting the invasion. It was done; his cock was in my mouth.
'Dat's better. Let's see if white boys suck cock as good as white girls.' When I didn't immediately act, he gave me a slap on the side of the head. My lips closed around him and I began to suck.
His cock was hot in my mouth, and silky smooth as my tongue rubbed against it. He was hard now, and his size was unbelievable. From soft to hard, he had not gotten much thicker, but the change in length was difficult to believe. He had about three inches pressed into my mouth, and I was still seven to eight inches away from his stomach. He pushed in farther and I wretched, the gag reflex over-powering.
'Ya better get used to it. I go deep.'
To make his point, he pushed into the back of my throat once more. I handled it better this time, but not well at all, and certainly not without discomfort. After a few more thrusts, he pulled out and left me gasping for air.
'Lick my salty balls asshole.'
He had lifted his cock, and I followed his order without thinking, his domination of me seemingly complete. I was being raped and couldn't do a thing about it. My arms ached, my knees hurt, and I had numerous pains from the blows they had landed. I had been effectively beaten into submission. Like his cock, his balls were huge, and I traced them with my tongue, licking them with more enthusiasm than I felt simply because I was thankful to not have him choking me with his manhood.
'Oh yeah. You better at that.'
He had me lick his balls for a long time. It was getting darker inside the shipping container turned storage shed, but there was still enough light that I could see my tattered clothing in a pile against the wall. I retained hope that someone might see what was happening and come to help, but then it dawned on me how humiliating it would now be to receive assistance. I was kneeling naked in front of this huge black guy and licking his balls. So even if I received aide from a Good Samaritan, it would present problems. There was no longer a good way out of this for me. I had to focus on survival.
As I tried to shift position to relieve the discomfort in my shoulders and wrists, the talk around me continued, though in my pre-occupied state I only half listened. When the big guy pushed me backwards, returning his hard cock to my lips, the words filtering through to my brain connected with what I saw, and the obvious finally sank in. The other two guys had their cocks out and hard. As the monster cock was pressed back between my lips, I realized this wasn't going to end soon. As if to accentuate the point, the guy to my left stepped closer and rubbed his cock across my cheek, leaving a wet, slippery trail behind.
'Wait your turn mother fucka.' The big guy shoved his partner back roughly as he growled at him. I was at once relieved and dismayed, but I didn't have long to ponder my predicament. The big guy took my head between his hands and started to run his long cock in and out between my lips. He was fucking my mouth. At first he plunged deeply, and I gagged over and over, on the verge of choking up the contents of my stomach. Tears flowed freely from my eyes as I convulsed on each thrust. But then he backed off, shortening his strokes in the realization, I think, that it was actually more pleasurable to fuck me only as deeply as I could handle.
'Sheee-it. Your wife takes mo' than that.'
This insult brought hoots from the on-lookers, but I didn't react. My focus was on the fucking he was giving my mouth and how hard it was to breathe. He was feeding me about half of his cock, which slid easily in and out from the wetness of my mouth.
'Suck it whitey. You just suck, I'll do da work.'
Doing as I was told, I provided a steady suction as he pistoned in and out of my mouth. I could hear my own ragged breathing as I drew air through my nostrils, the only way I could get it. When I opened my eyes I could see the long pink scar on his belly moving back and forth. Mostly I kept my eyes closed, unable to face what was happening, and it was probably my worst mistake. With my eyes closed, and with the guy's large hands now covering my ears and muting the conversation, my primary awareness was through the sense of touch. The slick, hot thickness of this man's cock began to feel almost natural in my mouth. His large glans rubbing across my tongue felt almost good. I could feel him swell as his own need rose, and I realized I was sexually pleasing him. And that's when to my horror I realized a strange thing was happening.
One of the other two, the one who stuttered slightly, was the first to notice, his loud exclamation penetrating into my brain. 'Sh-sh-shit. He's g-g-getting hard.'
It was true. On some primeval level, my body was responding to what was happening. As I'd mentioned, I had some deep, dark fantasies, typically alcohol induced, that included experimentation with other guys. They were always bi-sexual in nature, not just man on man, but they did always include some level of coercion, a self serving theme where I was forced into participation, thus freeing me from guilt on some subliminal level. In my fantasies, however, it was always the girl that forced the issue, not the guy. And though I imagined being coerced, my fantasies definitely did not include rape. Now my mind had apparently twisted that concept to fit this reality. Somehow I concluded that the feeling of this big guy sawing in and out of my mouth wasn't all bad, and my body had betrayed me. I felt my cheeks glowing crimson.
'Told ya all honkies love the black man's cock. He's gonna be just like all the white ho's, I ain't gonna be able to keep him off dis big monster.'
His laugh rumbled deeply as he pressed my head back, pulling his glans out just past my lips and then hovering his big cock over my upturned face. I opened my eyes and could see the line of wetness around his shaft that marked the depth of his penetration.
'Show me respect whitey. How much do ya love my dick?'
Without thinking I extended my tongue and began to lick all around his cock head, chasing it as it bobbed away from my probing. When he brought it back to my lips I bathed his glans as he teased me. My cock was hard; somewhere in the depths of my unconscious self I liked what I was doing. No matter how much I thought I was repulsed, no matter how hard I tried to be repulsed, my body told a different story, and my lips worked with more eagerness than I wanted. I couldn't make it stop. Suddenly I was praying that help didn't come. I didn't want to be caught like this.
'Oh yeah. You a good cocksucka. We gonna finish this right now.'
He pressed deeply into my throat, forcing his way in, laughing as I tried to squirm away, the assault on my throat overwhelming me once again. And then he fell back into his rhythm.
'Once I get you trained, yo hands will be free to play with my balls.'
Trained? Even though I was horrified to be finding some pleasure in this, I knew I'd never lower my guard and let it happen again. He fell back into the same steady cadence as before, letting me suck as much of his cock as I could, and I compliantly applied the desired suction, grateful that he was no longer trying to jam his cock down my throat. This is what got me into trouble before, for it actually felt good. I realized with absolute clarity and total dismay that it was the mental part of sucking another guy's cock that was so hard to accept. Physically, his manhood felt good in my mouth. And apparently my efforts felt good to him as well. His pace was steadily increasing, and I became aware of his breathing as he started exhaling loudly on each stroke. His cock swelled, and then it happened.
Everything about this guy was big. His tall body and broadly muscled shoulders, his big hands clamped around my head, his giant cock in my mouth, and his load of semen. He groaned loudly, and then my mouth was filled with his warm come. To say I was unprepared would be an understatement. I had no experience from which to fully appreciate what was about to happen, and the volume was such that it wouldn't have mattered. Come poured down my throat, but at the same time it boiled out of my mouth and ran down my chin. As he pulsed in rapid succession, I tried to swallow, but the flood caused me to choke and even more poured from my mouth. This went on for some time, seemingly forever, and I managed to swallow some while I felt the rest dripping onto my chest and running down my body. Finally he paused, his pulsating cock becoming still in my mouth as the last of his climax dribbled out. I felt completely used and humbled.
'D-d-damn, man. You almost d-drowned him.'
This exclamation brought raucous laughter. Unconsciously I sucked his cock as it deflated, very aware of the cooling of his come on my body.
'Not bad fo a first time, but you gonna have to learn to swallow.'
He jerked his cock from my mouth, and then picked up my torn shirt and used it to wipe himself off.
'G-give me dat when ya done.'
My face was roughly wiped with my shirt turned rag, and then suddenly another cock was pressed to my lips. It was no longer a surprise, and in my shocked state I simply opened up and let him enter me. My cock was still hard, yet tears flowed down my cheeks as the realization of my actions set in. What had I become?
It was the guy who stuttered. Though his cock was smaller than the one I had just finished, it was probably big by any standard I was aware of. About the same thickness as the previous one, it had a curve to the left that I might have found funny under other circumstances. Having watched me suck his friend's cock, he attacked my mouth with some urgency, forcing his way deep without regard for me. Several times his pubic curls touched my nose, and each time I forced down a gag. This only amused him, and I realized quickly that he had a sadistic streak I needed to be wary of. Fortunately, this episode was over quickly.
After only a few minutes, he began to groan loudly.
'S-s-suck it mutha fucka. Oh-oh yeah.'
I felt him swell, and then he was filling my mouth. This time I was better prepared, and he didn't produce the volume, but still some escaped my lips. After a few salvos, it no longer mattered, for he pulled out and fired come all across my face and body. When he was done, he stepped away to the derisive laughter of his friends, who were amused somewhat by his actions, but mostly I realized by his brevity.
'Damn man, you don't last shit with dat bent cock of yours.'
'Mother fucka made a mess of our ho.'
They kept on laughing and teasing, which made him mad, but he wouldn't stand up to his buddies. Instead he shoved me over roughly, as if it was my fault. Even though I fell hard across the boxes of paint, it was actually a relief to get off my knees for a second. But it was a short respite, for the remaining guy was feeling some urgency of his own and pulled me back upright. My face was roughly wiped with my shirt one more and I braced myself.
My last assailant was more like the first. He wanted to take his time and establish his dominance by getting my cooperation. When he stepped in front of me, I noticed he was now naked. I closed my eyes to block it out, but not before noticing he had a much thicker cock than the other two. Not nearly as long, it stuck straight out at my face. I simply awaited my fate, unable to do anything, and not sure it really mattered any more. After the rough treatment from the last guy, my own erection had deflated so that I was semi-hard, and I accepted it as a small victory.
'Wrong whitey. You come to me.'
I opened my eyes again. He was standing over me, hands on his hips, which were thrust forward in mimicry of the first guy. He looked menacing in the dim light, perhaps in an effort to overcome his size. He was the smallest guy of the three, short and slender, his thick cock seeming out of proportion with the rest of him. I leaned over and touched him with my lips, already jaded, my compliance no longer bothering me as badly as it had. He jumped at the contact, and when his cock stilled once more I opened my mouth and took him in.
My arms ached, my neck ached, my knees hurt, and I could feel dirt and grim over most of my body. My head throbbed on one side where I had been hit hardest. My side ached where I had been kicked, and I knew I was going to have some nasty bruising. Nevertheless, as I sucked this guy's cock my body reacted once more, though I tried to rationalize that it wasn't happening. It was almost like being a teen-ager again, when I could feel my cock getting hard at an inopportune moment, and the more I tried to concentrate on making it stop, the worse it became. Perhaps it was the same scenario; fear of it happening making it happen. All I really knew is that I was hard again, and I was finding the feel of this cock in my mouth to be less unpleasant than I wanted it to be. Once more my mind cried out, 'what's wrong with me'?
The thought faded quickly, something stronger in me taking over. My mouth was very full, yet I found myself trying to swallow it all even though my attacker was merely standing there. Why was I doing this?
'He's getting the hang of it now. I think this honky likes it.'
'Damn right he does. Ain't no resisting a black man's cock.'
'It-its p-payback for 400 years. R-r-reparations.'
They all laughed heartily at that. The guy in my mouth took hold of my head, a hand on each side, and began to fuck me. It was a slow, easy fuck, and like before I found the feel of more enjoyable than I wanted to admit. I began to think of how much my wife liked to suck my cock, and I began to understand why. But at the same time I wished I had not gained the knowledge. I wanted to fight the feelings down, but my cock throbbed and my mind knew it was losing the battle.
This guy had tried to look harsh, but he wasn't like either of the other two. If anything, he was gentle. I had the sense that he liked a guy sucking him off. With the other two, I was just a warm hole to use. With this guy, it was something different. I felt him pressing deeper with each stroke.
'Let's see how much you can take.'
It was almost a whisper, as if he only wanted me to hear, and remarkably I found myself wanting to cooperate. Shifting my head down and back, he stood over me. My position was awkward, especially since I didn't have my hands free to support myself, and he increased the pressure on my head to hold me in place. Ever so slowly, he worked his cock into me, and ever so slowly, I was able to take it deeper without gagging outright. I knew what he was trying to do and shifted my position to make it easier without thinking about what I was doing. Looking up his body for an instant, I saw him watching me intently. When his cock finally slid all the way home, his curls against my nose, his balls against my chin, a low moan of pleasure sounded in the shed. To my horror I realized it came from me.
'Ha. He's got it all and he likes it!'
I did have it all, but hearing his words reminded me that I didn't want to like it. Yet it was amazing to feel his thick glans at the entrance to my throat, his pubic hair against my face. He held it there as I fought to overcome the gag reflex, breathing loudly through my nose. But it worked. I was able to relax and feel him throb deep inside me. As bad as I hated to admit it, I was excited by what I had done, by what I was doing.
He pulled out then slid easily back in. My eyes were wide open now, and I watched my assailant, more or less urging him on with eye contact. He needed little encouragement and began a slow, deep fucking of my mouth, my lips stretched to the point of discomfort around his wide girth, my tongue acting of its own accord as it felt all around the shaft that impaled me. I heard the other guy's voices, but I comprehended no words. For a few minutes I forgot I was being raped. I had heard that sometimes women got involuntarily turned on during a rape, that their body responded against their will, but I never believed it. I never accepted that an act of violence against a woman could produce anything but anger and revulsion. Now I wasn't so sure. The reaction I felt was far different than the reaction I wanted to feel.
He fucked my mouth for a while, his stamina more like the first guy's, but his pace slower and gentler. Finally he began to moan, and then he began to swell. As thick as he was, for an instant I thought my mouth would split open. Then he pushed himself to the hilt and exploded. His cock was aimed down my throat and I didn't even have to think about swallowing. It just happened. When he was done, not a drop had escaped, and for that I was grateful. I already had enough come running down the front of my body.
When he finally released me I fell over onto my right side, against the paint boxes. I ached all over, but more than that I was trying to escape, to get as far away from him as possible. Suddenly I was filled with shame. I realized that I had allowed a rape, which is all this was, to become something of a consensual act. I turned my face towards the dirty flow and felt the tears flowing feely as I tried to become invisible. But I couldn't escape the fact that three black guys stood over me, that my hands were tied, that I was naked and that I had their come all over my body, or worse that I had their come in my belly. As I lay there in squalor, I considered this long list of horrors, but the thing that scared me most was that my cock was still hard.
'Damn, it's hot in here.'
It was hot, though I hadn't noticed the sweat that covered me. The three guys stepped out of the storage room and off to the right, out of my line of sight. It was now dark outside, and I was alone for the first time in about an hour. For a few minutes I lay still, gathering my thoughts and listening to see if they were leaving. I couldn't hear voices, but the heavy container probably didn't transmit sounds well. One thing for certain is that I didn't hear a car start up. Finally it dawned on me that this may be my only chance to escape and I began to fight against the rope that held my arms. I struggled fruitlessly, then got to my feet and tried to catch the rope on a sharp edge along one of the shelves. Of wood construction, they offered little as a cutting tool. Finally hot, sweaty and dejected, I gave up.
Sitting on a stack of drinks near the door, I considered my options as I listened carefully for my assailants. In this location I could hear subdued voices, and I realized that they were sitting at the picnic table in the referee area about 15 yards opposite the wall to my back. As my head cleared and I took stock, I remembered the keys to my truck were in my shorts. I found the mangled shorts on the floor and with some difficulty knelt down and finally got the fingers of my bound hands around them. Fumbling with the tattered material I quickly confirmed my initial impression when I picked up the limp material; they weren't there. I spent a few minutes searching in the darkness, but to no avail. My wallet and my cell phone were in the center console of my truck, but it was locked and I didn't have the keys.