Chapter 1

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.

'Alright, alright.'

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.

'Oh God.'

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.

'Kiss it.'

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.

'Kiss it.'

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.

'Alright!'

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.