Date: Tue, 11 Dec 2018 21:04:48 +0000
From: whipped@protonmail.com
Subject: Ashland 2

Gay
Authoritarian/Adult Youth

This is a work of fiction and not based on any real people or events Do not
read if you are under eighteen. All characters are over eighteen. I use
offensive language because it gets readers off and don't use protection in
my stories because the characters are fiction. Always respect people in
real life and protect yourself.

If you enjoy this story, consider donating to Nifty.

Also, I received no feedback from part one of this story. If I receive no
feedback this time, this will probably be the last chapter.

"Ashland"

Mr. Dennis had said come as a boy. I wasn't sure what he meant by that
exactly. I decided to wear a jockstrap, a baseball cap, my old lacrosse
jersey, and some basketball shorts. I had started to wear jeans because it
was cold af, but I figured it'd be warm inside and jeans are harder to get
off. I didn't want him to rip the jeans up if he was in a hurry or
something. I also figured the jockstrap would make things easier too.  I
sat outside for two hours in the cold until I saw the lights go on. Then I
knocked.  Mr. Dennis answered in a towel.  I was taken back for a second. I
could almost feel his muscular body on top of me, hear him growling and
grunting on top of me, feel his sweat dripping onto me, his hands slapping
my ass, his spit running down my face.  My dick twitched.  He stepped back
and let me in.  I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't
this. After I stepped in, he went to the kitchen table and handed me two
sheets of paper. One with a list of chores. The other was almost like a
confession or contract and had a place for me to sign.  It read:

I am a faggot and exist only to serve real men. I will obey Connor Dennis
and his friends in all things. He can punish me and use me however he
wants. I am his slave and servant. I exist to please him. I will obey him
in all things or be punished as he sees fit.

Then it had a place for me to sign and date it.

I started to walk out. I wanted to walk out. I wasn't a slave. I wasn't
even sure I was a faggot. I mean, I didn't want to kiss boys or
anything. His dick had just made me cum.

Mr. Dennis looked at me and said, ""I'm getting dressed. Sign it by the
time I'm back or get out."

I stared at it. I read it over and over. I walked to the door and then back
to the table.

Then I signed it.

When Mr. Dennis came back in the room, he was wearing a football jersey and
shorts. He took the paper, saw my signature, and nodded.

Then he said:

You know I don't like faggots. I'm going to give you one more out, son. You
leave and go find you some pussy. You become a real man. You stay here
today, I keep this, you ain't ever gonna be a real man again. You'll really
know what it means to be property and a hole. Last week was a
rehearsal. You understand the punishment part?

I shrugged.

He continued:

It means if I want to whip you bloody or gut punch you or slap you to teach
you a lesson or make you obey, you agreed to that. Understand?

I looked at him. I really don't like pain. But I remembered how he made me
cum.

I nodded.

He shook his head and said, "Do your chores."

The next two hours were prep mostly. Mr. Dennis pretty much ignored me. I
cleaned up the kitchen and living room, the bathrooms, did the dishes, did
a bunch of laundry, and then finally started making food.

By the time I was done, the place was mostly spotless. Food consisted of
the kind of junk most guys seem to like. I made a bunch of hot wings,
chili, hot dogs, and laid out prep for topping stuff. I also made iced tea
and put out a cooler full of ice and beer in the living room.

Then the guests arrived.

Mr. Dennis had me hand them all sealed envelopes when they arrived. It
seemed mysterious at first.

I was sort of freaked that I recognized two of his three guests.

Coach Thomas Tillman was the football coach at my school. He was 6'1 and
about 220. He had a shaved head, but I figured he was probably grey. He had
to be in his fifties or sixties. He had that hardcore tan coaches sometimes
get.

Sheriff Jerry Anderson was the local sheriff. He was about the same height
as coach, but fat. I guess he had let himself go. He had most of his hair
still. I heard a rumour he was part feather type Indian, but he looked more
Irish or English to me. He was dressed in his uniform so I guess he was on
call.

The other guy I didn't know, but he had to be a Dennis. He was almost
exactly the same height and build as Mr. Dennis, but maybe a little
older. I found myself wondering if their dicks matched. I'd learn his name
was Chip.

I felt tiny next to them.

They all opened their letters, looked at me, and laughed. When they put
them down, I realized why.

Mr. Dennis had copied my letter and handed it to them.

The next hour or so I was mostly ignored. They all yelled at me when they
wanted something, but otherwise I just stood around. All my fear and
excitement had sort of turned to boredom.

Then Sheriff Anderson stood up and said, "I got to piss."

There was a big cry of how he was going to miss the game and then Chip out
of hand said, "Just use the faggot. I intend to after another of these
beers."

Sheriff Anderson looked at Mr. Dennis, who nodded.

Then Mr. Dennis stood up and guided me to Sheriff Anderson, who was
standing. I felt Mr. Dennis take my hat off, pull my shirt up and off, and
then jerk my shorts down. I was left naked except for my jock strap. Then
he pressed down on my shoulders.

I was looking up at Sheriff Anderson now, whose eyes were back on the game.

He unbuckled his belt and unsnapped his holster and pants. He sat the
holster on the table. Then he unzipped and pulled his dick out.

It was soft and only about four inches.

I looked up at Mr. Dennis.

He shook his head, as if disgusted at me, and said, "Swallow his piss, then
thank him, or I'm going to have to ruin that pretty faggot ass of yours."

Mr. Dennis picked up the sheriff's belt and snapped it, then whipped it
hard against the couch. It cracked hard against the leather.

Sheriff Anderson looked down for a second, grabbed my head, and stuck his
dick in my mouth.

Then it happened. A burst of salty bitter piss from his cock. Then
another. Then my mouth was full and I had to swallow. I was trying not to
choke or cry. The taste was making me sick. Then it was over.

Sheriff Anderson laughed.

Then he pushed my head off his dick, hocked a loogie on my face, and said,
"Never say I don't recycle."

Chip and the other guys joined him in laughing, then Chip gestured for me
to come over. He stayed sitting down and just pulled his dick out and put
it in my mouth. His dick was big and I knew what he expected. His piss was
even more bitter. It took every bit of control I had not to throw up.

When Chip finished, he wiped his dick off on my face and his hands on my
head.

Coach watched and then said, "I think you boys just gave him his first ten
beers."

There was another roar of laughter and they all called me disgusting and
other names.

Then I felt myself being lifted up from under my shoulders by
Mr. Dennis. He grabbed me by the ear again and then bent me over the
couch. The other men focused on the game. Surely he wasn't going to fuck me
in front of them.

Then I felt it.

The belt.

It lashed my shoulders and back first. I screamed from pain and
surprise. Then it smashed my butt cheeks. Then it was non-stop. The men in
the room barely glanced up.

Mr. Dennis abruptly stopped spanking me with the belt and said,
"Apologize."

I didn't understand. Then it clicked.

I said, "I'm sorry for not thanking you both for peeing in my mouth. Thank
you."

Then I looked up at Colby's dad. He nodded.

The rest of the game was uneventful.

When it ended, Mr. Dennis told the men a story.

He said:

I dropped into the adult bookstore by Weiman High the other day. I was
looking for that whore Debbie that hangs out there, but she wasn't there. I
noticed, though, a whole line of sweaty boys lined up in the viewing
area. Some of them were still in their lacrosse gear and even had their
equipment against the wall and all over the floor. I had to see what was
going on.

I found that kid on his knees, but in drag. No way it would be believed he
was a woman in good light, but the little shit clearly had those boys
fooled in that dark room. He was in fishnets and heels and a little blonde
wig and his face was covered in cum. They lined up and just used his throat
like a dick ditch, pounding it, spewing their cum, and letting the next guy
in.

I think they would have kept him there on his knees forever if I hadn't
shown up. And kicked his ass when they found out the truth.

So, I pushed them aside, grabbed the kid, and dragged him out to my
car. Then I drove him out to the construction site on 27th. The second I
parked he had my dick balls deep down his throat. Didn't even seem to mind
choking on it. Just took it to the balls. I didn't want to nut in a mouth
though.

When I knew I was getting close, I got out of the car, stripped down,
stuffed my underwear in his mouth, and fucked him up the ass. He screamed
and struggled, but I figured that's what you get for dressing like a whore
and what he did to those boys.

Afterwards, I laid on top on him and he called me master.

And that's when I told him to come here and had him sign that paper.

Everything Mr. Dennis said was a lie. But they all nodded and I noticed
Chip adjusting his crotch.

Then Sheriff Anderson got up from the couch and grabbed my hands. He
handcuffed them behind my back and then got out a pair of ankle cuffs and
locked my legs together. It left me completely vulnerable to whatever use
the men wanted to put me to and unable to fight.

To be continued?