Date: Mon, 27 Dec 2004 11:11:28 EST
From: ArtHill579@aol.com
Subject: "Carried Away" Part 17 (Conclusion)

Disclaimer: This story is basically a fantasy involving humiliation, mild
violence, and sexual activity between young men. If you find such material
offensive or in violation of the laws of your state/country, please don't
read any further. Remember to practice safe sex: this story is a fantasy in
which STDs don't exist!

(c) Art M. Hill ArtHill579@aol.com All rights reserved (2004).
If you enjoy this story, please email me.

Please support Nifty Archives.

********************************************

So my brother Bob was leaving, going back to the marine base. No doubt Chris
Foster had told his brother Greg that I had been spying on him and Bob--and
jacking off--while they were fucking their girlfriends the previous night. Greg
then passed the info on to Bob, and the rest was history. Bob had the decency to
rescue me when Chris and his goons had attacked and almost drowned me in one
of the restrooms at the college, but I guess he figured that was all he owed
me. No doubt, being the straight arrow that he was, he couldn't understand my
sexual preferences, and probably wanted nothing more to do with me.

I kinda had mixed feelings about the whole thing. Frankly, I was disappointed
with Bob, the big tough marine who could drive off six football players, but
couldn't face the possibility that somebody else--like his brother--might feel
differently about sex than he did. If he wanted to be that narrow-minded, then
the hell with him. He was running away without even giving me a chance to
explain. Wasn't that just a little bit cowardly?

On the other hand, I had a deep sense of sadness. I might have been pissed at
him, but there was no getting around it: I realized that I cared deeply about
Bob. I wanted--no, I needed--his respect and friendship. We had gotten closer
than ever in the brief time he had been home. I could tell that, regardless of
what happened in the past, he had really wanted us to be friends. It's just
that he wasn't prepared to hear about what I had done, and the new life-style I
had started to live. Admittedly, things had gotten out of control and I was
getting a lot more than I bargained for from Chris and his buddies--but I didn'
t need condemnation right about now, I needed some support!

I knew that if we were going to get over the barrier that had just sprung up
between us, it would have to be now, before he left. It also seemed to me that
Bob was not going to initiate any conversation about what had happened. As
the afternoon wore on, Bob was up and down the stairs with the rest of his
stuff. We passed each other a couple of times, but he never said a word to me: it
was like I didn't exist.

"Bob, I need to talk to you," I finally said after dinner.

"There's nothing to talk about," he said firmly. "I know what you're into
and honestly I find it fuckin' disgusting."

"Look, Bob," I said, "I'm not asking you to approve of what I do . . .
hell, I don't approve of everything you do, but you're still my brother and you
always will be. I think we can still be friends, I want us to be friends."

Bob was silent. It was almost as if he was struggling with a new idea: his
brother was gay, and besides that he was kind of kinky! Not exactly the kind of
thing a marine would normally approve of.

"Why were you spying on me and Greg last night?" Bob finally asked.

I had to think about that one for a moment and answer very carefully. I had
gone over to the Fosters' last night out of curiosity. I hadn't intended to
watch my brother having sex, but once I saw it . . .

"All I can say, Bob, is that it just happened. Chris had been hassling me,
and I wanted to see what he was up to. It was a stupid thing to do, I realize
that now. Bob, you gotta understand something. My feelings have changed lately. I
'm not sure if it's good or bad, but I'm not the same person I was." Then I
said it: "Bob, I'm gay. I know that now. I'm attracted to guys." (He made a
grimace). Then I waited for the explosion, but found myself remarkably calm
about the whole thing. I had decided I needed to make decisions about my own
life, and I wasn't gonna let somebody else tell me who or what I should be.

Bob was silent again. Then he surprised me by saying: "Yeah, I kinda figured
that you were."

"How?" was all I could think of saying.

"The way you reacted when I asked you if you were making it with any of the
chicks. You looked like it was the last thing on your mind. A young
good-looking college dude like you. You should be fuckin' your way all over the campus.
Then when I offered to set you up with a date and go out with Greg and me . . .
well, let's say you looked like a freshman pledge getting ready for a tough
round of hazing." I saw his features soften and he unexpectedly laughed. It was
a `good' laugh. There wasn't any contempt or judgment in it.

"I gotta tell ya something, Davey. When I first heard about what you did I
was really pissed, especially about you lookin' at us through the window. But ya
know, after I thought about it I figured: shit, everybody gets hot lookin' at
sex. I would've probably done the same thing if it was me at that window."
He laughed again . . . Man, I guess I didn't give this guy enough credit!

I though about my other attractions--like my foot fetish, if that's what it
was. I had no desire to make a public confession to Bob about all my `
extracurricular' activities. No sense pushing the man too far, at least not all at
once. For instance, I had absolutely no intention of telling him that I thought HE
was hot, or that I loved making love to his combat boots! No Sir!

"Davey, I'm sorry I called you a faggot. I can't say that things haven't
changed now that I know you're gay, but you're right: we are brothers and we
always will be."

If I had detected any condescension in his voice, I wouldn't have accepted
his apology. His tone was guarded, but respectful. I knew it would take time for
him to process the fact that he had a `new brother', but that was okay. I
could wait. Besides, I had no idea at this point where my new interests were
taking me or how I could and needed to control them. I did know that I didn't
want to be gang-raped again by a group of drunken bikers. (Thank you, Nick!)

When I went to bed that night I felt a real sense of relief and happiness
about how things had turned out with Bob. Then I thought about school. Things
would probably get back to normal with Bob leaving. Chris and his friends would
most likely be out for blood, and would want revenge for their public
humiliation. I found myself thinking the same thing I did the other night. How could I
face Chris tomorrow? What would he do to me once he found out that Bob was
gone?

***************************************

The jocks surrounded me just as I was leaving school, and forcibly walked me
over behind those infamous toilets where there was a large stand of trees. "
Strip," Chris ordered. I knew that they would tear the clothes off me if I
disobeyed so I undressed down to my briefs.

I felt a hard slap across the back of my head. "I said everything, faggot,"
Chris snarled.

As I took off my briefs I felt hands grab my wrists, pulling me forward
against one of the trees. "Oof" I exclaimed as the air was knocked out of me when
I hit up against the tree. The rough bark scratched against my chest and
crotch. Larry and Chuck had each taken one of my hands, and now I felt them being
roughly tied around the back of the tree. Then they did the same with my legs,
effectively immobilizing me and leaving my ass and back wide open for attack.

Chris stood off to my right side where I could see him, and slowly removed
his heavy leather belt. "Gotta pay for what you did to us, faggot." He seemed
to forget that he and his friends were the ones who tried to drown me in the
urinal and my brother was only trying to protect me.

"Chris, don't do this," I pleaded. "I didn't do anything . . ."

"Shut the fuck up, faggot," Chris yelled right in my ear. "Take it like a
man, if ya even know what the word means."

Once he had removed his belt, he slowly curled one end and smacked it loudly
against the palm of his hand. I heard a chorus of laughter as I jumped at the
sound. "Ya like that sound, faggot? I bet your gonna love it when ya hear it
on your ass . . . like this!"

Without warning he straightened up, hauled back the belt and lashed it across
my ass, making me cry out in pain.

"Cover his mouth, man," Chris ordered, "or he'll get the whole fuckin'
campus out here."

Somebody (I think it was Nick) stuffed my briefs in my mouth just as Chris
swung the belt again hard, this time against my lower back. I groaned through
the choking gag.

"Yeah, pussy," he said, "I'm gonna fuck you up good, and when I get tired,
well, let's just say my buddies are gonna help me out." He swung the belt
again and I felt it lash against my already sore ass.

"Gettin' nice and red. Bet you're lovin' this, aren't ya fag? Ya know,
after this you're not gonna be able to sit down for quite a while--at least for a
couple of weeks. Now it would be a shame for your car to just sit in your
driveway, wouldn't it?" (The belt slashed again). "So I'm gonna make sure it's
put to good use. You don't mind if me and my buddies borrow it for awhile do
you?" (Slash!) "Yeah, you just tell your folks that your good friend is workin'
on the motor for you . . . and believe me, that's just what I'll be doing."
(Slash!) Oh, and by the way, just to show you I'm a nice guy and really like
you, I'm gonna save all my used rubbers for you, so you can think about all the
fuckin' going on in your back seat and jack that queer cock of your while you
drink my cum." (Slash!)

The guys cracked up at this. "Hey," said Nick, "don't forget to give him
one for fuckin' the side of your house." (Thanks, Nick, I thought to myself.)

"Hey, thanks, dude," Chris panted, obviously tiring from his `work'. "Yeah,
I forgot about that." (Slash!) "And one thing I can promise you fucker: You
WILL be licking that cum off the side of my house. It may take you a little
longer since it's all dried up, but hell (Slash!), it's not like you got
anything better to do!" More laughing from Chris' buds.

"Prese, Cwis," I mumbled through the briefs, "prese, sop."

"What did he say?" Nick asked. "Did anybody get that?"

"Man, I think he's losin' it. He ain't makin' any sense."

"Time out," Chris said. "Ya know, I think we better cool off his ass a bit.
I think maybe I gave him one too many. Whatdaya' think?"

Suddenly I heard zippers being pulled down and braced myself. By now I knew
very well what was in store for me. Five or six streams of piss hit me at the
same time, running down my back, ass, and legs. Where ever the belt had left a
welt, the piss strung like hell. I continued to beg for them to stop, but they
kept laughing and telling me to speak louder because they couldn't understand
me.

When the pissing finally stopped Larry said: "Hey let's try something else.
The fag must be getting bored with this. Let's give him a real thrill."

I could hear noises behind me. " Hey cool! Where the fuck did ya get that?"
Chuck said.

"Down in the cellar," Larry answered. "I thought the fag might like to try
it out."

"Yeah? Ya sure you didn't try it out on yourself first?" Chuck teased.

"Fuck you!" Larry said, not appreciating his bud's sense of humor. "Bend
over, man, and you can see how it fits."

"Okay, okay," Chris said, "gi'me that piece of shit or I'll try it out on
both of you."

"See this, faggot?" he said, showing me what looked like a small plastic
baseball bat. It was rounded off at the business end and looked like it was maybe
two inches at its widest point. Then it tapered down to a bulbous handle
about one inch across. Chris ran the bat across my cheek and under my nose. It was
a dirty yellow color and looked like it had seen a lot of use. Probably a kid'
s toy . . . but I had a strong suspicion it wouldn't be used for any kids'
games today.

 "Ya know what this is for, fag . . . to hit a ball." Without warning he
swung the bat between my legs and smacked me right in the nuts. It hurt like
hell. I tried to pull my legs as close together as possible to shield my aching
balls from any further assaults.

"Aw, ya didn't like that?" Chris asked. "Well, I'll bet I know something you
'll really like. Then to the other guys: "Loosen up those ropes and spread
his legs some more." I started to struggle.

"Just relax, man," Chris said, "I'm not gonna hit your fag balls again. I
think you've been punished enough. Now it's time for a treat." Standing where
I could see him, Chris reversed the bat, pulled down his zipper, and started
pissing on the handle. "I think that should just about do it," he said,
looking at me with a smirk on his face. Then he disappeared behind me.

Almost immediately I felt a blunt object pressing against my sore ass cheeks,
forcing them open. I panicked as I realized that Chris was trying to force
the bat handle up my ass hole! The bat apparently was somewhat flexible so as it
was pushed, it's shape adjusted slightly to my hole. Still, it hurt like hell
as the pressure continued to increase and the bat began to work its way
deeper into my ass crack.

"Shit, it's not gonna go in this way," Chris cursed. "Hey you guys, help me
out here. Pull his pussy lips open. That'll make it easier to shove it in."

"No way," Larry said, "I ain't gonna touch that pissed up ass."

"Use his shirt, dumbbell!" Chris bellowed.

I heard a ripping of material as Larry tore my tee in two and gave one half
to Chuck who started laughing like crazy: "Shit this is sick stuff." he said.

I felt the two halves of my butt being pried apart. Then Chris tried again
and this time my hole began to stretch as the handle penetrated my crack deeper
and deeper. Then I felt a searing pain as the end of the bat finally popped
into my hole.

"Fuck, ya did it, man," Chuck yelled. "Give `im some more!"

Chris needed no urging, and now that the handle was buried in my hole, the
long thin part of the bat slipped in more easily. As the handle grazed my
prostate I felt a stirring in my loins as my cock began to harden.

"Look, dude," Larry commented, "the faggot likes it. He's gettin' a boner.
I told ya!"

Now Chris began to fuck the end of the bat back and forth, each time pushing
it a little deeper up my chute. It was painful, but also strangely arousing.
By now my cock was fully erect and straining against the rough tree bark. Chris
laughed.

"See if ya can get `im to blow," Larry said excitedly.

"Yeah, watch this," Chris said, as he began to move the bat faster and
deeper, starting to drive me into a frenzy of pain and pleasure.

Suddenly I started humping back against the bat (as far as the ropes would
allow). I couldn't help myself, it was like my hips had a mind of their own.

"Look at `im," Chris said. "What a whore. This fuckin' pussy's really into
it. Bet ya he blows in less than a minute." And he was right.

My whole body vibrated with sexual energy with that bat fuckin' my ass. The
tension got to be unbearable.

"C'mon," Chris said, "let it go. Show us what a perv you are. Give it up,
faggot!"

And then I was coming. One of the most powerful orgasms of my life. I
screamed so hard I spit out the briefs. The guys were all laughing and high-fiving
each other.

"Shit, Chris, you're the man. You fucked the cum right out of that cunt.
Fuckin' A!"

With my orgasm finishing up, I slumped exhausted against the tree. The ropes
were the only things keeping me from sliding down to the ground. I must have
been a sight. Red welts all over my back and ass and a kid's baseball bat
sticking out of my chute.

"Ya ready?" Chris asked.

"You bet," Nick said.

I saw a light flash behind me and then another. They were taking pictures of
me! Chris ordered me to turn my face around so anyone who saw the picture
would know who it was. At first I refused. Then Chris began pressing the bat even
further into me and the pain became unbearable. "I said turn your head around,
pussy!" he said.

Not being able to stand the pain any more, I craned my head around as Nick
took picture after picture from different angles, always telling me to move my
head to face the camera.

"Okay, Nick, that's enough," Chris said. "Man once we get these developed
this cunt is gonna be our fuckin' slave. "Ya hear that pussy. You do
everything we say or your family and friends get a fuckin' album showin' what you
really like to do." Then they started laughing again like crazy, but it was
sounding further and further away. They were leaving me here!

"Guys," I pleaded, "don't leave me here, please, don't leave me!"

The last thing I heard before I passed out was Chris' scornful voice: "Aw,
ain't that cute. He likes us so much he doesn't want us to leave. Well, don't
worry, fag, you'll be seeing a lot more of us from now on . . . a lot more!"

*********************************************

The next thing I remember was Bob shaking me and lightly slapping my face.

"Hey, Davey!" Bob said.

I looked up at Bob . . . He had saved me again! He really did care about me!
Then I began to wonder how he found me. Had Allen seen me and called? "Bob . .
." I said, and then noticed that I was in my own bed. He must have untied me
from the tree, pulled the bat out of my butt, and carried me home. I had no
memory of any of it. I blushed a deep red as I realized what Bob must have seen
when he found me. Yet his face showed neither disgust nor concern, only
impatience.

Strangely, I didn't feel any pain from the lashing or from the bat they had
shoved up my ass. I should be in agony . . . Did Bob give me something to kill
the pain? I was totally confused.

"Davey, I gotta leave or I'm gonna miss my plane. I wanted to say goodbye
before I left." He paused and then added: "Jeez, you must have been having one
hell of a dream. When I came in you were thrashing around and yellin'
something about `don't leave me!' I sure hope you were thinking about me," he
smiled. "After our talk last night I really don't want to leave, but I've already
made all the arrangements and stuff. I only had a few days left anyway. Look, I'
ll probably see you again soon. Okay?"

"Yeah, sure," I said, still not fully awake or certain about what was going
on.

Slowly I realized--being jumped by Chris and his friends, the scene at the
tree, the photographs--it was all unreal, a vivid dream that probably came about
because of all the stress I had been under lately. Then the thought hit me:
Okay, but why did I like part of it, why did I dream I was having the best orgasm
of my life when some bully was sodomizing me with a damn baseball bat?

Bob interrupted my thoughts. "Gotta go, Davey." Mom is gonna drop me off at
the airport. I'd ask you to come, but I know you've got class."

"Class!" I thought. Something was gonna happen, even if it didn't play out
like my dream. My contrary feelings surged up again in a mix of desire and
anxiety. Once again the question formed in my mind: "How am I gonna face Chris
today?" But a more basic question hovered in the shadowy background: "What is it
that you really want?"

Bob seemed to read my thoughts. "By the way," he said casually, "I had a
talk with Greg Foster and we both agreed that this bullying by Chris and his
buddies has got to stop. Greg passed the word on to Chris that he'd make him real
sorry if he or any of his friends hassled you any more. Greg also told Chris
to get off his butt and get his car fixed and not to be asking you for any more
rides--starting today. So I don't think you'll be seeing much of those
assholes any more . . . that is, ah," he said hesitantly, "unless you want to."

***************************************

I decided to blow off class and take Bob to the airport after all. Since I
only had one class that day and was making good grades in all my subjects, mom
had no major objection, and was happy to see Bob and me so close again. I
hustled to get ready so Bob wouldn't be late for his flight. We drove to the
airport pretty much in silence, but it was a comfortable silence.

"Goodbye, Davey," Bob said when we reached the airport security check. "I
meant it when I said we would see each other again soon." Then he added, in a
voice that sounded both sincere and concerned: "Take care of yourself, bro." He
gave me a rough bear hug, which I did my best to return. Then he shoved a
crumpled wad of cash into my hand and absolutely refused to take it back. "It may
come in handy, Davey, ya never know . . ." After he passed through the
security gate he turned and smiled at me. Then he was gone.

As I was driving home from the airport I decided to take the freeway, pass by
the mall, and just hang around for awhile. I'd call Allen later and give him
an (edited) update on everything that had happened. Maybe we'd get together: I
kinda felt the need for some company.

 As I was getting on the entrance ramp to the freeway, I saw a tall figure
ahead of me by the side of the road with his legs spread and his thumb hitched
out for a ride. As I got closer I saw that the guy was lean and well-built, his
ruggedly handsome face covered with a few days worth of road stubble. He was
wearing ripped jeans, and a faded jeans vest over his leather jacket. (Yeah, I
noticed the details!)

As I passed the hitchhiker I sensed him staring at me, his green eyes almost
demanding that I stop for him. I felt that familiar tightening in the pit of
my stomach and then my cock starting to rise. My foot began to move, as if on
its own, from the accelerator to the brake. There was a moment of hesitation as
I replayed my earlier thought: "What is it that you really want?"

As I braked, I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the hitchhiker pick up
his bulging back pack and start running toward the car, a broad grin on his
face. I had no idea where he was going, but it didn't really matter.