Date: Mon, 2 Sep 2013 17:43:02 -0500 From: Marshall Fitzpatrick Subject: My Alpha Football God DISCLAIMER: This story is entirely fictional. All characters, settings, and situations are products of the author's imagination. Happy readings! ~~~~~ I WAS GOING to be crippled before it was all done with. Lugging around this sousaphone had been putting more of a strain on my back than I initially thought when I decided to play tuba in marching band, and tonight was no exception. Even worse, it was damn hot. Performing under those merciless stadium lights during halftime, sweat ravaged my eyes, leaving me to rely on my clumsy sense of place to guide me as I marched. All I could clearly make out as I walked with that massive horn wrapped around me was the sight of Dylan Brandt, a second-stringer playing fullback tonight and, since football season started, the object of my affection. A sophomore, like me, Dylan was a remarkable anomaly, an underclassman who outsized most of the seniors on varsity. He was an imposing presence at 6'1" and 260 pounds of chiseled beef, a rock solid god. I had not paid Dylan much attention before three weeks ago, usually ignoring his witty but stupid comments during class and finding him generally irritating. All that changed, though, the first time I saw him in action on the field, a brick house blocking and tackling with a ferocious passion, as though nothing else mattered except squashing your opponent like a cockroach under foot. It was after this particular home game that things changed with Dylan. My parents, who came to watch me play at every game, patiently waited as the crowd dwindled and I conversed with two of my equally geeky band friends. Jeff excitedly recounted getting to third base with his quasi-girlfriend, while Miles annoyingly kept interjecting about WoW, apparently not at all interested in sex or other people's near-attainment of it. I preferred to avoid the topic of sex, as well, hoping my friends would assume I lacked interest in it altogether, which seemed preferable to them finding out that I was exclusively interested in other guys. Eventually, Jeff and Miles wandered off, and as I approached my parents for a ride home, I realized I had lost my cell phone. "It must be in the band room," I said, darting off toward the school before my father had time to chastise me for my apparent lack of responsibility. Luckily, the side door to the band room was unlocked, much to my surprise and delight. After turning on the light, I found it in my cubby, a place I certainly did not remember leaving it. As I jogged back outside, I noticed that everyone had gone except for three people, my parents among the trio, my father laughing raucously at something the third member of the party had said. "Did you find it?" my mother asked me half-heartedly as I approached, clearly amused by the conversation at hand. "Your friend Dylan here was just telling us a hilarious story about your math teacher," my father said, wiping away a tear. Before I could completely process the words "your friend Dylan", my classmate turned around and flashed me a broad grin. "Yeah, and I was just getting ready to tell them about our plans tonight before you walked over and interrupted," he said with a laugh. "What plans?" my father asked, no doubt annoyed that I had neglected to tell him about them. "We were just going to go catch a movie, maybe play some video games," Dylan replied casually. My mix of confusion, excitement, and terror paralyzed me. No words came out when I tried to speak, so all I could do was nod in acquiescence. "I'll bring him home afterwards if that's fine with you two," Dylan added. "Or he can just crash at my place. My parents won't mind." My parents exchanged shrugs, giving Dylan their blessing to kidnap me for the night. Instinctively, I followed him as he gave them a brief wave and sauntered off to his car. As Dylan and I drove away, my mother let out a sigh of relief. "It's so nice to see him make real friends besides those sad little nerds," she said. My father nodded. "Maybe that Dylan can help man him up a bit." IT WAS FOUR and a half minutes before I could find the nerve to say anything. Dylan could not have been more nonchalant about kidnapping me. "What is this?" I asked. "What's happening?" "Look," he said, not taking his eyes off the road. "I know you've been drooling over me for weeks. Scotty told me that he started noticing you hanging around outside the locker room when the team was showering. I didn't think anything of it. I just figured you were some creepy fag trying to get his rocks off. But then one day I figured out what was really going on." He grinned evilly at this, and I immediately became nervous. He continued, "I was late to the showers one day, and as I walked over I stopped to tie my shoe in the gym. When I did, I noticed this look of disappointment on your face from afar as you watched all the other guys hit the showers except for me. 'Holy shit,' I thought. 'This cocksucker is hard up for me.' So then I tested this little theory. Some days I hit the showers with the guys, and some days I didn't. On the days that I did, you hung around, always finding something to do-reorganizing shit in the locker room, like you're the fucking team manager or something. And when I didn't come in with the guys, you'd hang for a few minutes and then bolt. Sound familiar?" he asked, pulling the car over the side of the road. I was stunned. "No," I said. "It's not like that, man. I'm not gay." "I'll see about that," he said, looking me in the eyes sadistically. "I had my man Freeman in the band hide your phone so that you'd go looking for it after the game. That's when I moved in on your parents. See, I have this all planned out. I'm going to have a lot of fun with you tonight, and I don't care if you enjoy it or not, so you might as well give in, faggot." With that, he grabbed me by the back of the hair and yanked my face to his crotch. "I know you want a piece of this, you pathetic little cocksucker." He mashed my face hard into his groin, forcing me to inhale his sick, sweaty aroma. I could feel myself getting lightheaded because I was breathing it in so hard. "Look at that," he scoffed. "You're popping a tent from sniffing my junk. Jesus." He pulled me up and shoved me back over to the passenger seat. "This is going to be fun," he grinned, putting the car back in drive. WHEN WE REACHED Dylan's house, he shoved me in ahead of him, kicking me down to the ground as he closed the door behind him. "Okay, faggot. My parents are gone for the weekend. That means I have two whole days to break in my new pet. First thing's first: take off all your clothes and give them to me." "Why?" I asked nervously, my voice rising. "Did I fucking stutter, cocksucker?!" he yelled, raising his cleat above me and going red in the face. "No," I muttered, yanking things off as quickly as I could. "No what, bitch?" "No... sir?" "That's fucking right, faggot," he said, lowering his cleat. "Now hurry up!" I handed him everything I had been wearing, including my shoes. "Don't move, shithead," he said, walking out the door. I watched him as he walked to the trash can by the street, dropped my clothes in, and shut the lid. "Why did you do that?" I whined when he came back in. Big mistake. He kicked me as hard as he could in my side, and then, seeing how much it hurt me, did it twice more. "Did I give you permission to speak, cunt?!" "No, sir," I replied timidly. "That's right. Now, go get me a beer. My dad hides them in the bottom drawer of the fridge, under the vegetables. Stupid fuck thinks I don't know where they are." I came back in and handed Dylan the beer. I couldn't help but notice he had removed his shirt and was sitting on the couch in nothing but his Under Armour football pants and cleats. My little dick twitched at the sight of this god in all his glory. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he asked. "Table, now!" "What?" I asked, confused. He stood up and stared at me with rage in his face. "Table! Now!" he said, pointing at the space in front of his feet. Terrified, I got down on all fours in front of his spot on the couch. "Good faggot," he said, plopping back down and using me as a footrest. He deliberately sunk his cleats into my naked back, causing me to gasp and wince. "Problem, faggot?" he asked, downing half his beer in one go. "No, sir," I quickly replied, wanting to stay on his good side. "Good." He finished the rest of the beer in a second gulp. I was in awe of him, this buff mountain of a man, chunky and chiseled, 100% pure beef. I wanted him so bad. He threw the beer can at the back of my head. "Toilet, faggot," he said, moving his feet off me and leaning back in a relaxed position. "What?" I asked, a little worried about what he was suggesting. "Jesus," he said, jerking my head to his crotch. With his other hand, he yanked down his pants and took hold of his six-inch flaccid cock. "I have to do everything my fucking self. Open your mouth, cunt," he said. When I hesitated, he slapped my face hard. "I said open, faggot!" I immediately opened my mouth, and he shoved his cock down my throat, paying no mind to my coughing and gagging. Before I had time to process what was going on, I felt a warm stream of rancid piss surging down my gullet. The taste made me gag, and I began coughing, a bit of it coming up and splashing him on the leg. "Christ, faggot," he said, holding my nostrils shut. "If you want to breathe, you better start swallowing." At that I quickly began swallowing his never-ending torrent of piss. "Open!" he barked. I opened my mouth wide, humiliating myself by showing him that I had swallowed every drop. "Good bitch," he said, standing and kicking me in the side. He pulled me up by my hair and dragged me to his bedroom. "Now the real fun begins," he snarled, tossing me onto the floor. He sat me up so that I was sitting with my back against his bed. He immediately grabbed the sides of my head and plunged his cock down my throat, burying it there for a second to give me a good taste before pulling out and immediately slamming it back in. He repeated this a few times, me gagging and coughing and sputtering, struggling to keep up. "I'm impressed. I never thought I'd be this turned on by a faggot, but this is awesome." He removed his cock and held it in front of my mouth. "Beg for it, slut. Tell me how much you want it." "I want it," I said, slightly embarrassed. "Please... give it to me." "I can't hear you, faggot. Louder!" "Please, sir, I want it. Give it to me," I said with more confidence. "Not good enough, cunt!" he said, kicking me in the stomach. "Please give it to me, sir!" I screamed. "That's better." With that, he slapped me across the face with his throbbing cock, now swelled to its full eight and a half inches. He then commenced face fucking me mercilessly, ignoring my grunts and coughs. "Take it bitch, take it all!" he screamed, pulling my head all the way to the base of his groin and holding it while he pumped his hot cum down my throat. It felt like he came for days. I swallowed as quickly as I could, but I couldn't get it all down. As he shot the last ropes into my mouth, he shoved me away and chopped me in the throat, causing me to cough and his semen to shoot out of my nose. He immediately started cackling and snapped a picture with his phone. "Dude, that's fucking awesome. The guys told me about making a bitch do a white dragon, but I never thought it'd actually work. You know, faggot, you look really good with my baby batter dripping out your nose." He snapped another photo and laughed. I was so embarrassed. "Now lick it up, faggot," he said, recording video on his phone. "You can't let any go to waste." I lapped it up from my upper lip and strained higher, almost able to reach into my nostrils. I licked my lips, savoring the taste. "You like that, don't you, faggot? Good. Now open up. I have to take a leak again." He walked over and straddled my face. He didn't have to ask twice. I opened my mouth and savored the feeling of his enormous fat cock slithering over my tongue and down my throat. I swallowed voraciously as his piss filled my throat. "The guys are really going to enjoy you," he said after he finished, picking me up and tossing me face-down onto the bed. Before I could object, he grabbed some rope he had lying around and climbed on top of me. He began tying my feet to the lower bedposts, his massive weight pinning me down so that he could take his time to make sure the knots were good and tight. As he tied me up, he continued, "I just sent those photos and video to all the guys on the team. I made a bet with them that I could get you to be my faggot sex slave before the weekend was up. Didn't even take that long. So pathetic." He climbed off me after he finished with my feet and hands so that I was tied spread eagle face-down, completely exposed. Dylan then removed his pants and cleats, my alpha football god before me in all his naked, hairy glory. "But before they get here," he said, "I'm getting a piece of that cunt." He slapped my ass so hard it stung. "You a virgin, faggot?" he asked, walking around to face my head. I nodded, unable to speak, terrified and excited at the same time. "Then you better get it good and wet," he said, jamming his now hard cock down my throat once again. After face fucking me for a solid five minutes, he pulled out and pounced onto my back, knocking the wind out of me. Then, with no mercy he jammed his entire length into my ass in one thrust, nearly making me see stars. The pain was so excruciating that I screamed. I had never felt anything so painful before. "Shut up, faggot," he said, shoving my face into the mattress. "This is about me, not you." With that, he began pounding me ferociously. I could only imagine how much I must have been bleeding by that point. "Fuck," he said, getting into a steady rhythm, his monster cock burning me with every thrust. "Fag cunt is so much better than pussy. I've nailed a lot of chicks, but I've never had something this tight. You are a prime cut of meat, faggot." "Thank... you... sir," I squeaked out between gasps for air as he assaulted me. Despite the pain, I was really beginning to enjoy this. He pushed down all his weight on me as he began to fuck me harder and faster. "Yeah, you better thank me, bitch. I own you now. And tonight, I'm going to show off my new property to the rest of the team. I just gotta finish breaking your cunt in first before all the others get a go." I moaned at the thought of being the entire football team's fuck doll tonight. All of my deepest, most depraved fantasies were coming true. Dylan continued to savagely plow my ass for the next fifteen minutes, me feeling as though he might split me in two. Eventually he tensed up, and I felt a sharp blow to the head as he donkey punched me. "Fuuuuuuck!" he growled, my rectum reflexively tightening as he pumped what felt like gallons into my ass over the course of several minutes. After a moment, he took a breath, and my ass pussy began to tingle with a familiar warmth as he emptied his bladder inside of me. After flexing his alpha cock inside my well-used canal a few times to remind me who's boss, Dylan climbed off and gave me a gentle kick in the side. "You're the best decision I ever made, faggot," he said, spitting on me for good measure. At that moment the doorbell rang. "Must be the team," he said. "Don't go anywhere," he joked, laughing at my helpless condition, still tied to his bed. As my bulky god sauntered off to the door, I felt his spit on my back begin to cool and a mixture of piss, cum, and probably blood trickle down my leg. I felt lower than a cheap whore, and I liked it. I heard the living room door open and the herd of beasts hooting and hollering as they stampeded into the house. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, knowing things would never be the same as they were before. ~~~~~ DID YOU KNOW that authors are sustained almost entirely by candid reader feedback? Please let me know what you think about this story by emailing me at marshyfitz@gmail.com. All feedback is appreciated. Thanks! Copyright (c) 2013 All rights reserved by the author. No part of this story may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.