Date: Mon, 20 Dec 2021 13:37:54 +0000
From: Matthew Storm <mattstorm1997@gmail.com>
Subject: Learning My Place - Part 1

	This is a work of fiction.
	Please provide feedback: mattstorm1997@gmail.com
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	Learning My Place -- Part 1

It was the first week of summer vacation, and the Greens were moving out.

	Mr. Green had come by to say it in person to my parents and I'd
listened from the living room. I immediately bolted upstairs to my bedroom
and closed the door behind me, making my way to the small balcony on the
other side. The balcony in my room was on the side of the house and gave me
direct eyesight to the Green's second floor. More specifically, to Pat
Green's room balcony.

	Patrick Green was Mr. Green's son, a 17-year-old with shaggy brown
hair and dark-blue eyes that always looked stoned. That's because he almost
always was. Our "game", as I'd come to think of it, had started almost a
year ago exactly because of his nightly visits to his balcony to smoke a
blunt. The first time, I'd been lying on my bed when I saw him go out to
his balcony. Obviously, I'd seen him there before, but this time he was
wearing only his boxer briefs. They were the nylon kind, clinging tight to
his body and showing a prominent bulge down the side of his leg. He had
leaned over the balcony, and had lit his blunt.

	I could no longer see his bulge, but it had been enough to make my
own cock hard. As a 13-year-old, that wasn't saying much, but the feeling
was new and exciting. He had looked into my room, and our gazes had locked
for a second. Then, he'd straightened up, giving me clear access to his
bulge again, and had started rubbing it over the briefs. The scene had been
so intense that, deep down, I'd known something was wrong about it, I'd
known I should have looked away. And, yet, I'd been mesmerized. By his
body, so tall and slim, but already showing some muscles and body hair. I
knew he was a swimmer for the school's team, so his torso was nicely
developed. But, most of all, I'd been entranced by the volume growing in
his briefs. When he'd gotten fully hard, his erection went below the
brief's hem, and I could see the tip of his dick.

	Then, just as quickly as it had started, he'd put the blunt out and
had turned to go back into his room, leaving me lying on my own bed, with
an erection that couldn't even compare to his, and so many thoughts that I
hadn't been able to fall asleep.

	Since then, these shows had become somewhat routine, happening
twice, three times per week. Sometimes, he'd only come out in his boxers,
other times he'd masturbated right in front of me, shooting his load over
the balcony and into the garden below. I'd become more daring too, standing
in my own balcony wearing my white briefs, watching him. We'd never talked
or said anything. I knew he just liked to exhibit himself to me and I had
started to develop the same interest.

	Now, as a 14-year-old, I knew one thing above all others: I didn't
want Pat to leave without me first tasting his semen.

	Since my introduction to masturbation through Pat, I'd started
doing it myself, even though I didn't find much pleasure in it. In truth, I
mostly did it to produce cum, which I always collected in my hand and ate,
thinking it was Pat's. Still, I knew it didn't even compare to the real
thing. For once, I didn't think of myself as even comparable to Pat: he was
so much bigger than me, a lot manlier. Then, my cum looked nothing like
his: his was white and thick and plentiful; mine was a watery, pathetic
load. I didn't quite understand why our semen was so different, I just
chalked it up to him just being... better than me. At first, I hadn't even
truly known what the white thing coming out of his cock had been, I'd only
learned it a few months later in science class at school.

	Now in my room, I could only hear the distant conversation between
my father and Mr. Green. I waited patiently and, as always, Pat came out of
his bedroom. This time, he was wearing nothing at all and his thick, soft
dick hung heavy in between his legs below a full bush of black pubes. I
took off my clothes and stood naked as well and looked down at my own
penis. So pathetic in comparison. Nothing but a stub, with two small balls
underneath it and a handful of pubes on top. I knew I was starting puberty,
some hair had started appearing in my armpits and upper lip, but I was
still a boy and I was unsure if I would ever achieve Pat's greatness. On
one hand, I wanted to be like him. On the other, I knew he was a different
kind of breed. It was as if I didn't deserve to have such a perfect
body. As if I was destined to always be... underneath men like him.

	"You're leaving?", I asked. This was the first time we'd talked
during our games.

	"Yeah," he answered with the blunt in the corner of his mouth. He
lit it and puffed a couple of times.

	"Can I try it before you leave?"

	"What? Weed?"

	"Yeah," I lied.

	"You're too young," he said, already playing with his cock, getting
it hard.

	"I'm 14."

	"So?"

	"You show me your dick, but I can't try your weed?"

	"Don't overstep yourself," he warned, suddenly serious.

	I shivered. He was right, of course. I had no right to speak to him
like this. I was his inferior.

	"Turn around," he said. I obeyed. "Bend over." I obeyed
again. "Fuck yeah," I heard him whisper. "Nice, fat ass." I could hear him
masturbating and the thought of him doing it while appreciating my body had
never crossed my mind. Had this always been the case? Had he always
masturbated thinking of me? I knew I thought of him when I did it, but, for
some reason, I'd always thought he'd thought of girls while doing it
himself. "So you want to try my weed, eh?"

	"Yeah," I said, my heart beating fast, knowing perfectly well what
he meant.

	"I might just give it to you. You're a good boy, maybe you deserve
it."

	Then, he grunted, I knew he was cumming. I turned around to see it,
watching as he shot load after load to the grass below, and I had to fight
the urge to run naked and stand underneath him with an open mouth.

	Suddenly, I heard raised voices coming from inside my house. I ran
back into my room and started putting my clothes back on.

	"I know you were out fucking that whore again!" My mom shouted
somewhere below.

	"Oh, fuck off Linda," my dad replied.

	 This was a common fight between them, so I wasn't too
surprised. They'd been like this almost since I could remember, with my mom
accusing my dad of cheating on her because he often came home late from
work. I honestly didn't understand why they hadn't divorced yet. My mom
said something I couldn't understand and then my dad said: "Maybe if you
hadn't given me a fag for a son, I wouldn't mind spending some time at
home."

	This, too, wasn't new. He'd called me "fag" before, but I'd never
quite understood what it meant.

	"How is that my fault?", Mom yelled.

	"You raised him!"

	"Because you were working all the fucking time!"

	A door slammed and I heard my dad coming up the stairs. I knew what
was about to happen, so I sat patiently on my bed. He came into my room,
and slammed the door behind him. Then, he lowered the blinds on the door to
the balcony. He was still wearing his white shirt, tie and suit pants, and
his face was twisted in anger. Still, it was beautiful.

I'd always found my dad beautiful, even when he was angry. He had a thick
head of brown hair that he kept nicely cut. Some grey hairs had started
appearing on his temples, but nothing much. He also had a brown, thick
beard, which he also kept neatly trimmed, a straight, Roman nose and deep,
brown eyes. I'd always thought he looked like a more "common" version of
Henry Cavill, my celebrity crush.

Dad sat on the bed next to me and said: "You know what to do."

And I did. I stood up and pulled my pants and white briefs down. Then, I
lay over his lap and he held me in place with one hand. With the other, he
started spanking my ass.

He did it slowly, but with purpose, one spank at a time. Each time, he
asked me rhetorical questions like "you're a fag, aren't you?" and "this is
what fags deserve, isn't it?". I'd learned not to answer him and just let
him do it. The first few times, I'd cried and fussed. Then, I'd gotten used
to it. Now... now I was turned on by it. My cock immediately sprang up,
erect against his legs.

"This turns you on, boy?", he asked once he felt it, slapping him
again. "Uh?", he slapped me again.

My only response was a moan of pleasure as I felt is manly hand hit my soft
ass cheeks again and again as he held me tight against his body. Then he
spread my cheeks with on hand and, suddenly, a flash of pain radiated from
my hole. I squirmed and tried to move away, my body instinctively trying to
flee the sudden invasion, but he held me tighter as his finger penetrated
my hole.

"Now this is what fags were made for," he whispered as he removed his
finger and shoved it in again. I let out a small cry of pain, but stayed
put, knowing that I shouldn't fight back. Instead, I tried to relax as much
as I could to make the finger-rape easier.

He moved his index in and out a few times and, eventually, the pain wasn't
as harsh. But then he inserted another finger, and the whole cycle started
again. I hated that my body wanted to make it stop because, at the same
time, I knew that this was my place.

This time, however, something different happened. As he moved his two
fingers in and out, he touched something inside me that sent shivers up and
down my body. My small cock twitched against his suit pants and I
instinctively let out a small moan of pleasure. My dad was saying something
in his deep, gruffy voice, but the entire world was shut out from my senses
as he touched that place again and again and again. Like touching a button
that made me lose control of my body.

Eventually, every muscle in my body spasmed and I twitched, but he held me
in place. My hole contracted around his fingers as I shot the biggest load
I'd ever experienced. It was still not much, I knew it was still watery and
pathetic, but I'd never had such an orgasm. Only once I'd come down from
the sudden bliss did I realise that I had cum on my father's pants.

"Get up," he ordered and, of course, I obeyed. I looked at his lap and saw
the damp stain on the black pants. "Next time, I'll make you clean it up."

He got up and left. But not before I saw the huge erection tenting his
pants.



The next morning, I awoke well after they had both gone off to work. I
immediately thought back to what my father had done to me the night before
and my cock sprang up once again. I spread my legs and probed my hole with
a finger. Just touching it made my cock twitch.

Slowly, I tried to insert a finger, but there was too much resistance and I
winced in pain. So, I spat on my hand and rubbed some saliva on my hole and
tried again. This time, it went in much smoother. But my finger was much
smaller than my dad's, and it didn't feel the same. Plus, I couldn't find
the magic button he'd touched inside me.

Before I could explore much more, someone rang the doorbell. I pulled my
tighty-whities back up and ran downstairs, looking through the peephole at
the door. It was the mailman. I opened the door.

"Good morning," he said, looking down at the letters in his hand. Ever
since discovering my thing for exhibitionism, I loved opening the door in
briefs whenever mom and dad weren't home.

"Good morning," I replied. The mailman looked up at me and let out a
chuckle.

"Ah, you better put some clothes on. And take care of that," he said,
nodding towards my small erection. "Here, these are for your parents." He
handed me a couple of letters. "Naughty kid," he said, tousling my hair.

I had the sudden thought of inviting him inside and ask him to do what my
father had done to me but, before I could say anything, he was already
walking away. I started closing the door, but something stopped me from the
other side.

"Hello, Kyle," Pat said, holding the door open with his foot.

"Hey, Pat," I replied. He was wearing an old t-shirt and gym shorts. It was
obvious he wasn't wearing any underwear from the huge bulge in between his
legs. I realised I could just reach out and touch it, so I did
it. Surprisingly, he didn't react, instead standing there as I grabbed his
huge cock over the gym shorts.

"I'm holding a sort of farewell party in my room while my parents aren't
around. Want to come?" He asked, but I was entranced by the fact that I was
actually holding Pat Green's cock in my hand. "Hey!" He yelled.

"Ah, yes, of course. Let me get some clothes on."

I rushed back inside and put some gym shorts and a t-shirt on, not
believing what had just happened. In less than a minute, I was following
Pat to his house. We went upstairs to his bedroom, where two of his friends
were already smoking a blunt. The smell of weed was intoxicating, but
sweet.

"I got us our whore," Pat announced as he entered the room behind me.

"Him? Kyle Farrow?" One of his friends asked, blowing out smoke.

"He's been begging to suck my cock for the past year or so, isn't that
right?" Pat asked. It wasn't exactly true, but I still nodded yes, too
nervous too talk, too excited to think straight. Was I about to suck their
cocks? I had no idea how to do that.

"Ever sucked cock before, kid?" The other guy asked. I recognised him as
Andrew Tallis, the other was Johannes Mikkelson, but everyone called him
John. Johannes's mother was German, so he was tall and blond. Andrew was of
Italian descent, obvious from his olive complexion and hairy arms despite
his age.

"No," I replied.

"Well, you're about to," John said, and they all laughed.

"Take off your clothes," Pat ordered. I did as he said, standing naked
before them.

"That's a fucking pathetic cock," Andrew commented.

"But look at this ass," Pat said, turning me around and slapping my cheeks.

"Nice," John said. "Can we break him?"

"Better not. Don't want to get into any trouble," Pat said. Then, he got a
belt from his closet and tied my hands behind my back with it. I let him do
whatever he wanted with my body. I knew that this was right. They were
better than me, so I had to do whatever they wanted. "You're going to stay
here, kneeling," he said, pushing me to the ground, "and be our whore for
the day. Understood?" I nodded in acceptance. "Whenever we want to use your
mouth, we'll do it."

"Alright," John said, standing up and stripping down. The others did the
same and I watched as they revealed their perfect bodies.

They were all in the swim team, so they all had nicely developed
torsos. Andrew was the hairiest, already managing a nice fur carpet down
his chest and belly, all leading to a full bush of black pubes atop a
thick, uncut cock. John was pale and almost hairless, but also the buffest
of the three, with nice pecs and biceps and the longest dick. Pat... Pat's
body I'd already memorized by heart, and seeing it up close was even
better. He was somewhat a mix between Andrew and John, with pale skin and
some hair, but not much. His cock was thick, but not as much as Andrew's,
and big, but not as long as John's.

"I'll take the first round," Pat said, approaching me. The others turned
sat on the floor playing some console game.

Pat was now standing right in front of me. His hips were right in front of
my face, and I could smell the stench emanating from his cock: a mix of
sweat and piss and testosterone that made me immediately hard. My first
instinct was to touch my cock, but I couldn't. My arms were restrained
behind me. For some reason, that made me even harder: the thought that I
was there to be used by them, to focus on them, not on me. I was a mere
tool for them to get pleasure from.

Then, Pat buried my head in his pubes. I inhaled deeply as he rubbed his
semi-hard cock all around my face, marking me with his scent. As he did
this, he got harder and harder and I watched as his cock grew to its full
length. It was a picture-perfect cock, straight out of a porn movie, uncut
and heavy.

"Fuck, kid," he whispered. "You have me ready to blow my load already."

I grinned at his words, happy that I could already do so much to him.

"You've been wanting to taste my cock for a while, haven't you, boy?" He
asked, guiding my head down to his hairy balls. I took the cue and took one
in my mouth, sucking gently. He moaned. "You want to swallow my load?" I
nodded, looking up with puppy eyes, begging. "You want me to fill you up?"
I nodded again.

Then, without warning, he shoved his cock down my throat. At first, I
fought against the invasion, much like I'd done with my father's
fingers. But my throat adjusted quickly and I let his tip touch the back of
my throat. I immediately gagged and felt like I was about to throw up, but
Pat removed his cock, giving me a second to breathe, before pushing in
again.

"You'll get used to it," he said as he repeated the move again and
again. Each time, my nose got closer to his pubes until, at last, I managed
to take him completely. He removed his cock and there was saliva dripping
down my chin, tears rolling from my eyes. I wanted more.

He rubbed his cock on my face, spreading the mix of saliva and precum all
over my cheeks. This time, he held my head against his pubic area for a
couple of seconds before removing it. Then, he started face fucking me,
thrusting his hips in and out, using my mouth.

My face was a mess of saliva and tears and precum as he used me ruthlessly
until he finally removed his cock entirely and started stroking it right
above my face. I understood what he wanted and opened my mouth, ready for
his gift, not believing that I was about to taste Pat Green's cum. With a
grunt, he unloaded inside my mouth and I let his cum pool on my tongue as
rope after rope after rope of semen landed on my tasting buds. He
tasted... deliciously. A tangy and salty flavour overpowered my senses. The
taste of men.

When he was done, he looked down at his work and said: "Now swallow
everything." I obeyed, swallowing his load and opened my mouth again to
show him I'd done it. "Good boy," he said, slapping me a couple of
times. "Next one."

And so I spent most of the day. Kneeling, ready to be used by them however
so they desired. They each face fucked me three times. Sometimes they'd
unload in my mouth, other times on my face and body. By the end, all I
could taste, and smell was cum and pot and sweat. At one point, Andrew
shoved his armpits in my face, and I got to smell his sweat and lick him
clean. I was about to cum myself from the overstimulation of my senses when
Andrew made me stop, leaving me on edge. My cock was rock hard and ready to
blow the entire day, but no one touched it and, so, there was no relief.

At around 4 p.m., John and Andrew left. They said their goodbyes to Pat and
Pat took them downstairs to the front door, leaving me still naked and tied
in his bedroom. Then, he came back up, stripped down again.

"I want to give you something before I leave," he said. Then he pulled me
up and pushed me to his bed so that I was belly down, my ass turned towards
him. I turned my face to see what he would do.

He spread my cheeks and spat on my hole, rubbing the saliva with his
fingers. Then, he inserted one, much like father had done, and I
immediately clenched my hole against the pain. But I soon relaxed again and
he grinned, moving his finger in and out. Then, he inserted
another. Throughout it all, he was masturbating with his other hand.

"What a nice, tight hole," he said, watching as his fingers moved inside
me. I was waiting for him to touch the button my father had touched, but
that never happened. Instead, he kept talking, asking if I wanted him to
fuck me and if I wanted his load inside me. I didn't really want him to
fuck me -- the pain from the fingers was already a bit much -- but I said
yes anyways. Afterall, if he wanted to, I couldn't possibly refuse him.

However, he never fucked me. Just played with his fingers and my hole,
masturbating, until his eyes closed and I knew he was ready to blow. Right
before he orgasmed though, he suddenly pushed the tip of his cock inside
me. The sheer feeling of such an attack on my hole was enough to push me
over the edge and I spilled my load all over his bed covers, gasping in
pain and confused from everything that was happening: the pain from my
hole, the orgasm ripping through my muscles, stronger than any other I'd
felt before.

And, at the same time, Pat's load filling my insides. Warm and creamy,
shooting all over my guts. It was the best feeling in the world. When he
was done, he removed the tip of his cock from inside me and I immediately
closed my hole. I wanted to keep his load inside me forever.

"What a good fucking whore," he whispered, still out of breath.

All I could do was lay there, arms tied behind me, ass in the air filled
with cum, alone with the knowledge that this was what I'd been made for.