Jack’s pants were down around his ankles. His briefs were torn and hanging onto one leg. His cock was hard. Harder, it felt, than it had ever been before. He tried to think about David. His brother was missing. He wasn’t in the basement. That thing had taken him. But all he could think about was his need to cum.
Jack took a step forward and fell to his knees. His balls contracted and he felt his whole body convulse with pleasure. He looked down at his cock and in one over-whelming spasm it shot a load. He leaned back, his back arched, his hands balled into fists. His cock contracted and shot and contracted and shot. His ass cheeks flexed and his quads burned as his body moved almost involuntarily to the convulsions of his cock. It felt so magnificent. So, absolutely sublime. His entire being seemed to be spraying out in the streams of sticky, white cum that flew across the carpet. It made him feel a little light-headed.
In fact, it made him feel very light-headed. As he continued to cum, he felt himself getting weak, and his vision started to narrow. The room appeared to have a blue tint, like a filter had been drawn across the light.
Was Chris coming toward him? Was that Chris?
He reached out, but only for a second.
He was out.
* * *
Derrick Mason was in his singlet and already covered in sweat. He was in position. Thick, hairy, muscled arms extended. His massive legs flexed. His eyes fixed on Jack. He was preparing for a takedown.
A whistle blew, and Derrick was in on Jack’s legs, taking him down, hard, to the mats. Jack instinctively fell onto his belly, and Derrick was across his back, working for a nelson. Jack tried to get up on his knees, but Derrick knew just how to thread his legs under Jack and force him back flat onto the mat. Jack could feel Derrick laughing. Derrick always laughed at Jack, because he always beating Jack in wrestling. Derrick was from St. Stephens, Middleboro’s arch rival, and Derrick was their team captain. He had it in for Jack. He always had.
Then Jack saw the lights of the gym above him. This was because Derrick had turned him over and was scoring back points. Jack struggled to escape. He was intensely aware that his singlet was drawn tightly across his crotch, and his junk was clearly outlined. Derrick had Jack’s arm pinned and was holding him in place. Jack heard Derrick say something that sounded like “loser,” and then Jack was back on his belly. Derrick had scored three points.
Derrick had a smell to him. A man’s smell. A thick, oaty smell of sweat and testosterone. It was matted black hair, and slick armpits. Breath reeking of Gatorade. Jack caught a brief glimpse of Derrick’s nipple and the hair on Derrick’s chest. Derrick had a man’s chest, not Jack’s slick, hairless chest.
Whenever Derrick got the top position, as he did now, he worked his cock up into Jack’s ass—Jack could feel it through Derrick’s singlet—and Jack felt as though Derrick was about to pin him to the mats, pin him in place, not with his strength, but with his thick cock.
In three years, Jack never beat Derrick. He wrestled Derrick five times. He lost by pin, major decision, major decision, decision, and pin.
Jack was no longer on the mats. He was in his jeans and shirtless. It was a hot, hot summer night. He was bent over the hood of Derrick’s car, and Derrick had a hold of Jack’s balls, squeezing them hard, and laughing over Jack’s shoulder.
“How do you like that, Jack? Huh? You like that, don’t you? Fucker. You like that, don’t you asshole?” Derrick’s voice had a rasp to it; a rough sandpaper punctuated by exclamation points.
Derrick reached between Jack’s cheeks and tortured Jack. He squeezed Jack balls, and ran his palm across Jack’s quickly hardening member. Then, he’d ram his groin into Jack’s ass, shoving Jack violently against the cool metal of the car. Jack was hard. So, goddamned hard. He bit down on his lip, hoping that would distract him, hoping it would break Derrick’s spell. But then Derrick slapped the back of Jack’s head and grabbed Jack’s balls again, squeezing even tighter.
There were others there. Just outside the circle of light cast by a street lamp. Their faces were indistinct and hazy, but Jack knew that they were there. A circle of sweaty, shirtless boys. Laughing. Pointing. Making comments that Jack barely heard.
And then Jack was down on the pavement. Down on all fours. Derrick was reaching down, taking Jack by the hair. There was nothing Jack could do. He was so absolutely aware of Derrick’s smell, his sweaty, shirtless chest. Derrick’s biceps were pumped from the gym. His thick, strong legs filled a pair of faded jeans.
Jack couldn’t beat Derrick. He had never beaten Derrick. He was just too strong. Too powerful. Too able to find Jack’s weak-spots and exploit them.
“You want my cock, don’t you Jack?”
“Yes, you do. You want my cock in your mouth. Here…take it…fucker…”
Derrick had his jeans unzipped and his cock out. His cock was not long, but it was thick and round. He shoved it into Jack’s face. Jack tried to turn away and a smear of pre-cum angled from the corner of Jack’s mouth across his cheek. Jack tried to get to his feet. But there were hands on him. Other guys. Holding him down, making him take Derrick’s cock, making him suck his worst enemy.
“You want it!”
“Jack, damn it, wake up!”
It was Chris, standing over him in a pair of tight leather pants and no shirt. He looked hot. Really good. Jack didn’t like leather on a guy that much, but Chris had the body for it.
It wasn’t Chris. It was that…that thing.
“Get away from me.” Jack was on a couch. But where was he? Nothing looked familiar. Chris was moving in, probably going to work on Jack’s cock again.
“Jack! It’s me! Chris! Look!” The make-believe Chris pointed and Jack saw a naked Spanky standing behind the couch.
“Uh…Chris?” Was it Chris? “How do I know it’s you? Those pants. You never wear leather.”
Chris looked down at himself. “What? Oh these.” He laughed. “You came all over my jeans. That was the biggest ejaculation I’ve ever seen. It was like a geyser or something. These are Spanky’s. I had to wear something. Which, by the way…” Chris turned to Spanky. “I thought you were going to get dressed?”
Spanky had a weird smile on his face. That was when Jack realized that his jeans were still down. He yanked them up. Spanky’s face fell.
“Guess I’ll get dressed…”
“Jack, are you okay?”
Jack got to his feet but he was a little wobbly. Chris caught him. “I think I’m okay.” Jack pulled his pants up the rest of the way and fastened them. “What happened to me?”
“You came an ocean of cum. All over me. All over poor Spanky’s floor.” Chris nodded to his right and Jack saw a huge wet spot on the carpet. “Although, I have a feeling that plenty of jizz has been spilled on this floor.”
Jack was suddenly glad that he still had on his work boots. “So, I just passed out?”
“Yeah. Out cold.”
Then it hit him. “David! Where’s David?” He caught hold of Chris’ biceps.
“I don’t know, Jack. We’ve looked all over the house, but he’s gone.”
“Oh, my God! That…that thing…it has David! We have to find him, Chris. We have to find him!”
“I know. I know. I’ll help you. Let’s get out of here. We’ll take Spanky with us. Besides, we need to check on Foster. He’s probably still sitting in the backseat of your car.”