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Introduction:

A surburban teenager gets into some trouble with a short-tempered dealer

I don't know what on earth possessed me to think that going into business with Bryan Snyder was a good idea. He was the kind of guy that figured out early on that he wasn't cut out for a legitimate job, and so by the end of freshman year he dropped out and started selling weed. Three years later, he'd moved on up from dealer to supplier, selling large amounts of everything from perks to acid. This meant more money for him but also opened up a spot for a new dealer around the neighborhood, and I'd jumped on the opportunity. Oh, stupid, stupid Nate.

I went to him and asked him to front me a zip, nothing too major I thought, I'd sell to all of his old clientele and have the cash back by the end of the week. That was the deal. Until those fuck heads robbed me. And now, here I was standing in my bathroom examining the black eye and split lip in the medicine cabinet mirror.

I wasn't a big guy, I had a wiry build that made me appear far weaker than I was. I had a shock of jet black hair, and my skin was just a few shades above sickly pale. My eyes were my best feature, that's what I'd been told my whole life, a bright blue that had charmed plenty of women into my bed. Not that they would do me any good now.

My phone rang again, I'd come to dread that awful tone, I glanced down at where it sat on the counter. Blocked number. Oh god it was him again. I ignored it, for probably the fiftieth time, and breathed a sigh of relief when it eventually quieted down. I nearly jumped out of my skin when thirty seconds later someone started pounding on my door.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. My brain repeated this until it became a mantra. I weighed my options, he was going to get a hold of me sooner or later. But he was exactly the kind of wolf to wait outside, and I didn't too much like to think about the conversation I'd have with my parents when they came home to find the neighborhood delinquent camped out on the porch. It was only an ounce, I thought, trying to reassure myself, He wouldn't kill me over that would he? No, no he'll just beat the shit out of me and tell me to get his money.

I took three deep breaths and left the bathroom, heading down the hall to my front door. I could see him the moment I turned the corner, he peered in through the half-circle window panes. He gave me a menacing smile, and it took what little courage I had left not to turn tail and flee the country. I reached the door, and opened it slowly.

“Hey man, was that you that called? I left my phone upstairs and-” I started to say in my most casual of voices, before he shoved the door open and strode into my house.

“Where's my cash Nate?” His voice was deep and gruff. I reluctantly closed the door and turned to face him, taking him all in. He wore a tight black T-shirt, and a pair of heavily worn jeans. He was a big guy, standing a full head over my 5'10” and almost entirely muscle, someone in his line of work had to know how to be imposing I suppose. His skin was tanned from hours of hanging around on corners and outside of gas stations, his knuckles were scarred from all of the stupid punks before me, he had a wide jaw covered with stubble and a pair of dark brown eyes, his hair was a messy pile of red-tinted brown. And at that moment, he may as well have been a fucking grizzly bear he was so terrifying.

“I got robbed, dude. Just look at my face. I swear, I'll get you the cash I just need a few more days--” No sooner had the words left my mouth did he slam his fist into my gut. I dropped to my knees and looked up at him pathetically. He shook his head in disgust and headed down the hall and up the stairs, to my room I expected, after a couple minutes of gasping I managed to stand upright and followed him.
Sure enough, I found him sitting on my bed rolling a joint on my nightstand, a large bag of what smelled like some primo bud resting on my pillow. I cringed, doing a mental calculation of how long that shit would stink up my house versus how long I had till my parents got home. I stood at the doorway watching as he expertly rolled, stuck the filter-end in his mouth, and sparked up. The look on his face dared me to tell him to stop. He immediately began rolling a second.

“Sit the fuck down.” He growled around the joint, I closed the door hoping to keep as much smoke as possible in the room and sat down at my desk, turning the chair to face him.

“Bryan look-”

“Shut the fuck up, Nate.” He took a long drag and sighed, looking at me as if trying to decide what to do with me. “Now, I knew from the get-go what you were hoping to do here, and I applaud your ambition, I really do.” Another drag “And a lot of people told me that you weren't going to pull it off, and lets face it you probably never stood a chance, this isn't some little suburban punk game. But still, I figured you had every right to try to make your fortune.”

I stayed silent as he talked, sitting on the edge of my chair every muscle in my body tensed. I tried to decide if I could make it to the door before he could grab me. It didn't look good.

“Now, I need to know if you're serious about this business. You have to show commitment and fortitude, and you gotta pay your dues. I'm gonna give you your extension Nathan-”

“Oh thank fuck, I swear I'll get you back-”

“Do not interrupt me.” He hissed and I shrank back in my chair. “Now, as I was saying before some irritating little fuck interrupted me, I'm going to give you the chance to get me my money, but it's not just about money here Nate. It's principle. I can't have punks thinking they can fuck me over and get away with it, a man like me doesn't go far if people think he's gone soft. We had a deal, and you violated that agreement, and I'm a businessman, that comes with consequences.” My heart pounded in my chest and I could feel every ounce of him sitting there glaring at me. I wondered how long it would take me to heal up when he was done.

“I'm going to have to fuck you, Nate.” He said it so calmly, so casually, that I almost thought I'd misheard him.

“Excuse me?” I said politely, convinced that this was some kind of sick joke.

“I'm going to explain the hierarchy of this game, and then I'm going to show you where you stand.”

I swallowed hard. “I-I'm not gay, Bryan.” A cruel smile spread across his lips.

“Good, neither am I. It's more fun to fuck straight boys. You guys get all messed up in the head.” He stood and started to undo his belt. I yelped and bolted for the door, I had barely stood up before he grabbed me by the t-shirt and wrangled me back to him. I heard him kick off his shoes, and there was a rustle as his pants dropped and then there was a faint schwick and my heart stopped for a second as it registered the sound of a knife being opened.

He pushed me to my knees and I felt the edge of the blade against my throat. For the second time that day I found myself staring up at his imposing frame, this time now clad only his his shirt and a pair of blue silk boxers. “Now, we can do this the easy way and you can do exactly as daddy asks you too. Or you can fight me, in which case I'll need to beat the shit out of you, it'll hurt a lot more than it has to, and I'll only enjoy myself even more.” I weighed my options here. I had heard from a couple gay friends before how much the first time hurt. And that was with lube, and wanting to do it to begin with. I knew full well that he would over power me. Was my pride really worth the untold pain I'd receive if I didn't go along?

“Now are you going to play nice?” he hissed, tugging on my hair. I dropped my gaze and nodded glumly. He yanked on my hair harder, forcing me to look up at him. “Say 'yes daddy!'”

“Yes, daddy” I mumbled, already feeling humiliation set in. He grinned down maliciously, and tugged down his boxers and revealed a dick every bit as formidable as the rest of him. He was already rock solid, circumcised, and he had to be at least 8 inches, if not 9. He pulled my face forward and I felt my stomach keel within me, every piece of my heterosexuality screaming no. But I opened my mouth like a bitch, and got a taste of cock for the first time in my life.

It really wasn't as horrible as I thought it would be. Humiliating and degrading, and disgusting on a moral level, but taste wise is was bearable. He smelled clean, a fact I was grateful for, and my cooperation saved me from him cramming too much of that thick rod into my throat. But still, he did not make it easy on me. He slowly thrust his hips in and out, occasionally pushing in far enough to tickle my gag reflex, causing my throat to tighten around his member. He snapped at me to suck, and I did as I was told, I thought that if I was diligent with my mouth it might save my ass. So I pulled out every trick I'd taught my girlfriends in the past.

His hand didn't allow me to move much, but I bobbed what few inches I could. I trailed my tongue along the underside and swirled around the head as he pulled out, the whole while caving my cheeks in to rub along the sides of his cock. My ministrations were met with a low moan of appreciation. “Fuck, Nate if I knew you were such a natural cock sucker I would have fronted you ages ago.” He growled, he released my hair and pulled his shirt up and off, tossing it aside to join the rest of his clothes. He tossed the now smoldering roach into a cup on my nightstand, had we really only been in here that long? A wave of nausea overtook me, and I had to fight it back knowing how much worse things would get if I threw up on his dick.

Now naked, he yanked me up. “Strip.” He snarled as he started rifling through my nightstand drawer. I removed my clothes as slow as I could, but even taking my time I found myself naked just as he located what he was looking for. He pulled the jar of Vaseline from it's hiding place and grinned at me. “Get on the bed on all fours.” He ordered. I reluctantly did as I was told, I could feel him moving behind me and yelped when I felt hot breath on my ass.

What happened next I'll admit I never expected. He used one large hand to pull aside one side of my ass, and in the next instant I felt the warm moisture of his tongue lap at my opening. A groan escaped my mouth, how the fuck could that feel so incredible? I heard him chuckle and the humiliation mounted once more.

“You like it when daddy eats out your pussy, baby?” he cooed softly, tonguing my hole again. I shuttered, both from pleasure and horror. “Answer me.” he growled.

“Yes, daddy. I love it when you, when you eat out my pussy.” I whispered ashamedly.
That seemed to be the only encouragement he needed. He started to eat his way through my ass feverishly, and I found myself burying my face in my pillow to hide my moans.

“Come on, Nate, tell me what you really feel right now, and remember, I don't like liars.”

I felt tears spring to my eyes, there was no point in denying it. My hips wriggled back at him begging him to continue, and my dick had begun to rise. My body was giving myself away. “It feels incredible” I whispered. “Please don't stop, daddy. I love having your tongue on my pussy.”

I heard the lid of the vaseline jar pop off, and I felt his prodding greased up fingers. A second later he was knuckle deep inside of me, working his thick fingers in and out of me. I yelped with each thrust. After a minute he added another finger, and then another. My ass was already stinging, but I knew this treatment would make taking his cock a bit easier. After he seemed satisfied he pulled his fingers from me, I felt strangely empty. I knew what was coming next, I dared a glance behind me and watched as he worked the lubricant up and down his member. I buried my face again as I felt the blunt head reach my entrance.

And then he started pushing. Even with him loosening me up, I felt the strain. I cried out in pain, but he didn't stop. He gripped my hips and pulled me back toward him. He slowly worked his way in and out of my ass, not bothering to wait for me to get comfortable. But if I thought that was going to be the worst of it I was sorely mistaken. Once I had relaxed enough to fit the better part of his dick inside of me he let loose, savagely pounding into me like a man possesed.

“God I love taking a little faggots ass.” I cried out with each thrust and started muttering into my pillow, begging him to stop. The pain was immeasurable. To this day I haven't ever felt anything akin to it. But he didn't care. He continued to taunt me even as he rammed his pole inside of me as deep as he could manage. “That's it faggot, you love this thick cock don't you? Tell me you fucking love it you freak.”

In between sobs I managed to choke it out. “I -gasp- love your -gasp- cock”

“Fuck yeah” He growled. Suddenly he adjusted his hips and his dick brushed against a part of my insides that nothing had ever touched before. I yelped out in sudden pleasure, my dick which had wilted now rose as Bryan began to fuck that one spot. He laughed when he realized what was going on. “See? You were made to be a bitch. Look at how much you love having your pussy fucked.”

I cried. I didn't care anymore, I was humiliated and betrayed by my own body and the feelings of confusion rattled around inside of me. Was I gay? Did this make me a fag? I didn't want to be a fag. I wasn't born to be a fag. Oh god, Bryan made me a fag.

I didn't have much time to ruminate on my internal struggle, as Bryan suddenly impossibly picked up the pace, fucking me like his life depended on it. A few minutes later he shoved his cock deep into me, filling me with his cum. I gasped and collapsed sobbing openly, he didn't try to hold me up, his dick slid out easily. I could feel a mixture of fluids leak from my newly plumbed opening.

He reached over to the night stand, lighting the second joint and taking a long drag as he grinned lazily at my prone figure. He used my comforter to wipe most of the fluids from his dick before he put on his clothes. “I'll be back every day until we're paid in full.” Without another word he left. I lay there, broken and ruined. Just when I felt sure it couldn't get worse, I rolled on my back and started to jerk my dick.

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