Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1105320.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      OMCs/Dave_Strider_(non-con), Bro/Dave_Strider_(non-con), OMCs/Bro_Strider
  Character:
      Dave_Strider, Bro_Strider, Original_Characters
  Additional Tags:
      Gang_Rape, Incest, Multiple_Penetration, anal_double_penetration, Victim
      Blaming, Community:_homesmut
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-12-27 Words: 11771
****** Like a Virgin ******
by VerySunnyDay
Summary
     The prompt:
     Bro brings home a few friends one night after he's been out drinking.
     Dave unfortunately gets caught in the middle.
It's almost midnight and you're playing BroBoard on the X-Box when you hear a
horde of elephants on the stairs trumpeting the fact that Bro is coming home,
and he's not alone. In less ironic language this means that there is a horde of
shitty drunk men attacking your front door like it's the only obstacle between
them and total control of the apartment. Which is it, technically, but you
can't stop Bro from bringing people home with him, so whatever.
Possibly the best course of action would be to turn the game off pronto and
sneak off to your room like a scared baby monkey.
Hell no to that idea. You're finally getting somewhere in the game, and they
have no right to drive you off when you're on a roll. This is your apartment
too, and you're not going to run off and hide like a furniture-wetting puppy
without even being asked to. You keep your eyes on the screen and your focus on
the boarding shenanigans and there's no way you're going to lose your flow just
because there are like a zillion drunk guys invading your living room.
It used to be Bro only brought one guy at home at a time. They were sometimes
drunk, but they never this fucking loud. Of course, there's probably some kind
of critical mass of horny drunkeness after which horrible noise just happens
and it's not even anyone's fault. This is only the second time Bro has brought
home a whole fucking street gang, and you're not even sure yet if they're here
for sex or something else. If you're lucky, that particular orgy two weeks ago
was a one-time thing. That time you hid in your room and broke your own
eardrums with music in your headphones just to keep out the sounds of four or
five guys loudly ass-fucking each other for hours. Just when you thought they'd
stopped, they'd start going at it again, and no, you didn't get a wink of sleep
that night. You have a suspicion this is about to be a case of history
repeating itself, and yeah, you're going to leave, but you're about to set a
new game record here, and you'd like it if Bro showed some consideration for
your rad skillz if not for your tender virgin ears.
Someone bumps into your shoulder hard enough to throw you off balance, and you
try to resettle yourself closer to the edge of the futon couch, but your
concentration is broken and you missed that final jump that would have nicely
doubled your score. The game is now thoroughly fucked, thank-you-very-much, and
two guys you've never even seen before are dry-humping each other right next to
you, the one on his back still bumping into your side and obviously not caring.
You put the controller down and let the boarding hero die seventeen grisly
deaths before finally coming to a halt, then glance around for Bro. He's not
paying any attention to you either, being busy with his tounge buried hip-deep
in some other guy's throat over by the fridge and you doubt he even knows
you're here. You sigh and resist the urge to facepalm. He brought no less than
six so-called "friends" over tonight, and out of those you only know one by
name. That one would be Don, who's been over several times before – he's the
pony-tailed guy whose hands are right now wandering up Bro's shirt from behind
while Bro is macking on a blond stranger. Two guys are unpacking whole bags of
cheep beer, even though everyone is already stinking of the stuff. Their
conversation is loud and rude and the fact that drunken orgy stands on the meny
is about as clear as a sunny day. One of them looks at you and winks, so you
quickly turn your face away.
The guys next to you have started kissing, and the bottom guy's hand is
reaching up above his head, inching in under your ass, as if trying to dig for
gold. Fuck this. You jump to your feet, suddenly twitchy. Sorry guy, no gold
there. There's a sound of disappointment underneath the kisses behind you, and
you start to think that being a scared baby monkey might not be so bad. You're
getting the fuck out of here, adieu, sayonara, etcetera. These guys aren't
going to be any less drunk and horny with you here, and if you stay any longer
they might start hallucinating that you're one of them.
You bend down to turn the X-Box off, because you're the responsible one and
you're still not about to run like a cat on fire from your own living room just
because your Bro and his new lovers are too enthusiastic and/or drunk to see
that there's a minor around. You do have a right to be here, and Bro hasn't
even asked you to go away. This irks you, though leaving with some dignity is
about the only thing you can do about it.
Before you get back up, a large hand grabs your ass and squeezes, hard. "Hey,"
a deep, unfamiliar voice says as you spin around and almost flashstep into the
TV. It's the beer can guy who winked at you, a large dude with short, brown
hair and a close-cropped beard. He's holding a can now, casually offering it to
you. "You're Dirk's lil' bro, aren'cha?"
"No, I'm his pet crocodile," you reply, and he laughs. You don't take the beer,
but try to push past him, except he blocks your way with his free arm,
capturing you in the corner between the TV and the wall.
"You're a babe," he says, grinning sleazily. You don't like him, but hey, Bro
can keep any company he wants. "I can see why Dirk's been holding onto you all
by himself. Ever wonder what it'd be like with a real man?"
There's a shitload of insults tagged to those sentences, but you've got better
things to do than sort them all out. Absconding for one thing, because somehow
walking out with dignity is starting to feel less important than getting out
without being molested by a sleazebag, like Bro would even notice. "Fuck off."
You duck under the guy's arm and run for it.
You get almost as far as the kitchenette by zigging and zacking between
furniture and men before one of the dudes gets in your way and grabs your
wrist. His fingers are like an iron shackle, and before you manage to twist
free he's got you pinned against the kitchen counter, both hands caught by the
wrists against the counter surface and his legs pressed around yours. You think
you can feel the hardness of the erection under his jeans against your stomach,
and this is where you're starting to feel a cold snake of real fear in your
guts.
"'Sup, Dave." You look up and realize that this is Don – and he's always been
passably nice to you before. He's got excellent taste in music. He wouldn't
actually do anything to you, even though the way he's eyeing you like a piece
of meat right now is pretty much the definition of uncomfortable. And Bro is
right there, looking on, so nothing will happen, nope.
Oh hell. Bro is actually looking on, and you managed to get yourself into a
compromising position. He's never gonna let you live this one down.
You do your best to look like you're exactly where you want to be, even though
it's not just Bro looking on, but all of the rest of the guys are starting to
gather around you to see what's up. Some of them have hands down each others'
pants, but that doesn't stop them from looking at you like you're the sexiest
bitch they've ever seen.
"Hey, Don," you say in an attempt to sound casual. "Fancy seeing you here."
"Nah," Don says, and his breath reeks of alcohol. "Fancy seeing you. I was
thinking the other day that it was a pity you didn't join us last time. You
have no fucking idea how happy I am to see you." He grins and rubs his crotch
against your stomach, and several of the other guys snicker, including that
bearded dude. You shudder involuntarily.
"I didn't think your lil' bro was interested in this kinda thing," the blond
who Bro was kissing earlier says.
Bro shrugs. "Didn't think he was." His speech is a little bit slurry, but he's
standing straight on his feet. Of course he'll help you if you need it. He's
just trying to give you some space to make your own way, because that's the
kind of guy he is.
"Good to be wrong sometimes, eh?" the blond says and reaches under the hem of
your shirt.
"Hey," you say, too loud for perfect casualness, twisting to get away from the
new touch even though you can't free your arms from Don's grip. "I'm flattered
by all the attention, but—"
A guy in the back laughs loud enough to drown you out. "He's flattered! The
little brother isn't used to this kind of attention, is he?"
"You haven't been spoiling him enough, Dirk!" someone else remarks.
"We can give you looots of attention, baby," a third someone promises, with
agreement from every direction.
You don't want attention. As a matter of fact, it'd be very nice if they could
all go back to their business with each other and ignore you again. You wish
Bro would say something, but he looks inscrutable and blank as always and
doesn't say a word. "I was just about to leave," you say, raising your voice
even more. "You go ahead and fuck each other silly, but—"
You're interrupted again, by Don. "Are you scared of us?"
"No," you say automatically.
Your pokerface is shit tonight, because even the horny drunk sees through it.
"I bet you are." He turns to Bro. "Hey Dirk. Is your brother a virgin?"
"Actually, I think he—" Bro actually seems on the verge of saying something
intelligent, but it dissolves into a moan when the blond guy unzips his jeans
and rubs his cock or something. You can't see it clearly from this angle, but
you did not need to see it at all. In fact, you did not need to be here for all
sorts of reasons.
"Is he?"
"Yeah," Bro admits, gasping. "As far as I know."
"I thought so." Don's grin grows wider, and there are drunken sniggers from all
around you. "What do you say, guys, do we educate an innocent tonight?"
The response is loud and cheerful like a pack of hyenas with a recently-dead
cadaver.
"Ooooh yeah."
"Let's open that tight little ass up!"
"We'll take real good care of you!"
"Only fair of Dirk to share."
Bro is keeping his mouth shut – or rather, he's moaning and panting and
basically ignoring you – and your guts turn into an ice cave as it sinks in
that these guys mean it. "Like hell you will!" you try, but it doesn't come out
as disdainful as you wanted, and it's almost drowned out by the general noise.
Don's thighs are straddling your hips, his cock growning even harder against
your stomach like it's trying to burst out of his jeans on its own, and he's
still holding your arms down on the counter. You struggle, but the position is
awkward, and you don't have enough leverage to give any real resistance.
Hands from the guys next to Don start wandering your skin under your T-shirt,
making you squirm reflexively. Someone finds a nipple and pinches it, hard. You
glance desperately at Bro, but he's turned away and you can't even tell if he's
seeing you behind his shades. Fuck him, except that's exactly what's happening,
and it isn't helping you any. He isn't helping you any.
You get a chance when Don lets go of your wrists for a moment to unzip his
pants. He doesn't expect you to fight, so you manage to push him away, then
shove your shoulder into the next guy in an attempt to get past the crowd. It
works about as well as can be expected. You're strong for your age, but these
dudes are larger, stronger and not to mention a lot more numerous than you. You
pathetically shout for them to get off you as they tackle you down on the floor
and keep you there, tugging at your clothes in earnest now.
Your shirt goes off over your head and thrown away under the coach. Your shades
stay on, which is a small mercy. One guy pulls you up against him and traps
your arms against your sides as two others unzip your pants and tug them off,
underwear and all, and you can't even see where they throw them. You're naked
and vulnerable and absolutely not panicking.
"Calm down," Don says, like he should talk. He's still dressed, but his cock is
out in the open now and it looks pretty damn excited to you. Also, fucking
huge, and the idea of it getting anywhere near you doesn't fill you with glee.
"Don't be so shy."
"I'm not shy," you tell him, trying to catch your breath and your dignity and
also not fall into pieces. "I'm frisky like a princess on a pea."
"That's the spirit, princess," the guy behind you says, and you immediately
regret putting it like that. "Stop shaking so hard and relax."
"Of course he's nervous," a guy with a tribal tattoo on his cheek says.
"Everyone's nervous for their first time. You should just relax and enjoy it."
He grins and downs a can of beer in pretty much a single swig.
"Poor little virgin."
"A good fuck will cure all that right up."
"Yeah, fucking usually cures virginity, bwah!"
Five pairs of eyes are watching you, five faces painted with varying degrees of
lust and amusement, though you can only see four of them. Some are removing
their pants, the others just taking out their cocks from their zippers like
Don. You feel more naked than you've ever been, like they didn't just remove
your clothes but a layer of skin as well. The guy behind you forces you up on
your knees and tears his own pants down until you feel him rubbing what can
only be a hard cock against your bare back. You feel ill.
Yes, you're a virgin. You're hardly old enough for that to be a shame. And even
if you knew for sure you were attracted to guys at all you sure as fuck aren't
attracted to a half-dozen drunk men twice your age, even if they're invading
you in your home on Bro's own invitation. You can't believe this is happening –
these guys, Bro's lovers, Don – and Bro doesn't even care. You can't see him at
all anymore, but you think he and that blond guy disappeared onto the futon
judging by the eager moans coming from that direction. Actually, irrationally,
you're glad he's not watching you right now.
"If I say no," you tell them, trying desperately to keep your voice steady, "I
bet even you know there's a word for that." You want to say the word, at least
ironically, showing them you're not afraid, but it gets stuck in your throat.
It's like saying it will make it true, and you can't do it.
Don bends down and takes your chin to tilt your head up. "You're not saying no,
though, little cocktease." He's not smiling anymore. "You came on to us."
"That's right," the guy behind you says as he reaches down and starts fondling
your cock, which sends a spike of unpleasant pleasure through your groin. Your
cock immediately goes half-hard, like it was just waiting for the opportunity,
like it'll take any excuse. Traitor. "Just because you're losing your nerve
doesn't mean the little little bro is losing his, eh?" the guy says, touching
you, and you can feel his short beard scraping against your shoulder, smell the
alcohol on his breath.
"You can't come up to us like that all cute and innocent and then change your
mind, can you?"
"Exactly." Don straightens, looking pleased. "You took the first step, now go
all the way."
But you didn't. Did you? Why the hell is your cock so happy about this? Maybe
you stayed in the living room because you wanted this, somehow? But you can't
remember being a tease; all you tried to do was to get away. You open your
mouth to object, but before you can make a sound it's forced open wider and
filled up with hot flesh.
Don's cock tastes like salt and sweat and might be the second most unpleasant
thing you've ever had in your mouth. You try to jerk back to get it out, but he
puts his hands on the back of your head and holds you still. His cock fills
your mouth so it feels like there's no room for your tounge, and you suddenly
have too much spit and you can't get that out either. You think about biting,
but then you think about six or seven men being righteously furious with you,
and it seems like an even less cool idea than Don's cock being in your mouth in
the first place.
Don is speaking, but there's a cock in your mouth and you can barely hear him.
"—but I wanted to be the first one on his pretty face," he finishes, like
you're not even there. You sincerely wish you weren't, but you are, and now Don
is bending slightly to get his face closer to yours. "There is a word for
this," he tells you. "It's called 'education'. I know you're new at this, so
I'll tell you now, you can't just keep my cock in your mouth, you gotta suck."
He's not letting you pull away. You try to swallow all that excess spit, which
moves your mouth around his cock enough for him to nod approvingly, but it's
not enough for him. "Suck, I said. It's not that difficult, and it'll make me
happy. Dave, believe me, you really don't want to make your first sex partner
unhappy."
That sounds like a threat, and you have no way to retaliate except to suck his
cock like your life depended on it, which it might. So you do. Bro certainly
isn't gonna defend you tonight. You feel gross and dirty and sick, but Don
starts moaning and moving his cock back and forth once you get a good rhythm
going, and you bet that's a good thing. Maybe that means it won't be much
longer until he's done, and you're not thinking any further than that, no.
You don't even know what the other guys are up to. You think someone's rutting
against your back. Don's cock in your mouth becomes your only point of focus,
and only because you can't unfocus it. You realize there's still a good bit of
his cock left outside, but your mouth isn't big enough for any more, and it
makes no sense how they do it in the pornos.
When someone's hands starts working seriously on your cock and balls, you might
have made a strangled noise even through your filled mouth. There are sharp
sparks of something shooting through your thighs and chest, and you can't even
tell if it's pleasure or pain, only that it's further humiliating. Your own
cock goes rock hard, but it's not like when you're masturbating on your own,
and not only because it mingles with the sour taste of a rutting cock in your
mouth.
"Dave," Don says, talking to you again though he's breathless now. "You're
doing really well. Now whatever you do, don't throw up, or I'll be really
unhappy with you."
You get a second to process that before he takes you by the back of your head
and shoves the full length of his cock down your throat. You gag, like that
isn't the only thing to do when something that is not supposed to be in your
digestive tracts gets suddenly pushed in there. He presses your face tight
against his crotch while your stomach heaves uselessly, making his cock block
the hamburger you ate earlier tonight as it tries to come back up. Your whole
body goes into spasms, trying to fight its way free, but you're held in place,
and there's genital hair in your nose and you can't breathe.
Then it's over, and Don quickly pulls his cock out all the way. You gasp for
air, your jaws so wide open that your mouth feels empty, and most of all you
want to double over and throw up all over the floor and to hell with Don
beating you up afterwards. But you can't even do that. Someone pulls your hair
to tilt your face upwards, and the bile rising in your throat slowly sinks
back, even as a splash of something hot and slimy lands on your face.
It takes a second to realize that it's Don's jizz. It stains your shades and
runs into your eyes, and for a moment you just don't know what to do or even
think about it. They let go of your hair and your head falls forward, making
the fluid run down your cheeks and drip into your mouth that you still haven't
managed to close properly. It tastes like cock, too.
"Oh Dave," Don mumbles, red stinking face close to yours. "You loved that,
didn't you? I always knew you'd be an eager little cockslut."
You turn your face away just as the guy behind you stumbles to his feet with a
loud moan, and then you feel another splash of warm wet liquid hitting your
back, making you shudder. But he's not holding you any longer; you're free, you
could— you could—
You have to wipe your face. You have to get it off, before it seeps into your
skin and stays there as a dirty stain forever, but one of the guys – not Don –
stops you.
"Leave it there, babe," he tells you, keeping your hands away. "It makes you
even sexier." The stains on your shades makes your vision blurry, but you
notice he's dark blond, with a crooked smile. You can feel his asscheeks on
your thighs as he crawls up to straddle you, the wet point of his cock tracing
a line up your chest.
You want to tell him off, to leave you the fuck alone, but you've finally
managed to get your jaws shut and you don't dare open your mouth again. Someone
else starts stroking your asscrack with slick, cold fingers even as the guy on
your lap kisses you slowly on your sticky lips, parting them and running his
tongue over your clenched teeth.
The noise in your ears solidifies into what might be an argument about who gets
to go first in your ass. Something about the first guy getting the tightest
experience, and hell, you can't just let them do this. You thrash, wrenching
one arm free and try to twist to the side, but the guy straddling you gives you
a push, and the end result is that you fall handlessly on your back. Your head
rings with the impact, and the wet stain on your back gets rubbed into the
carpet as you struggle for a few more seconds before realizing again how
useless it is. You can't overpower them and you can't get away.
"Aww, come on, you're doing so well!" That was Don, you think.
"You like this position better?"
"Oh yeah, we can work with this."
The guy who was in your lap is reaching down between your legs, palming your
balls, fingering them gently. He could crush them like a wingless fly in his
fist if he wished to. You want him to let you go, but you want him to not crush
your balls more.
You go limp - except not quite, because you're trembling, but you don't try to
resist as several of the dudes spread your thighs apart and lift your legs by
the knees, raising your ass from the floor. Parts of your body that are
supposed to be private are suddenly public property, as large hands stroke the
inside of your thighs, fondle your cock into going painfully rigid again and
open up your buttocks to find your asshole.
You want to leave. You want to come. You want to die.
"You're such a good baby."
"Oh, look at that!"
"He's such an eager little slut once he gets going."
"Baby, you'll love this."
You can't even see who does what, but you don't actually want to know. Don
isn't down between your legs; he's sitting by your shoulder and petting your
chest, occasionally squeezing a nipple and stroking his own flaccid cock with
his other hand like he's trying to get it hard again. You can't breathe without
hitching. Maybe those are sobs.
There's a loud noise somewhere between a moan and a roar from behind the futon.
You think it sounds like Bro, like he's having the time of his life, and that
fact is a cold black hole in your stomach even as the slick and slimy finger of
a stranger massages its way inside your ass despite your best efforts to keep
yourself shut. You know about lube and you're technically glad that they're
using it, but maybe you'd been able to keep the finger out if it hadn't been so
slippery, and now it's inside you. It feels odd. Weird. Wrong. Even the inside
of your body isn't your private property.
"So fucking tight, this is the most amazing ass ever," someone says, and maybe
it's just a reflex, but you kick him. Or someone else. You kick something,
flailing your legs as far as you can go, but it's not very far.
"Take it easy, lil' bro!" He doesn't sound hurt, just a bit annoyed.
"Don't be scared, we're taking care of you," someone else says. A thumb rubs
the tip of your cock, and a thin whine involuntarily escapes your throat. You
don't want to feel this.
Another finger enters your ass, moving back and forth with the first one,
trying to force you wider open, but you it doesn't work very well. You're still
trying to clench your asshole shut, trying to squeeze the invasion away, though
it's futile. Instead the fingers plunge deeper, and there's a third finger
added, perhaps not even from the same hand. They pull in different directions,
and now it hurts. More comments about tightness fly around your ears, but it's
hard to listen. You still don't want to open your mouth, so you clench your
teeth and stop breathing for a moment, but you still groan.
A few seconds later there's just the two fingers again, moving in circles at
your entrance, trying to get you to soften up. To let someone's cock in.
Someone tells you to relax, and it would obviously hurt less if you did, but
you can't, even if you wanted to. They say something more, but you can barely
hear them through the disgust and arousal and discomfort and humiliation
coarsing through you.
Bro could stop this. Maybe he doesn't want to; maybe he thinks this will make
you a man, but in that case you don't want to be a fucking man. Maybe he'll
stop them if you could catch his attention and beg. He'd never respect you
again, though.
"Bro—" You stop, not sure you meant to say it out loud at all, but the men
playing with your body certainly heard it.
"Ah, yeah."
"Heh, that only makes sense."
"It's his little brother after all, he does have the original claim. Heh!"
"It's good, though! Otherwise we'd probably need a fist fight over the lil'
bro's ass cherry."
At first you don't know what they're talking about. Then you realize that they
asked you a question seconds ago, and you weren't listening. "Baby, who
doyouwant to go first?"
"No," you mouth silently, but Don has already left your side and you hear a
slap getting Bro's attention over by the futon. The fingers keep moving in your
asshole and you feel too dirty to have a voice at all.
"Hey, Dirk," you hear Don say, "Did you know that your little brother sucks?"
Bro moans in a way that is less extatic and more annoyed before he answers in a
voice slightly slurred and out of breath. "No, he's awesome. What?"
"Yeah, that too. Turns out he's a natural little cockslut, and we're initiating
him in the ways of cocksluttery here. He gave me a most awesome blowjob for a
beginner."
Bro grunts. "Really."
"Yep. And I wouldn't even dream of disturbing you and Steve's little duo
episode here, but he actually asks for you to be the first in his ass."
Another voice, probably the blond guy, chuckles breathily. "You were wrong
about him all along, then."
You can hear Bro stumble from the couch, and then you see him, just as naked as
you are, though his shades are clean and as impeccable as ever. His cock is fat
and erect and there's a brightly polka-striped ring wrapped around its base,
and you never wanted to see him like this. Worse, though, he sees you, legs
spread wide and cock hard and four different people poking the parts between
your legs like you'd asked them to. Your fists clench, but you can't find the
words to explain, so you just look at him, willing him to understand.
He makes that little "heh" sound that he always does when he's pleased with
you. "Lil' bro," he says, almost affectionately. "Go bend over the backrest of
the futon. That's comfy. I'll be right back."
You stare at him, barely processing what he said, but he just turns around and
walks away, like everything is perfectly normal. You can hear the sound of tap
water splashing from the kitchen sink. You want to scream, but there's nothing
you can say, nothing that won't drive home the point that you feel like a
disgusting piece of meat, and your own cock agrees with Bro that you shouldn't
feel that way. You should want this.
Your legs are dropped and the fingers withdraw from inside you, leaving you
with a dirty aftertaste in your ass. Someone puts his arms around you and half
help and half force you to your feet.
"You're such a good boy," he tells you, breath hot and stinking on your neck.
Maybe he's right.
Behind you, someone else moans a complaint. "I dunno how much longer I can
wait, guys..."
"It'll be worth it." A hand slaps your ass, just hard enough to sting.
Your hands are shaking and the thought of pushing the men aside and trying to
run stays half-formed in your mind, an impossible fantasy. You don't feel dead,
but you wish that you did. Your face is sticky, you can still taste cock in
your mouth, your asshole aches a little and feels wet and slimy, and your
erection is slackening like a punctured balloon now that they've stopped
fondling you.
They guide you to the couch and make you bend double over the backrest, your
ass up in the air like the public property it is. Someone starts kneading your
asscheeks like dough, and you feel a cock moving against the top of your
asscrack. Two guys sit down beside you on the futon, their hands rubbing your
back and their voices telling you how well you're doing, but it it feels like
they're mocking you. You deserve it.
Your face is smushed against the futon seat - the same place where you sat
until just a while ago and played video games, like you were a person in his
own home and not a fucking smuppet. You rub your face slightly against it as if
you could get the drying cum come off, but you don't dare use your hands, and
it's too late anyway. You're never going to feel clean again. All it does is
knock your shades askew, but one of the guys next to you puts them back in
place, like he's doing you a service.
Bro's footsteps are unmistakeble, at least as long as he's not trying to be
stealthy, and when he pushes the guy behind you away there's still a part of
you wishing for him to lift you up and shoo the others away and give you your
clothes and the very tiniest bit of your dignity back. He doesn't. You hear the
squelch of lube slicking a cock, and then Bro's hands pull your legs apart and
a finger slips up the crack in your ass. He's touching you the same way as all
the others. There's no way out.
"You should have told me, Dave," he says, his voice thick and a little bit
unsteady, but still too familiar for this. He parts your buttocks and you can
feel the tip of his cock against your hole, and everything else is drowned out
by the cold, dark NO that fills your lungs and makes you choke. "I've had the
hots for you for years, but I kept telling myself it'd mess you up if I had
you." He bends down and you can feel his hot breath on your back. "You should
have told me you wanted me already."
"Bro, I—" Your voice is barely more than a whimper, and you're not even sure
what you were going to say, because that's when he starts pushing himself
inside you and all attempts at thinking coherently fades to black. It hurts.
Your asshole is still tense, trying to fight intrusion, and even with the lube
it's being forced open too wide, too fast. Bro isn't rushing it, inching his
cock into you piece by piece, but it still feels like your ass is burning.
You're being slowly impaled, deeper and deeper, like the thing inside you is
going to tear your stomach open and bleed you to death.
And the thing is Bro. Not a stranger or a half-aquaintance like Don, but
goddamn Bro, and he's pushing himself inside you like there's no part of you
that belongs to yourself, and he just said he's wanted to do this for years. Oh
god, what the hell are you to him?
You suddenly realize that you're crying. Tears are sinking into the futon seat
and staining your shades even more, and your entire body is trembling, but Bro
doesn't notice or care. "Lil' bro," he groans, bending over you, his lips
touching your back now, and his cock is still sinking deeper, stretching you
thin from the inside. "So tight. Dave. Dave. Dave."
The only sound that comes out your throat is some kind of half-voiced wail.
Bro's cock cuts you open and pierces you as deep as it can reach, his weight
almost crushing you against the edge of the backrest. You never knew how deep a
cock could go. You think it's stabbing the very core of your being.
He starts to pull out, slowly, and it makes your ass hurt almost as much as
going in did; then he changes directions again, pushing himself in faster this
time. His balls slap against yours, and then he pulls back once more. Repeat,
repeat, and all you do is sob and whimper. He's forcing himself into your
insides, digging like a shovel, hollowing you out until there's nothing left
inside you, until you're just body parts to be used. He keeps repeating your
name and 'lil' bro' and panting wordlessly against your back, and you think
this might have been on his mind every time he called for you ever. You hate
him, but he's Bro, and you don't know jack shit about anything anymore.
Maybe you really wanted this and just never knew it. There's a part of the
stroke he does that actually feels good somehow, like a heat through your
loins, and your own erection chafes painfully against the back of the couch but
doesn't go away. Bro's cock is like a spear stabbing you every time it goes in,
but you think it might hurt less for every thrust. And still, all you feel is
violated, dirty, wrong.
He goes faster and faster, his hands around your hips and his forehead against
your back, and your tears just keep running. You can't stop, like he can't stop
pistoning your asshole. You barely remember that there are other people in the
room – it's just Bro now, in you, around you, everywhere, forcing you to feel
him and hear him and smell him, making you one of his puppets. You can't even
try to move; you can't breathe except in gasps around your sobs.
It takes an eternity, but then he comes. You know it because he stops thrusting
and pushes his face away from your back, moaning hard. When his limp cock slips
out of your ass you can feel his cum start trickling out of your hole and down
the inside of your thighs.
The next moment there's hi-fiving and breathless cheers going on above your
head. "That was one hell of a good ride," Bro says loudly as he crumbles down
to sit on the floor by your feet, stroking his own stickiness between your
legs. "Thanks. We gotta do it again sometime soon."
You're still sobbing quietly into the futon seat. Your loins are flashing hot
and cold. Even when Bro's hand disappears and for a moment no one is touching
you anywhere, your ass aches and your cock aches and your gut feels as hollow
and empty as what is left of the life you thought you had. You don't try to
move because there would be no use.
You hear cans opening. They have more beer, and only now do you realize how
unbearably thirsty you are. Maybe they'd give you a drink if you ask them, but
they're talking too loudly to each other to hear you easily and the idea of
voluntarily getting their attention makes you want to curl up and die.
"Good job popping the virginity from his ass, Dirk!" someone practically
shouts.
"Who's next!?"
"How tight was he?"
"Tighter than your grandma's cunt, Ben."
"Oooh, burn."
"Fuck y'all," someone says, "I'm not gonna wait any longer!" At that, new hands
force your buttocks apart. You go stiff, trying to brace yourself for what's
coming, even though stiffness will only make it worse. You can't stop them.
They're going to use you up. Maybe that's what you're for.
"You sure he's up to—" Bro starts, but he's immediately interrupted.
"No, see, this is now an impromptu educate-the-virgin night, so we gotta—"
Whatever else they say is lost to you, because that's when the guy behind you
shoves his cock into your ass with all the force of a hammer on a nail. Your
throat makes a sound between a gasp and a whimper. Maybe this one's cock is
wider than Bro's, or maybe it's just drier, but it hurts more. He's not
impaling you slowly, either; he forces himself all the way in and then just sit
there for several seconds. It feels like you've been punched from the inside;
even your teeth are on edge. His breath is hot and heavy on your back, but he
doesn't moan your name.
Maybe it should be better when it's not Bro. It's just some guy - you don't
even know which one – but it's not better and it can't be; there's nothing
'better' available. Someone's cock is up your ass, and it's breaking you apart.
He pulls himself out with a deep breath, then stabs you again with a wordless
groan. He's filling you differently than Bro did, touching new things that
should never be touched, and his thrusts barely touch that one pleasant spot at
all. It's just pain. You find yourself trying to shift your ass to change his
angle, and it in itself horrifies you. You don't want him to hit the pleasant
spot either, you want him to stop, don't you?
You can't move enough either way. His weight is heavy on your midsection, and
his cock chafes against your asshole and stabs your insides with more force for
every stroke. You're not even crying anymore, just panting and whimpering,
trying to survive until he's done, a few seconds at a time.
There's a voice saying something close to your ear. It's hard to process
anything but the cock assaulting your ass and you have to play it back in your
mind to get the meaning. "Hey, dude, I hear you're a cockslut and give nice
blowjobs. And you did keep me from finishing with your big bro, so I think that
means you owe me one."
Your mind works practically in slow-motion. Your head is raised by the hair and
you vaguely notice that someone is sitting backwards on the futon, his thighs
on either side of your shoulders and his cock standing hard and red in front of
your face. The guy behind you thrusts violently and you gasp, and then your
mouth is filled with almost as much cock as your ass.
Your ass is stabbed again. And again. You can't even gasp now, and for a moment
you panic when you realize you're suffocating. You sniffle desperately to clear
your nose from tear-snot enough to be able to breathe at all, and it's still
not enough. Your heart is racing two hundred miles per hour and maybe
suffocating would be good because then you wouldn't have to live through this.
"Come on, give me one like you gave Don."
You know he wants you to suck, and you know you have to, but it's hard to do
anything when your guts are being impaled on a stranger's cock and your lungs
are trying in vain to hyperventilate through half-clogged nostrils and there's
a fucking piece of meat that tastes like shit filling your whole mouth.
You still do it, wriggling your tongue and swallowing foul-tasting spit and
finally figuring out how to suck him, too. Your neck hurts and you have to
support yourself with your arms to stay up. Your shades are too clogged to see
much of anything, but there isn't anything to see. It doesn't matter. You make
Bro walk away from this guy, so you owe him this, and besides, you're a
cockslut. Yeah. Somehow that reasoning jars with the pain and utter humiliation
that's threatening to drown you, but. You can't think.
The cock in your mouth moves as the guy in front of you rocks his hips back and
forth, but so much more gently than the cock in your ass. It touches the back
end of your mouth when it goes forward, making your stomach clench, but at
least he doesn't push down your throat. Maybe if you make him happy enough he
won't, so you keep sucking and licking. You are so fucking disgusting.
The guy behind you comes with a loud groan. The pounding stops, and finally his
cock leaves your sore asshole. Wetness runs down your thighs again, and your
ass feels empty and raw. You want to relax and breathe, but the guy with his
cock in your mouth isn't done yet, so you can't. For a moment it feels like the
only important thing in your existance is getting him off too so he can get
away from you, out of you.
You suck him harder, but that only lasts for a few seconds before there are
hands on your ass again. The guy in front of you thrusts a bit deeper into your
throat when you tense reflexively, and a small wave of nausea hits you just as
the next person's cock invades you from behind.
You're surprised that you're surprised. You lose the rhythm and almost choke on
the bile rising towards the thing in your mouth, but it could have been worse.
The third person to go into your ass has made his cock all slick and slippery,
and your muscles aren't fighting it much anymore. There's discomfort and shame
but barely any pain at all when he penetrates you.
It aches when he thrusts, though. There are tendrils of repulsion and horror
coiling around his movements inside you, but he also strokes that sweet spot
that Bro did. It makes you moan involuntarily around the cock in your mouth and
hate yourself for it, but the guy in front of you seems to enjoy it. You keep
sucking him because you have no choice.
This is you. It's your life. It's what Bro wants you for, too. There's
practically nothing left of you to humiliate, so you might as well relax and
enjoy, but you can't. Your cock is hardening again and your ass is filled and
your mouth is filled and you feel nothing but disgusting. If you had a wish, it
would be to crumble to dust and disappear.
The dick between your jaws finally withdraws as your mouth is flooded with
thick, salty slime. A finger wipes your cheek as some of the jizz drools past
your lips, and you don't dare spit it all out. That blond face is hovering
close to yours. "Go ahead and swallow," he says. It takes an effort, and you
feel sick as the taste of it mingles with the half-pain half-pleasure spiking
between your legs, but you do manage to force it down, though the taste never
leaves your mouth. It doesn't make you any less thirsty, either. Your face
falls forward into the cushion again, as if you could hide there.
There are words being said behind you. Something about changing positions, and
then the one fucking you buries his cock in your hole and stops moving. He
doesn't pull out as he heaves your legs over the backrest, and he doesn't even
move all the way out when he tangles your legs around himself to turn you over
on your back. You're like a bag of oatmeal, but you feel to raw and literally
fucked up to either struggle or help it along. The cock is hard like a stone in
your ass while the men shove you around.
You end up lying on your back on the futon with your knees on the guy's
shoulders and your ass raised a little bit above the cushioned surface as he
starts thrusting back and forth again, making sounds like this is even better.
It's not, though. Your stomach isn't crushed by his weight against anything
when he thrust anymore, but other than that it's just different, which means
his cock is digging into new places, chafing you in new ways. Your own cock
stands right up in the air, and somehow you feel even more exposed than before.
You can see who it is now, even through your stained shades. It's the dark
blond guy. You don't want to know his name. You can see the others too, blurry
sillouettes, chugging beer and masturbating and laughing and all of them
watching you. You can see Bro's shades. You whimper – half from unbearable
sensations and half from the last vestiges of shame – and throw your arms over
your face. There are more laughter and comments at that.
"Hey," someone says – and that's Bro's voice, striking you harder than the
others though it's not any louder. "It looks like the little Dave wants some
attention." And then there are hands on your cock – Bro's hands – pumping you
up and down to the same beat as the pounding in your asshole, rubbing your tip
just right to make it throb. You'd hate your brother touching you like this,
but he's already had you, so it doesn't matter. The aching pressure that's been
building in your cock ever since they started fondling you in the first place
is growing worse every time the cock in your ass strokes that horrible,
pleasant spot, but what Bro is doing is making you finally build up to—
You come with a groan. Your own hot jizz splatters over your chest. It feels so
good for a few seconds, like nothing else matters but the fact that all that
tension just let go.
It leaves cold, limp emptiness behind. The feeling your body told you was
pleasure earlier turns to nothing more than a physical irritation when the
stranger's cock keeps drilling into you, and the chafing and pain and
hollowness goes into stark relief. Hell, you really are a smuppet. A
masturbation toy. You can't tell if you're breathing in gasps or sobs.
"Stop being so coy already," a voice says, too close to ignore, especially when
the owner forcefully pulls your arms away from your face and starts climbing on
top of you. "I know you want more cock."
Your mouth is dry except for the disgusting residue of the last thing you had
in it, and no, you don't want more cock, but. Someone puts his ass down over
your face, almost sitting on you, and all you can see and smell is that ass.
All you can feel is the ongoing pistoning in your own ass. When another cock is
pushed into your mouth, you just take it.
You know he wants you to suck, but there's just not much energy left in you.
Your jaw aches around his upside-down erection, and even your tongue feels
half-dead. You're inhaling his ass and balls and sweat through your nose and
try to make your mouth work.
He's not satisfied with that. He grunts and slowly lowers himself against your
face, pushing his cock deeper into your throat, and you know what he's doing
but you can't make him stop. Your body twitches and your stomach heaves as you
gag, but mercifully, he pulls out again. The cock in your ass pounds heavily
into you, and you try desperately to breathe.
The cock in your mouth doesn't stay confined there but goes down again, even
deeper, digging into a part of you that hadn't been completely violated yet,
then pulling the tip back to touch your tongue as you convulse. You taste bile
and try to steel your stomach against the heaving, or else you'll be fucked in
a mouth full of puke, because you don't think he'd leave. But he's not happy
with your mouth, and he forces himself down again, and again, and again.
You shudder violently, clenching your whole body and feeling the hard thing
moving fast inside your other end even as you gag and choke. You can't breathe
or think or understand much beyond the sour fire in your throat. The guy above
you goes deeper for every stroke until the coarse hair at the base of his cock
is pressed to your lips and nose for every thrust and his balls slap your face
and you have to breathe.
Inhale. When he pulls back. Only then. Not rocket science.
There's a genital hair stuck in your nostril and his cock starts feeling like a
cheesegrater ripping the back of your throat to shreds, but he doesn't stop.
You barely notice when the other guy is finishes up and leaves your ass, except
for a distant feeling of relief and hollowness.
This is not a blowjob. He's fucking one of your holes, penetrating you and
tearing you open from the front instead of the back. Part of you realizes that
your ass is empty and wishes he could just take you there instead – where
you're already thoroughly fucked, and it'd be easier – while the other part
wishes that you could stop fighting for breath and just suffocate already.
You don't even have enough presence of mind to close your thighs. Almost as if
you do want more. The guys around you are talking, maybe arguing, but between
the grating and the gagging and the smell and your too widely open jaws,
nothing from your ears process properly.
Eventually the gagging spasms grow weaker, but it still hurts every time your
throat is impaled. You feel someone climbing in between your legs and handling
your ass and you don't even care. Someone else pushes your legs even wider
apart. There are several hands between your thighs, and someone is fondling
your balls – not enough to hurt much, but enough to make you notice with a
shudder even through the barrage in your mouth and throat. You realize that
your asshole hurts, but no one is fucking it, so you don't know why.
The guy above gets himself off in the end. His cock rises from your lips with a
plop, and you catch a glimpse of the ceiling lamp above even as he releases his
warm and sticky load on your face. It runs into your eyes under your shades and
drips into your mouth before you manage to shut it, but you're
disproportionally grateful that he didn't make you swallow, too. You wouldn't
have been able to keep it down this time. He scrambles off you and disappears
to have another beer or whatever these guys do when they're not in you, and all
you can do is cough and gasp for the deliciously fresh air.
You start to realize that there are fingers in your ass again, for some reason.
There are several guys bent over your formerly private parts, poking into your
aching asshole with their hands. Their fingers are as wet and slimy as your
jizz-filled hole, but you think the reason it hurts is because they're pulling
at it. Like they're actually trying to slowly rip you open for all the world to
see, and you don't know if you're surprised. You feel air cold against tissue
that is supposed to be closed up, like you've literally turned hollow, and you
find that you're trembling. What they're doing feels so much worse when there's
nothing more immediate going on in your face, and for a moment your instincts
make you try to clench and pull away, but that only makes the fingers forcing
you open more painful.
The only sound that comes out your battered throat is a groan, but listening
comprehension is returning.
"I still dunno if it's possible with like a tiny little virgin."
"He's not a virgin anymore, is he?"
"I'd say not!"
"Just look at how nicely he opens up."
"Mmm, guess the only way to find out is to try, eh?"
One of the guys – the one with the short brown beard – turns to your face and
grins, widely and drunkenly. "It's getting better, baby," he says. "Real treat
coming up."
He doesn't stop to wait for a response, but lifts you by the thighs, pulling
your legs up around his hips to straddle his stomach, while Don smiles a
grossly friendly smile and goes around to haul you up by the armpits from
behind. For a moment you're suspended between them. You try to raise your hands
– you're not even sure why – but they're shaking.
Don tells you to relax, but you can't, even though you should. He gets a better
hold of you by wrapping his arms over your own arms and pushing you up against
the bearded guy until he's practically hugging both him and you. Your torso is
pressed between their sweaty chests like a hamburger, and you can feel both
their cocks, hot and hard, against your skin. There's a bit of grunting between
the two guys as they hoist you up a little bit further and then ease you onto
the bearded guys cock almost by force of gravity. Your stretched, aching
asshole is nothing but a cock snuggly.
He's stiff inside you, filling you up in yet new ways as part of your weight is
practically resting on his cock. You bury your face on his shoulder, trying to
brace yourself for heavy thrusting.
A hand grabs your chin and forces your face up, though. You open your eyes to
see a close reflection of your sticky, half-dead face in Bro's shades. You
catch yourself again wishing that he wasn't looking at you, but it matters less
than nothing anymore. He's standing on the living room table, bending over you,
and you catch a glimpse of his cock being rigid again. His face is flushed with
alcohol and lust, and he's giving you that little half-smile that is the only
smile he ever makes. You used to love seeing that expression, but it only
hurts, now.
"You're even more sexy when you've been fucked," he says, his thumb stroking
the wet jizz on your cheek and your lower lip. "I wish you could look like this
always." His voice is thick and unarticulated. "You wanna suck me too, right?"
He likes you better like this. You barely know who you are anymore. You close
your eyes again, but before you realize what you're doing, you're making words.
"Bro." The sound chafes your throat and comes out a croak. "Please—" You stop
with a hitched whimper as the cock in your ass eases out and slams into you,
impaling you deep inside your guts. You know it's no use. You really, truly
have no right to protest now, not after you've already let them have you so
many times. It's too late to argue, it's already been established that you want
this. You're better as a cockslut.
"Yeah," Bro says, like a reply to your half-spoken line. He straightens his
back and the next moment he pushes his cock into your mouth, and you couldn't
even try to speak more.
The bearded guy rocks into you again, but Bro's cock in your mouth demands more
attention. You silently beg that he won't fuck your throat, too, but right now
he's still, just forcing your jaws apart and filling your mouth with hard
flesh. You don't know if he's cleaned his cock after fucking you before or if
the staleness you taste is your own ass. In either case it's easier than you
expect to force the repulsion away and start to suck him with exhausted
desperation, rubbing the back of your half-numb tongue against the tip of his
cock. Just do it before it gets worse. The way he moans your name tells you he
likes it. You wish he'd never say your name again, but this is the best you can
do.
The people holding up you are shifting their holds; Don is wriggling behind you
and his cock is dancing around your already filled ass. You go stiff with
horror when your mind finally catches up with what it means, but right then
Don's cock slowly starts to force itself up your ass right next to the other
man's.
You'd thought you'd already been opened and taken through the ass as far as
they could possibly take it, but you were wrong. It feels like your opening is
literally being shredded. You scream, but nothing comes out except a muffled
noise around Bro's cock, and that makes it worse. Especially when Bro breathes
your name in your face, and Don's cock is still moving up, tearing through you.
You bite down on Bro's cock, muscles spasming in an attempt to do something,
but Bro just moans and rocks his hips to move himself against your teeth, like
the convulsion was nothing but your attempt to please him. There's a moment
when everything starts going black, and you think you're going to pass out, but
you don't.
You're still here. The world takes on a red sheen of agony as Don's cock goes
level with the first one inside you, not just opening you wider than you should
be able to go, but filling your insides doubly, making you feel stuffed and
stretched and broken from within. Bro is only rocking the upper end of his cock
slightly in your mouth, like he's enjoying your tenseness, but he keeps you
from screaming or gasping. It's like you're being plugged – nothing comes out.
Don and the other guy starts thrusting, rubbing against each other inside you
and alternating so that one pulls out while the other shoves himself in. The
pain isn't just stinging or aching, but cutting, like knives in your asshole
with every movement they make. If they touch the good spot inside you it's
completely overwhelmed by the agony. You don't even notice when you start
crying again, tears merging with the other wetness on your cheeks. You're
breathing with shallow gasps through your nose, and you're not exactly sucking
Bro, but your mouth moves and twitches half involuntarily, doing things to his
cock that only makes it harder.
You can't feel Bro moaning your name any longer, nor what either of the two
guys fucking your ass say or do, and the rest of the room is just gone even
though your eyes are open. You're barely conscious of yourself. All you can
feel is three cocks inside you, one plugging you up and two ripping you apart.
You want to die. You want to literally fall into pieces and scatter on the
floor, no tight holes that can be filled and stretched and torn. But that
doesn't happen, not even now. Instead your insides are being speared
constantly, one cock and then the other in your innermost parts, and your hole
is cut like with a saw when two cocks move in and out, back and forth, never
stopping and never leaving.
You couldn't even guess how long it takes before they're done. Anything less
than 'a universe's lifetime' feels like an underestimate. Bro comes first, his
cock shuddering in your mouth and filling it with salty cum before he pulls it
out when it slackens. You can't tell where he goes. Some of the fluid drools
off your chin and down the chest of the bearded guy when your head falls
forward again. You're too weak to scream now, but you make pained, gasping
noises at the continuing movements in your ass. You manage to swallow some of
Bro's jizz, getting it out of the way, though it hurts your throat. A little
bit stays like a coating in your mouth and you can't even care.
Don and the bearded guy come almost simultaneously just a few thrusts later,
and even the feeling of rushing liquid against sore tissue inside you is a
relief compared to their grating movements. Your legs are dropped, making you
yelp, and then all three of you crumble to lie on the ground. You're still
packaged between them, but their limp cocks slip out of you on their own. Their
cum stings when it trickles out your ass, and they're breathing hard and fast
against your back and chest.
You don't try to move. You don't try to do anything but make yourself unexist.
Nothing happens. You still exist, still wrapped in naked limbs and sticky jizz,
still seeped with pain and hollowness. There are tired, satisfied voices
complimenting you for the experience they had, and you know they must be right,
you are a good fuck. Whether you want to be or not, and perhaps you do want
that. It would make everything so much easier. Why do you feel so broken and
hurt?
Bro is rubbing your shoulder, happy with you. You should feel good. You really
should.
You half-listen to lazy conversation about what it feels like to fuck you, but
no one sounds as eager and tight and horny as before. You still expect to be
touched and penetrated again at any moment, because you're still here and your
ass and mouth are still here, and being fucked is the point of you. Bro said
you're better like this.
It takes a while before it occurs to you that maybe they're done with you, at
least for tonight. You manage a deep, shaky breath and realize that the bearded
guy has rolled away from you and is snoring softly under the table. His cock is
visible, limp and ugly.
Don is moving away too, maybe to the futon. Suddenly there's no one on you or
in you or anywhere. You feel weirdly cold and bare as well as and exhausted and
thirsty; your ass hurts with a stinging, throbbing pain that echoes through
your entire body, and your insides are empty and raw. Your mouth tastes like
Bro's cum and that should be fine. You have no right to complain. You must have
wanted this.
You stay where you are on the floor, and somehow exhaustion and resignation
wins out over everything else and you drift off to sleep.
 
You wake up trembling. Dream images of Bro's cock fills your mind; him pushing
it down through your mouth and into your throat, feet after feet of it until it
tangles inside your guts. And then he's fucking your ass, or maybe he's doing
both at once, or maybe it's someone else, but you know the two cocks are
meeting inside you because all that's left of you is a hollow shell.
You blink hard and try to curl up in fetal position, and at first the pain
inside you makes you think the dream was real.
No. Not the dream. Just everything else. You try to calm down, but you're tense
and breathing too fast. It's half dark around you, which means the lights are
off. You're no longer on the floor, but up on the futon, and someone put a
blanket over you. It's such a normal gesture that it feels out of place. Your
shades are gone from your face, but the stickiness is still there.
The futon has been unfolded from couch to bed, and you can feel a warm body
against your back, sharing it with you. There's someone else down by your feet.
You wish they weren't so close, but it shouldn't actually matter when they've
all been inside you.
You make a half-hearted attempt to get up, but it doesn't work, and not only
because you're terrified of waking anyone; that would be like asking them to
pay attention to you. But it also fails because just moving your thighs and the
muscles around your ass feels like knives stabbing into your abdomen. It makes
you bury your face in the softness of the futon to make yourself stay quiet. It
hurts, damn it.
You're sore from jaw to thighs and beyond, too. But it was your first time, so
of course it hurt a bit. It's okay. It's not so bad. You did stay up with your
game when you could guess they were going to come here and be horny. It should
have been obvious, and it probably was, and besides, if you really didn't want
it, you should have fought harder.
Bro wanted to fuck you. He loved it. Even if the others leave and never come
back, Bro is going to put his cock into you again and again, so you have to
want it. Yeah.
 
You wake up the second time after dreaming about lying naked on the street,
waiting for someone to come and fuck you while people walked past and stared.
You feel seriously ill.
The living room is bright again, and you can hear voices and the shower
running. You keep your eyes closed and don't move, trying to sink through the
surface of the futon and disappear from the face of the earth, or at least fake
unconsciousness. It actually works, at least to the point where you can hear
the door close and you know Bro's guests are gone. Even then you still don't
want to move.
You feel a cold shiver when Bro sits down heavily next to you and touches your
shoulder. At least he's no longer naked, though you are under the blanket. He
sighs, and you'd deny that you were afraid of him, but you don't know what
he'll do.
"Dave," he says. "You awake?"
"No." Your voice sounds strange from a throat that is both parched and sore.
"Fair enough. Look, I've got a mother of all hangover headaches but I've got a
feeling we were being a bit rough with you last night. Maybe you picked a bad
time to confess. I know I would have been gentler if I'd have been sober." He
says it matter-of-factly, not apologizing. You can't remember confessing a
fucking thing, but maybe you did, and then everything that happened is your
fault. "I just wanna know that you're alright," he finishes.
"I'm fine." You have no idea what else to say. You and your friends gang-raped
me last night and I feel like a piece of shit is out of the question. Just
thinking it almost makes you sob, but you cover it up by shifting your position
a bit.
"That's my lil' bro," he says and offers you a fistbump. You get up on an elbow
and take it, then grimace in pain as you force yourself to sit up, wrapping the
blanket tightly around you. Your ass feels like it's been stuffed with broken
glass.
"Yeah, I know it can hurt a bit after taking it up the ass for the first time,"
Bro says, noticing your grimace. "I remember you being amazing, though, so you
should be proud. It'll be even better next time." He gives you that half-smile,
and you have no idea what you feel about it. "Do you want breakfast before or
after a shower?"
You hesitate. "Can I have a glass of water?" you ask in the end. Your whole
mouth is so dry.
"Of course." He gets up and goes over to the kitchenette. His steps are heavy
enough that you do think he's got a bad hangover, and he's still serving you.
And he still wants to fuck you.
You're going to have the water and then try to get the grime off you. You're
not sure a shower will help, but you'll try. Maybe if you rip your skin off.
And then you'll hide in your room and chat about ridiculous nonsense with your
pals and watch kittens on YouTube. You're not thinking about the future.
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