tagGay MaleCalluses Pt. 02: Blister

Calluses Pt. 02: Blister

byMrMister23©

The week crawled by as much as it flew. The days were a blur in slow motion, my mind completely divorced from the classes I was attending. The nights were long and swollen, lying in bed after a long shower and clutching my hard cock until I finally fell to sleep, trying to think of anything but sex.

Jennifer was royally pissed I hadn't called her the night I got back to campus, as we were supposed to "catch up." I'd completely forgotten about it, about her, and found I did not care. My life had been put through a meat grinder, everything but the skin that encased it, and pretending to care about her, or my friends, or my classes...none of it mattered. There was only the end of the week, like a rising bile, more real with each passing hour...

He texted me every evening, sending a fresh worm of dread into my guts whenever my phone lit up - and giving me a throbbing erection as well.

On Monday he sent me his address. "Park your car in my garage when you get here. It'll get stolen if it's in the street all weekend. Let me know you got this."

Tuesday: "6pm on Friday. You'll be staying until 6pm on Sunday, as agreed. 48 hrs. Nonnegotiable. If you're late on Friday, you'll be here that much later on Sunday. But DO NOT be late. I want Friday to be fun. Let me know you got this."

Wednesday: "Bring your own toothbrush. Don't bother with anything else. I've got it all covered. I want you in a button-up shirt on Friday. Something preppy with a collar, like a job interview. Tuck it in, but forget the belt. No undershirt. Wear those same tight jeans you had on when I pulled you over. NO BOXERS. Want you commando. And don't even think about shaving that big bush, or anything else. Only rule I have once you get here is no kissing. Nonnegotiable. Don't take it personal. Let me know you got this."

Thursday: "Don't eat anything tonight or tomorrow. Don't even jack off. You'll thank me later. And take a shower right before you get here. Be CLEAN. Let me know you got this."

"Got it," I texted back, as was procedure by then. I was lying on my bed, keeping myself distracted by reviewing the many syllabuses I'd been ignoring all week, but the clumsy subtext of his words put a stop to that. I may have been young and naive, but I wasn't stupid. He wanted my ass clean and ready, and he wanted me to shoot a big load for him when he fucked it. A man was going to make me come. I knew he could do it, even if I fought him, and the idea was making me horny and sick at the same time.

Of course, after what he'd put me through on the highway, cumming for another man wasn't such a terrible prospect. No...there was something much worse than that. I was going to be fucked in the ass, by a dick, for the first time in my life. By a cop's dick. A cop who was a lot stronger than me, who scared the shit out of me - and I'd have to like it. I remembered what I'd felt as he dry humped my thigh through his uniform. He had a big cock. Really big. It would do a hell of a lot more damage - and feel a lot worse - than a few fingers, and it wouldn't matter how many times he spit on my ass. There was no way to imagine the pain I was going to feel...

And what if he decided he didn't like fucking me, after he'd gotten off? He was strict, aggressive - what if I pissed him off somehow? He could pull the trigger on his threat of prison any time he liked, and there was nothing I could do to stop him. I didn't know him, after all. Even if I did everything he told me to do, exactly how he liked it, he could easily get off on sending me to get gang raped in prison, satisfied that he'd been the first among many stabbing, bloody cocks to rape me into womanhood as the years dragged on. The life I knew was hanging by a thread...

The familiar dread was creeping up my throat as my thoughts ran wild, far worse than it had ever been - until I was having a silent, screaming anxiety attack.

My roommate, Kevin, just kept bobbing his blond head between his headphones at his desk, facing away from me, totally oblivious. I wanted to say something to him in that moment of choking panic, to reach out like a drowning man searching for a life raft...but I didn't. We didn't know each other very well, had only been rooming together for a semester or so, and he always seemed a bit annoyed by me. More than that, I knew telling him anything, him or anyone else, would mean sacrificing the final scrap of dignity I had left...so instead I pretended to read the syllabus while the words blurred into smeared nonsense on the page, wishing I could just die be done with all this fear.

I was just beginning to calm down when a second text came a bit later, the buzz sending another spike of anxiety up my spine.

"24 hrs from now I'll be balls deep in your big fuzzy muscle ass. Don't be late. Cock is so hard for you right now, college boy. Been thinking about you so much. Can't wait to pop your sweet cherry."

"Got it," I almost replied, breath coming in shallow waves. Instead I deleted that and shoved the phone under my pillow, cock swelling with heady arousal at the blunt lust of his words. None of the chicks I'd been with had ever said anything remotely like that. It was intoxicating, being wanted that badly - especially the first time, hairy ass and all. It mixed with the tense, bitter residue of the anxiety attack and sent me straight into the shower, where I jacked off long enough to make Kevin pound on the door again.

I came to the sound of his banging fist, catching a horny groan in my throat before it made what I was doing any more obvious. The tired old shame returned as soon as I'd climaxed, along with the realization I'd already gone against the very clear orders the cop had given me less than an hour before. Don't even jack off. I hated myself for caring about that, the first thing I'd cared about all week - but I knew I'd follow the rest of his orders exactly.

Kevin was in bed when I finally emerged from the shower. He was reading, his headphones still on, green eyes scanning the open text book perched on his chest. He was a track star, here on a scholarship, his body lean and coiled like a sprawling house cat. I found it hard not to glance at the bulge in his boxers as I passed, wondering just how large it would grow when he was aroused, if it was any bigger than the cop's fingers, if he'd be interested in...

Why the fuck are you even noticing this shit?

"We both use that bathroom, you know," he said flatly as I crawled into my own bed. I didn't have the decency to answer him.

***

Friday finally came, and my anticipation, as well as my anxiety, began to peak.

I returned from my afternoon classes to an empty room, which I was thankful for. I laid out the clothes he'd chosen for me and took a long, hot shower. I shoved handfuls of stinging soap up my ass, cleaning it out as thoroughly as possible, ignoring the fresh erection that stiffened in response to the fingers in my hole. I'd be signing it over to him in a few hours, and I knew he wanted it clean. That thought just made me harder, of course. Harder and sicker.

I didn't want a man to have such control over me. Just thinking about the things he'd done to me had been getting me off for days. I told myself it was because my body wanted more of the treatment he'd forced on it. Not my mind.

I'd watched a couple of gay porn videos since he'd played my ass like a crude instrument, just to see if I really was gay. None of them had really turned me on all that much. I just saw grunting dudes calling each other "bitch" and "daddy," barely hiding their disinterest as they stiffly fucked each other, posing like erotic manikins as their hands rested anywhere but on their partner's body. The male lust did, at least, make me think of what the cop had done to me, and that turned me on - turned my body on, rather, like a machine. I knew it was different. I knew it. There was a word for what he'd done to me that day, even if he'd made me want it by the end, even if I'd agreed to everything else that was coming.

I'd read a lot about male rape over the last few days, perhaps trying to make it more clinical, more detached. I knew getting a stiffy while some bastard had his way with you wasn't exactly rare, and it didn't mean I was gay. It was all mechanical, the natural reaction to direct prostate stimulation, or the feel of a hand - any hand - running over the bare skin of an erogenous zone. I was being coerced, that was all. The alternative was far, far worse, so I just had to let it happen to me. If I came from it, it'd be because he'd made me come - not because I wanted to come. I'd just let him use me like a fleshlight and get on with my life, once this was finally over. Forty-eight hours, and this would all become nothing but a bad dream. We'd made a deal, an under-the-table business transaction, and all I had to do was honor it. I was getting my freedom, and he was getting off. I wasn't gay...

On and on went the flood of rationalizations as I carefully zipped my tight jeans around the stiff mass of my throbbing, swollen cock. Without boxers it shifted and chafed against the course denim, teasing my sensitive bits, keeping me hard as I left campus and drove for hours through fading daylight.

***

I was still pretty hard by the time I reached the little town of Metter, and my stomach was a pit of boiling dread that had been collecting all week. The town itself was just as drab as everything else in that part of the state, a stained mass of old brick and crumbling concrete. The outskirts were faded and depressing, filled with abandoned houses and sketchy-looking men who turned their gray faces to my clean car with covetous looks in their drugged eyes. They passed like cardboard cutouts in storefront windows, empty animatronic actors in a theme park ride.

His house was only a few blocks beyond all that. It was a low, dirty ranch-style home among many other low, dirty ranch-style homes. His, at least, had a free-standing garage to differentiate it. It was open, yawning and black. Welcoming me in.

I left the yellow glow of the streetlights and parked my car in the garage, as his texts had ordered. The walls in front of me were lined with tools, though most of them looked as if they'd never been used before they'd started to rust, gathering cobwebs. I got out just as my headlights flickered off, plunging me into darkness. My jacket was zipped up and tight around my shoulders, but the sticky-cold winter air was still fondling me beneath my clothes like a lecherous old man...

I shook my head. Why were my thoughts going straight to that place? I wasn't even out of the -

My heart jumped into my throat as gears sprang to life with a loud, metal-shearing crunch above me, around me, and the garage door began to rumble down, cutting off the street light for good. Someone had closed it remotely, probably the cop. My strained nerves were completely on edge now, but at least I knew he was aware of my arrival.

I left the garage through the side door and went around the back of the house, shadow to shadow. It was total darkness, filled with ominous black shapes that could easily be one of the druggies I'd seen lurking mere blocks away, gray-faced and itching for anything I had. I was on the edge of panic when my feet found the flaky wooden steps leading up to his back door.

He must have been watching me, waiting for me, as I climbed the low steps to the porch. I hadn't even knocked before I heard the heavy, jarring sound of multiple locks unlatching. He opened the door halfway a moment later, the light behind him finally revealing the flaky brown paint of the porch I was standing on.

Relief swelled, though I thought it a strange thing to feel. The familiar-enough sight of his bearded face pulled me back from the blind panic that had nearly overtaken me, and I took a deep, quiet breath. I stopped just outside the doorway and shoved my hands into the tight pockets of my jeans, shivering in the fog of my own breath. Waiting.

He straightened, grinned warmly, and opened the door all the way. "Welcome."

I ignored the goosebumps dancing across my skin and went inside. His heat and his musky, powerful scent hit me like a punch as I passed through the threshold, inches away from his body, and my heart began to pound as my stomach dropped down into my groin. The week had passed. This was actually happening. "Shoes off," he said casually as I passed, hot breath licking my ear.

The house I'd entered was clean, but sparse. I stepped out of my shoes as ordered, leaving them against the wall beside a pair of black boots I assumed were his. We stood in a white-walled living room tucked into the back of the house, lit only by two dim, golden floor lamps in the far corners, flanked by a kitchen and a dark hallway that led into the bowels of the house deeper in. The back of a large, black leather sofa sat closest to me, facing a dormant flat-screen television mounted on the far wall. It was huge, the focus of the room, speakers like pillars of an ancient temple rising on either side. There was no coffee table, or other furniture - only the beige carpet, lightly stained, but freshly vacuumed and soft beneath my black socks. The air was warm, heat on full blast, and everything smelled like burnt incense.

He shut the door abruptly, startling me. I jumped and turned, only to find him leaning against the door frame with a very serious expression on his face. Looking me over. Studying me.

It seemed only fair that I do the same. There weren't going to be any pretenses between us, now that the door to the outside world was closed. There was none of the terror or confusion I'd felt on the side of the highway, none of the fear of being seen; whatever happened now would be a secret I'd keep until my dying day.

It felt as if I were seeing him for the first time. He was still a cop, no doubt about it. The aura of complete control he'd emanated when he'd pulled me over was just as palpable now as then - as was the subtle undercurrent of lust, so deeply felt it was almost gentle in its hunger, as if it had always been there. He looked very different out of the police uniform. His jeans were looser than mine, creased and casual above his white socks, his thumbs hooked into his pockets on either side of his broad, masculine hips. He must have been well past fifty years old, but his well-worked muscles bulged beneath his tight brown t-shirt.

His body was far more impressive than his age or his pressed uniform had let on, much closer to that of a offensive lineman than an aging police officer. His stomach was flat, and his barrel chest was massive, thrust forward in his utter confidence. Thick black fur covered the valley of his big pecs where the neckline of the t-shirt ended, thickest in the middle as it ran up his throat to join the stubble below his beard. Muscles crowded either side of his sturdy rib cage, hinting at the immense strength of his back. His shoulders were broad and sinewy, and his thick, hairy arms would easily wrap around my relatively slender frame when the time came. I'd never looked at a man like this, never been so impressed by any specimen of the male physique. I was no slouch in the gym, certainly strong, but he was stronger. I was just over six feet tall, but he was taller. In fact, I found myself looking up at him, something I've rarely had to do since puberty hit, and it made my stomach flutter strangely...the same way it had fluttered the first time I'd seen him in the rear view mirror of my car.

I found myself looking into his face. It wasn't mere inches from mine now, or hidden behind me, or gnawing at some part my body, so I was finally getting a good look. He was bald, but it suited him. His thick black beard was graying at the edges, but this suited him as well. His jaw was broad, his nose prominent. His brow was thick and manly, and his eyes...his eyes I remembered well. Black and hard, tearing into my flesh despite the warm smile that hovered at their corners. He looked like a weathered viking in his prime, ready to rape and pillage and enjoy doing it.

I couldn't hold his stare for long, and quickly resumed my inspection of his chest and stomach. I was not at all repulsed by what I was seeing, as I had fully expected to be; instead, I found myself...fascinated. Spellbound by the perfection of his musculature, his scent, his confidence, his raw male physicality. He was everything I'd want to be at his age, and more. I was admiring him deeply, purely, and it felt so eerily natural to do so. I was quickly forgetting why I was there, alone with him, against my will. Like any young man, the promise of impending sex had muddled my mind. It was no different now than any other time I was unlocking the door of my room, a drunk chick running her hand up my shirt, knowing I was about to fuck her, and I was far too horny to think about how strange it was.

I let my eyes roam down to his belt buckle, his jeans. The bulge...was massive. So massive my insides quivered, wondering for the hundredth time what it would feel like when it was pushing into me, inside of me. How much it would hurt. This time, somehow, the thought excited me more than it scared me - though I tried not to show it.

He smiled, more of a smirk really, and adjusted his burden shamelessly with a big, hairy hand. He was looking at me with a barely suppressed grin, and I knew I couldn't hide anything from him. "I'm glad you're here," he finally said, his deep Georgia drawl permeating every word as it rumbled in my chest. His voice snapped me out of it.

I blinked and looked away, shrugging awkwardly as I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jacket. I could feel his eyes on me again, though they'd never actually left. I found myself hoping he was happy with what he saw. Hoping I was somehow impressive to him. I hadn't shaved before class that morning, my face brushed with stubbly dark shadow. Beneath my jacket was a sensible blue shirt, long-sleeved and buttoned up to the collar, tucked into the tight jeans he'd ripped off my hips earlier that week. As requested, I wasn't wearing a belt, and they were hugging my hips very low. Also as requested, I wasn't wearing any underwear beneath them. I was glad of that now, as the extra room made my raging erection less apparent...but I felt half naked already.

"Don't you talk?" he asked. He took a step closer and held out his hand. The muscles of his arm shifted under his pale skin and the black fur that covered it. "Here - I'll take your coat."

I unzipped the jacket and let it fall off my shoulders, down my arms. I handed it to him, pretending not to notice his eyes on my body beneath the tight fit of my shirt. He stepped closer and draped it over the sofa beside me, just shy of my hips. I backed up as he stepped forward, until I felt the edge of the sofa pressing against my lower buttocks, trapping me.

We were silent for a moment, bodies almost touching. "You smell really good," was all he said. So did he, I admitted to myself, and I was secretly happy to smell him again. The memory of his scent had given me many erections over the last few days. Now that I was smelling it for real, his scent - his musk - was making me drunk somehow. I was breathing it in without meaning to, drawing it deep into my lungs, my brain. I still couldn't meet his gaze, which was fixed on me, slithering over me, caressing me and devouring me. I was exhilarated, sweetly terrified, and I couldn't speak. My heart was thumping loudly in my ears, and my cock was so hard it hurt. He saw all of it.

He stepped back, giving me some room. "Take off your shirt," he ordered, his beefy arms crossed in front of him, expecting. I hesitated, shocked that things were already happening, then began to unbutton the top button of my shirt. It was slower going than usual, as my hands were shaking. I'd only managed the top few by the time he lost his patience.

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