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The Bully

12

"Out of my way, faggot!"

Before I could step aside, Leander had already pushed past me, roughly shoving me into a wall in the process. "Too slow," he called back. A bunch of our classmates sniggered, as if this was the height of wit. Then again, real entertainment was hard to come by in our strict catholic all-boys high school, so they took what they could get.

I brushed myself off and glared after Leander disappearing across the courtyard -- at least, that's what I wanted it to look like while I stared at his ass. Damn. Leander was committed to making my life miserable every single day, but he was also the hottest guy in my class, if not the entire school. He played soccer (what we Europeans and most of the world call "football") at a semi-professional level, and it showed. Muscular legs leading up to a round, firm butt; a lean, trim upper body -- and that face! My god. Green eyes, dark blonde curly hair cropped close, and the easy cocky grin that comes from being told you're great at sports for years.

Ugh, I hated him so much.

I've always had a theory that high school bullies have their own rudimentary version of a gaydar. How else would Leander know to call me a faggot? (The more obvious explanation, that to high school jocks any variation of "faggot" is just a generic insult for the less athletic and nerdy, especially in an all-boys school, never crossed my mind at the time.) Ironically, Leander had been a key player in my own journey to self-discovery; once, when jerking off, I'd experimentally started thinking of him getting changed for P.E. class. I blew my load so fast that I've never looked back. For a while I told myself I was bisexual (sorry, real bisexuals!) but, yeah, no. I was a total gay.

So I got bullied, mostly by Leander. The other guys at school were kind of all right; not like they'd be nice to me or anything, but a lot of the time they left me alone -- well, except when they didn't and called me names as well. Nothing unusual, sadly. Ah, but I did end up seeing Leander at least once a week for years after we both graduated high school, solely to suck his dick, which I think is pretty unusual.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I already felt pretty down during the last year of high school. You'd think I'd be ecstatic to almost be rid of the place, right? Truth be told, I'd gotten pretty used to being the outcast at school. Sure, the taunts and insults stung, but in the end they were only the words of a bunch of dumb, frustrated guys who meant nothing to me. At the end of the day, I could go home and put it all from my mind... except that now, due to my own idiocy, home wasn't so great anymore either. I'd just turned eighteen, and in the spirit of honesty (and because I was more than a little bit naive back then), I'd come out to my parents. On my birthday.

It didn't go great.

"But... how can you be gay?" my mom asked. "You've never even had a girlfriend! How can you know, Jonas? And, and, you know how those guys have sex, it's not healthy, it's... What about AIDS?"

My dad just sort of... stormed out and drove off. I think he stayed away until after midnight. Anyway, we didn't talk about his absence any more at my house. Or about my sexuality. Also, my internet and phone privileges had been cancelled indefinitely. I swear my mom thought I turned gay because of that "devil tumblr website". Good stuff.

Ah well. At least, as a self-proclaimed nerd, I still got my grades, right? Yeah, no. For the past couple of months, my grades had been dropping, to the point where some of the teachers started to wonder what was up. My dick was up, that's what. In my last year of high school I was just a raging bundle of hormones. I spent most of my time in class low-key perving on the other guys -- I had a great view of Leander's broad shoulders, his muscular neck, and his ass -- and I let my dirty fantasies roam, while I should've paid attention to the teachers. I'm kind of embarrassed now for being such a creeper back then, though I'm sure I was hardly the first frustrated and confused gay kid in a repressive, religious all-male environment.

A couple of worried teachers offered to talk to me after class. Most of them thought I was having trouble at home, which was kind of true. I don't know if any of them ever suspected the truth, or if they were all blind to facts that would make them uncomfortable. In any case, the added attention embarrassed me, so these conversations would mostly consist of them asking "how are you feeling?" and "is everything okay at home?" and me, beet-red, grunting monosyllabic answers. This in turn led the teachers to decide I couldn't talk about it with them, so guess what they did?

They had fucking Mr Latrou, the school counsellor come and pull me out of class, that's fucking what! Twenty-four pairs of eyes stared at me as I left my seat and followed my every step to the door. Leander and his buddies weren't very subtle about their sniggers and whispers. Did these teachers seriously not know what animals eighteen-year-old boys are? After about twenty minutes of awkward questions that I didn't answer, Latrou got pissed off at me for not "helping him help me" and dismissed me again.

The entire day had been a fucking disaster so far, and it was only noon. I just wanted it to be over already.

After a blessedly uneventful lunch break we had P.E., which I hated. The only good thing about the subject was how afterwards in the locker room I could feast my eyes on my hunky classmates in various states of undress. There were group showers in the locker room, but I never took one. I just didn't think I could handle being surrounded by glistening hard bodies without getting a boner. As it was, it already took a huge amount of mental effort to stay flaccid when I was surrounded with half-naked guys and the pungent odour of adolescent sweat and Axe deodorant.

Ms De Witt made us run a bunch of laps around the P.E. classroom for warm-up. Everyone made nasty jokes about Ms De Witt being a dyke, but I liked her. She was the first and only P.E. teacher I knew who also cared about effort, instead of grading purely on athletic skill. While we ran our laps, sneakers squeaking on the shiny floor, she gathered a net and a bunch of volleyballs from the supply room.

I was already sweating and out of breath by then. Leander and his buddy Robin, a tall, black-haired basketball-player, passed me by for the third time, cheerfully calling out "ffff-ag!" -- though of course never loud enough that Ms De Witt could hear. Before I could call something back (not that it'd change anything!) a whistle sounded, our cue to stop running and gather in front of the teacher.

"All right, listen up," Ms De Witt said. "Today, the game is volleyball. I want you all to work on your serve. And to make sure you actually do that instead of horsing around, I'll pair you up myself."

I let out a sigh of relief. At least today I wouldn't have to stand around awkward and forlorn while people teamed up with their buddies, or feel the shame of being picked last.

"Jonas, you're with Leander."

My stomach clenched. Maybe I hadn't heard right... but then Leander turned to me, and the shit-eating grin I was very familiar with spread slowly across his face.

This was going to be unpleasant.

Sure enough, as soon as we'd all spread out along the length of the room and Ms De Witt had her back turned to instruct some students over on the other side, Leander turned vicious. He served the ball with such force that just trying to catch it felt like it would break my fingers.

"Did you have a good time with that pedo this morning?" That's what they all called Mr Latrou, "the pedo".

"Shut up," I muttered. I launched the ball with an underhand serve and watched it sail over the net. Leander moved fast, and I couldn't help but admire his body in motion. He jumped at the ball, hit it in mid-air and sent it hurling back towards me. The volleyball hit me hard in the thigh, and immediately the area turned red and started to tingle as if it was on fire. I bit back a cry.

I could see Ms De Witt glancing in our direction, though I don't think she knew what was going on.

"Missed," Leander said, snapping his fingers. "I was aiming for your tiny prick."

I limped after the ball and picked it up. I just needed to keep my cool and endure, and P.E. would be over before I knew it, and then I'd only have to sit through another hour of French before I could go home. Except my parents were still in a state of cold war with me, and I'd be back at school first thing in the morning to have this whole cycle start over again. I glanced at Leander's face, noticing his cruel smirk as he watched me right back, and something inside me snapped. Against all better judgement, I let out a loud growl and flung the ball at his face with all the strength I could muster.

Sure, I'd get into trouble. But to wipe that grin away, to watch his perfect features contort with pain, his lips spattered with blood as the volleyball crushed his nose... those things would be worth getting in trouble over, and I'd know, I'd remember forever that this one time, I had fought back.

None of that happened, of course. Leander casually swatted the ball away before it smashed into his face, years of soccer training and reflexes kicking in. For a split second though, he did look shocked -- then it was gone, and he laughed. "Maybe if your wrists weren't so limp, you'd actually hit something."

"That's enough!" Ms De Witt was suddenly standing very close. "Both of you, I want you changed and back here in ten minutes. Move it!"

Leander started to protest that he hadn't done anything, but Ms De Witt would have none of it. As we walked in silence through the deserted corridor towards the locker room, Leander fuming and me a couple of wary steps behind, I began to worry. Getting Leander in trouble might well have some very real, unpleasant consequences for me. So far I'd been spared any actual physical violence, but that could be about to change.

The locker room was empty, except for everyone's clothes and gym bags sitting on the benches that lined the walls. The familiar smell of stale sweat hung in the air; I doubted any cleaning product could get rid of it by now. I went straight for my stuff, kept my head low, and hoped Leander would leave me alone, at least for the rest of today. I dropped down on the bench and pulled my gym bag towards me. Leander's stuff was opposite mine, so I had a not entirely coincidental front row seat as he started undressing with quick, angry movements.

I really couldn't help myself; I had to stare. While Leander struggled with his shirt, I took in the view of his hairless chest and his small, dark nipples. My eyes moved down to his flat stomach, where a thin sheen of sweat covered his abs, and I found myself following the trail of short, dark-golden hair that lead from his navel down into the ridiculously blue gym shorts the school made us wear. I became aware my own shorts were getting tighter; being alone in the locker room with Leander had shaken me up, as it brought to mind all the jerk-off fantasies that featured exactly this situation, and I'd sprung an inconvenient boner.

"What the fuck?"

Oh, shit. Oh, no!

Leander looked right at me. Had he noticed me staring at him? Of course he did, how could he not have? Panicked and embarrassed, I quickly looked down -- only to see my gym shorts had transformed into a very, very noticeable tent. Fuck!

"You were checking me out." He didn't even sound mean when he said it, for once, just... incredulous. I felt hysterical laughter bubble up inside my throat, and I swallowed it down. My mouth had gone very dry. Meanwhile, Leander advanced towards me across the room. He'd left his shirt behind on the bench so that he now only wore his sneakers and gym shorts. "You really are a faggot!" He laughed then, a gleeful, whooping sound, and I tried to find my voice back. I wanted to tell him he was wrong -- even while my treacherous stiffy was plain to see through my shorts -- or at least convince him not to tell anyone else.

"I'm not," I stuttered. Leander's extreme closeness was sinking in; he towered over me as I sat on the bench with my back pressed against the wall, blocking any possible escape route. "I mean, I wasn't... looking..."

Leander didn't say anything. Instead, he hooked his thumbs in his P.E. shorts and pulled them down with one swift movement. His half-erect cock flopped out, bounced once, then slowly started pointing upwards.

Well. That shut me up right quick.

I could see Leander's rapid pulse by way of his dick; every heartbeat made it swell and rise some more. I could actually feel the heat come off it, that's how close to my face it was. The musty, sweaty aroma that so far I'd only known from sniffing my own worn undies entered my nostrils.

"You want to suck it, don't you?"

I stared up at Leander in a state of shock. He'd spoken softly enough that I worried I might have misheard. Also, when did Leander ever speak softly to me? I didn't dare say anything for fear the whole situation might be a trick. If I admitted that yes, I really, really did want to suck if, he'd turn vicious again and beat me up for sure.

"Do you want to suck it?" Leander asked again, and his voice definitely sounded different than usual. Huskier, and with a sort of... urgency to it. He pressed his hips forward. Instinctively, I wanted to shrink away, but there was nowhere to go. The head of Leander's cock briefly pushed against my glasses; it left a tiny smudge of precum on the lens. God, I really wanted to open my mouth and gobble his cock down like a lollypop.

"Say it."

I had to swallow several times before I could croak out a single "yes".

"Great." Leander wrapped a hand around the base of his cock, pushing it down so that it's aimed directly at my face. My own constrained dick throbbed painfully while Leander slowly rubbed the head of his against my lips. "Get to it, then."

Right then, my mind was still divided. Part of me really believed this was some sort of trick, while another, hornier part was far beyond caring about anything besides losing my oral virginity.

It didn't take very long for the horny part to win out.

As soon as I parted my lips, Leander shifted his hips forward. His cock was halfway down my mouth before I really knew what was going on. He kept it there for a moment, and I marvelled at the taste of my first dick. Sweaty, like the way the locker room smelled but more pronounced, and slightly salty, which I somehow didn't expect.

I pulled back my head, which caused Leander's dick to slip out of my mouth again. Not sure now why, but I wanted to lick his glans some, maybe nibble on it a bit. Total nerd virgin, remember? Leander had a different idea, though, and with an impatient grunt he bucked his hips again. This time his cock slid in way deeper, coming to a stop when the head hit the entrance to my throat. I gagged then, and tried to pull my head back further -- only to realise that the back of my head had hit the wall. I was essentially trapped.

Meanwhile Leander shifted his weight, leaning forward as he placed his elbows against the wall above my head. The pressure of his dick against the back of my throat increased. Reflexively, I put my hands on his hips to stop him from pushing deeper. It was useless; he was a soccer jock, with more strength in his legs than I'd ever have in my arms, and on top of that he was leaning his entire weight into me. I gagged some more, the first stirrings of real panic rising in my chest. What if I choked?

"Relax." Again spoken softly, but undeniably an order.

I complied, or did my best to. After a couple of moments Leander slid one hand down the wall and grabbed the back of my head, urging me forward. Maybe it was the shift in position, or maybe I had finally relaxed enough; whatever the cause, his cock conquered my gag reflex and slid down my throat.

Leander let out a sharp gasp. "Oh! Oh yeah, that's it." The sound of his voice, husky and slightly out of breath, drove me wild. I was doing this, causing a guy to gasp and moan. Me! At the same time Leander started to slowly buck his hips. His hand cushioned the back of my head, preventing it from slamming into the wall every time he thrust forward. The whole thing was not exactly a romantic experience -- it was definitely a far cry from how I'd thought my first time with a guy would be like -- but at the same time, it was so much hotter than anything I'd ever imagined!

I realised I still had my hands on Leander's hips, though I wasn't really trying to stop him from pushing his dick down my throat anymore. I thought about how now might be my only chance to do this, and after a moment's hesitation slid my right hand upward, brushing my thumb over his soft happy-trail, letting my palm linger for a moment on his abs. I let my hand climb further, upwards, and ended up rolling Leander's bullet-hard nipple between my thumb and forefinger, all while he continued thrusting slowly and rhythmically into my mouth.

Leander moaned, and I stole a quick glance up at his face. I thought he'd be looking away or have his eyes closed or something, maybe imagining some girl he fancied sucking him off; to my surprise, Leander was staring straight back at me, his lips slightly parted and his eyes half closed. He grinned at me when he saw me looking -- he actually grinned -- and then before I knew what was happening he had my head locked in both his hands, gripping hard, and just thrust the entire length of his cock down my throat. I let out a surprised sound that was half-gag, half-moan while the force of Leander's movement almost crushed my nose against his pubic bone. The musky smell of his sweat entered my nose as I tried desperately to catch a breath, his short-trimmed pubes tickling my nostrils.

Leander held my head fixed like that for a long time, not moving, his cock all the way down my throat until I gagged again and he finally pulled out. Saliva ran over my chin, a string of if connecting Leander's dick and my mouth. I gasped, loudly sucking in oxygen.

By now, I was feeling pretty bold. Knowing I could take and keep Leander's entire length in my mouth turned out to be quite the confidence boost. Without thinking, I grabbed Leander's firm -- and oh so delicious -- ass with both hands and pulled him towards me. His cock disappeared down my throat again and I could hear him groan again. I had my gag reflex pretty much figured out at this point, and I was so damn horny I wasn't going to let the dull soreness that was settling in my jaw ruin this party.

Leander started slowly fucking my face then, though actually it was me determining the rhythm as I held on to his buttocks and guided his thrusts. As soon as I started feeling too comfortable, my hands urged him to pick up the pace. I loved the feeling of his cock being pushed in my mouth, the feeling of his hands tightly gripped around my head, the feeling of his pubic bone slamming into my nose every time he thrust into me, the feeling of his heavy, fuzzy balls bouncing against my chin. I felt sure I was going to shoot a load in my P.E. shorts without ever even touching myself.

All too soon Leander's breathing became faster and shallower, and I noticed a tremor passing through his legs. I felt him trying to pull back and I let go off his ass so that he could. Almost instantaneously, a big jet of warm cum hit me in the face, splattering my glasses and trickling down my cheek.

"Ah!" Never in my wildest dreams had I thought I'd be the one causing Leander to make a sound like that.

Too shocked to even say anything, I just stared at Leander -- who still towered over me -- and noted with some satisfaction he was sweating considerably more now than after our warm-up laps. I didn't get long to enjoy the view, as in that moment Leander's knees buckled, and he half-collapsed on top of me. He was still cumming, too; I could feel a second, third and then a fourth rope of his sperm soaking my gym shirt, while he let out another groan of pleasure. Or maybe it was one of pain, seeing as he'd just hit his knees against the bench I was sat on. Whatever; at the moment I was more worried about how I'd explain my cum-soaked shirt to my mom when she asked for my P.E. clothes to wash them.

12
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