How To Rape A Straight Guy by Sullivan, Michel (the reading list .TXT) 📕

an’ kickin’.  But he couldn’t do much; each time he got too crazy, I just squeezed his dick hard, like I was gonna tear it off, an’ he’d freeze an’ let me keep goin’.  A couple times he tried to crush me with his legs, but he couldn’t get any leverage an’ besides, I was too solid built for that to work.  I kept pumpin’.  An’ pumpin’.  An’ pumpin’.  Then just as I was figurin’ he’s never gonna blow an’ I should just let myself finish, he began to buck an’ gasp.  An’ his ass clinched so tight around my dick, I couldn’t wait anymore; I plowed deep into him an’ let loose.

Man...it was scary how good it felt.  Just like when I did it the first time to that rich pansy punk’s ass.  Carter kept fightin’ me the whole time, even as I kept plowin’ my load into him, an’ that made it so...much...better.  But it wasn’t till I was done an’ had pulled out that I realized he’d cum, too.  Not much.  Just a dribble of sticky stuff leakin’ from his dick.  But it was enough for me to smear his face with an’ tell him, “That’s your cum, bitch.”

He gagged an’ balled up into this little knot an’ started sobbin’ as he tried to hide his face an’ his dick from me.  I cut free his hands an’ stood up, even though I was still weak in the knees.  He whipped his arms around to cover himself, still sobbin’.  I watched him...an’ I felt this really weird urge.  This one’d been so fuckin’ good, I knew I could’ve done it, again, if I’d wanted to.  Put him on his belly, this time.  Just do it for me an’ fuck even tryin’ to get him off.  I really thought about it, but then I figured, naw, it’d be too much like sex.

I grabbed the torn boxers an’ used ‘em to wipe off with.  Then I tucked ‘em into my pants -- to throw away later; don’t want to leave evidence like that behind -- pulled on my tee-shirt an’ walked away.  Didn’t say a word, just left him there.  If he said anything, I could say he’d made me fuck him.  That’s why he was pullin’ all his shit -- to scare me into givin’ him my dick.  An’ I had lots of witnesses to back up how hard he’d been on me.  At best, it’d be his word against mine, even with the bruises on his wrists.  But I knew he wouldn’t tell nobody.  He was too fuckin’ ashamed of what’d happened.

An’ sure enough, he left me alone, after that.  An’ I made parole, a week later.

An’ here I was, about to do the same thing, again.  I was almost sick from excitement.

Lenny must’ve checked those fuckin’ cameras a hundred times before the doorbell rang.  They were both the same model an’ put out a great picture so long as the lights were right.  Oh, an’ he made sure every light in the room was on, this time, “just to be sure.”

The plan was simple -- Lenny’d let the stud in, make sure the guy knew he was there for sex, then I’d pop out of the kitchen an’ grab him.  The rest was up to me, but I didn’t expect too much trouble.  Even if he knew karate or some shit, I could get control before he knew what was happenin’.  So when the bell rang, we were ready.

  I slipped into the kitchen an’ got the straps ready an’ peeked out to watch.  The front door was in plain sight.  Lenny hit the camera’s record button an’ “strolled” over to the door.  He opened it an’ stepped back, breathing hard.  Whether it was from excitement or fear, I dunno.  I heard the guy say, “Lenny?” an’ Lenny answered, “Jeremy?  Yeah, come on in.”

The guy that entered was probably one of Lenny’s an’ Wayne’s wet dreams.  An’ he looked familiar.  He was taller than me an’ maybe older by a couple of years -- college stud, my ass.  He had broad shoulders, dark hair cut short an’ neat, an’ wore a white cotton shirt an’ tight Levi’s with a black belt an’ black loafers.  Hair on his arms an’ chest peeked out from under the shirt -- not too much, but enough to make him seem like a guy instead of a boy.  But swimmer’s build?  My ass; he wasn’t that slim.  Or broad shouldered.  But he did look like the poster queen for Gay America.  Probably a “gay for pay” closet case.  Shit, how hard could it be?  Pun intended.

But what was best is, he did look a lot like Anthony.  His face wasn’t as round or as Italian.  An’ his jaw was stronger.  Cleaner.  But I could make it work.  But then I remembered someone else’d reminded me of that little fuck, an’ that’s when it hit me -- “Jeremy” looked exactly like that guy in “Psycho.”  Th’ one in the hotel room at the beginnin’, who Janet Leigh steals the cash for.  Connie took me to see it just after we met.  It started out slow as shit, but things picked up in that motel, boy did they.  Got me hot as shit for Janet, lemme tell ya.  Anyhow, that character was so neat an’ clean an’ looked so much like a cop, all I could think about when he was on-screen was how much I’d like to smash his squeaky-pretty little face in.  Now it looked like I was gonna get that chance.

Jeremy looked around an’ said, “Nice place.”

Lenny twittered -- swear to God -- as he said, “Thanks.  You want something to drink?  Beer, wine, coke, whiskey?”

“Depends on what you’re after,” Jeremy said, keepin’ just out of Lenny’s reach.  Somethin’ about that set off alarms in my brain.  I don’t know shit about guys who always go to