BDSM Library - Story: Nick\'s Summer, Chapter: Part 2

Nick's Summer Part 2 - The Backstory

by Emile

I am indebted to ponyboy_g and dale10's 'older' stories.

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Life hadn't always been like this. Being from a farm, he'd boarded since he started senior school, quickly filling out his bulky frame with football, cross-country and rowing. He trained almost every night and his weekends, away from home, were spent on the field or in the water, working and playing hard, with a winning smile and an endless list of admiring friends. He worked hard at being everyone's buddy, in part to make up for his absent and exacting father. His door was always open, and guy's would wander in at any hour just to chat, share some time with the school hero.

In fact, he noticed most of the time would be when he was underdressed - sitting in his boxers doing homework, or towelling off after showering. It was if they had a sixth sense about it. Every time he posed naked in front of the mirror behind his door, flexing his guns or clenching abs, the door would fly open, exposing him to a gawking teammate and the guys in the hall beyond. He'd get raging hard-ons in class, and wait hours to get back to his room and beat off, only to have guys wander in a few minutes later, just as arousal was peaking, forcing him to quickly stuff his leaking dong back in his pants before he was caught. Or worse, he'd reach that rare, ecstatic moment of cumming only to have his coach bellowing down the hall, forcing him to squeeze his cockhead and cut the pleasure short, before he burst in the room. Each time the coach caught him, forcing him to change out of the sticky shorts in front of him, bellowing at him so all the hall could hear, he would write a letter to his father expressing his disappointment that his son had nothing better to do all day than jerk off. It seemed the older and hornier he got, the less opportunities he got to jack off, and the more often he'd be caught out doing it.

Even when he wasn't hard, his dick was bigger than most of the guys, and he was embarrassed by the attention it drew. More than once, a dozen seniors had barged in after showers, sitting on his bed, chatting, eyes casually drifting over the handsome jock as he ran his ragged towel over his bulging pecs and chiselled stomach, the flecks of new body hair still moist and glistening as he hurried to finish and dress in their presence. More than one guy had joked around when he inevitably had to drop the towel to dry his legs, or slip on some jocks, revealing his thick mule cock and meaty balls. His dorm nickname was Horse, and not a week would go by without some guy in the showers poking him in the chest or abs at his "pelt" or the "mane" of hair sprouting on his stocky body, from his nipples to his crotch. On hot evenings on weekends, when he had nowhere to go, there'd always be some guys back at the dorm willing to ball around with him, but he was uncomfortable when the jokes always wound up as wrestling him to the ground, or a circle jerk, with everyone starting at his fat purple knob as it pulsed with fucklust. Even then, his orgasms built slowly, his dick getting thicker and more engorged until it was almost painfully hard, and they guys would cum before him, splashing his hands with their spunk, while he still drooled precum. He wasn't sure if it was because he leaked so much thick precum, or because the guys got impatient after they came, but the circle would always break before he climaxed, and he'd be brought back from his daze by their sticky hands on his back as they pulled him towards the TV room. The rest of the night he couldn't concentrate, as his stiff dick and the inevitable conversation about chicks and tits kept him horny as hell. But he could never refuse them - they were his friends, after all.

Then the trouble with his dad had started, only 3 summers ago, when Nick went on rowing camp. Rowing camp took up the last 2 weeks of term, before they broke for the summer, and they travelled around a lot. This year the camp was on Lake Redrock, only a couple of miles from his dad's farm. They pitched tents on the lakeside, and both his best buddies Tyler and Ethan wanted to share with him, so the tent was crowded as they packed three beefy bodies in the one room. Their wide shoulders filled the tent from side to side, so either side of him, the guys had propped themselves on their sides, faces only inches from his. He woke up often in the night as the small tent jostled the three together. Tyler would prop his head on his arm and drop down onto his stomach, jamming his pit in Nick's face, or Ethan would roll forward onto Nick, his hard-on jabbing Nick in the ribs, or Tyler would knee him in the side as they curled into a ball. Several mornings he woke to find they'd both collapsed on top of him, pinning down his arms, Tyler's veiny forearm nestled between his thighs, pressing down on his engorged hard-on.

Coach had a no-jerkoff rule at camp, which drove the boys mad. On the fourth night, Nick was woken by the coach bellowing outside the tent. Inside was hot and sticky, the trapped air thick with the smell of cum - both his friends had flogged off either side of him, He could feel the cooling blobs of dickslop, as their orgasms had splattered his torso and back. He only caught their sheepish grins for a second, before Coach ordered them out into the cool night air. They stood side-by-side, and Coach was livid when he saw the spatter in the moonlight, seeping down Nick's body and soaking his thin silk boxers. Despite his protestations, and his friends volunteering that it was no his fault, Coach hauled him away, leaving the culprits behind. By now Tylers load had coated his dick and balls, making the whole of his boxers damp, and it was hopeless to argue it wasn't his own. Ethan's cum too had seeped down his back, between his tight arsecheeks before getting caught in the light hairs around his hole. Coach dragged him to the mess tent, to do sit-ups in the harsh gaslight. Most of the scum on his back rubbed off as he lay down, but he could feel a pool squelching in his crack, tickling his hairs, and kept wiggling as he leaned forward. The coach noticed and ordered him to stand up and turn around. When he saw the sticky patch on the back of his boxers, he whistled, and ordered Nick to grab his ankles. As Nick bent over, humiliatingly exposing his arse to the coach, he felt his boxers whipped down, coach's thick finger prodding in his sensitive arse ring. At least half of Ethan's mega load had got caught in the tight curves of his arse, pooling around the hole and covering it with milky scum.

He heard the coach mutter "faggot" and push his thick finger deep inside, before working in a second one to Nick's pain and embarrassment, holding his back down with his other hand. "Please Coach" he begged "it's not what you think", but the Coach was single minded, and took a dim view to lying schoolboys. "You're still tight, which explains why I hadn't heard our star rower was a pillow-biter. So how long you been taking it up the arse, boy?" he demanded. Nick protested, and felt a stinging slap to his arse. "No lies boy, how long" Nick said nothing, and for a second there was silence. Nick wasn't sure what it meant, either Coach believed him, or else he was in big, big trouble. Coach answered his thoughts by taking his other hand away. For a moment Nick thought he was free to go - except Coach's fingers were still buried painfully in his butt, stretching the sphincter. Then he heard with the slow sound of a zip being lowered. "Well boy, I guess you want this to be our little secret, eh?! I guess we can do that, but first I want to see some of that arse for meself. Lean back and spread em, and if I hear a whimper, your dad will hear about his pansy son in the morning!"

Nick was in shock, but had the sense to try and get away. Not an easy task when skewered on two thick fingers, arse in the air. Coach just lifted his fingers slightly and the gut wrenching pain as the weight of his brawny legs tore down on his sphincter made Nick stop struggling quickly. He pleaded with the coach, but Coach's hands on his back and up his arse immobilised him. Worse, the Coach told him if he kept it up, he'd make sure his dad knew he was a boy cunt. His exact words - boy cunt - resonated in his brain. He couldn't imagine the horror of his stern dad if he heard that. Already he was on strict watch from Coach's letters about him masturbating. His last letter from his dad had warned him that "if he dissapointed him again, there'd be hell to pay over summer".

With this on his mind, and powerless to resist Coach's hold, Nick kind of slumped, giving in to the inevitable humiliating rape. Coach wasted no time lining up his fat cockhead and impaling him on his beer-bottle thick stalk, a massive effort for even the most practiced big-titted cock slut, let alone a virgin jock stud like Nick. Pushing relentlessly into Nick's virgin hole, until he could push no further, he split his tight arse wide. Then he fucked him with deep strokes that made Nick grunt, driving his porker the last few inches into his muscle butt. Between Coach's moans and Nick's grunts, half the camp could hear them. Coach was well practiced in the art of punish fucking, and kept slamming into him, hard deep strokes that took the air out of him, lubed only by the drool from Coach's wide dicklips. He was a seasoned cocksman, and as he felt his cum rising, or Nick's rock-hard cock throb, he withdrew completely, popping out of the recently-virgin cherry, letting his dick juice baste the hot hole until they were ready for another round. Half an hour, forty minutes, the fucking was relentless, until finally Coach picked up his stroke, burying his meat deep and pumping a flood of cum into Nick's gut. The pressure on Nick's overheated prostrate was too much, and Nick began to cum in synch. Coach roared, yanking down Nick's balls as he came, cutting of the flow like a vise. Nick's dick throbbed helplessly, stinging and unrelieved. After a few moments, Coach pulled out his half-hard, cum covered cock with a pop, ropes of dickdrool hanging from the battered hole to his dick. Despite the long hard fucking, Nick's hole squeezed tightly shut, trapping the churning bull milk in his guts. As Nick discovered that night, he was blessed with a tight young sphincter to match his tight young body, and it would take hundreds of hard fucks, each as painful as the first, for that elastic ring to be stretched wide.

Nick was broken, but Coach wasn't finished yet. Forcing the stud to his knees, he brought him face to face with his invader, still pulsing, slimy with precum, cum and arse-lining. Only an inch away from his wide eyes, the cock looked impossibly thick and wide, and the jolting pain from his arse with every movement confirmed it. Before he could resist, Coach grabbed the back of his head, and began forcing the throbbing head into his mouth, filling the void until Nick choked and gagged. Coach was undeterred, and kept going, each time waiting until Nick almost passed out, then pulling out, waiting for Nick to gasp before forcing it back in, and a few inches deeper. His body already wracked with pain, the slow facefuck was even worse, stretching his mouth wide and rubbing his lips as Coach pistoned in and out, finally sinking his bulbous corona half way down Nick's throat. He stiffened and began fucking hard, grinding his pubes against Nick's face, rubbing his lips raw. Another long, hard piledriving session, and Coach came again, still fucking as he came, so the dickjuice splattered everywhere, squirting out of the corners of his mouth with each inward stroke. Only then was it over. When he pulled out, Nick looked like a deer in headlights, horrified but trapped, unmoving. His face and thighs were spattered with cum, his chest heaving, nipples and dick erect with fear and unwanted arousal. Coach fished around for Nick's boxers, and began gently cleaning up Nick's abused body, sopping up the sex juices that covered his body. Finally, he came to wipe the last drools of cum from the corners of his mouth. Nick could smell the rank odour of cock as the boxers rubbed under his nose - the scum of his best friends and Coach, and his own precum and arse lube all mixed together. "I'll keep these" Coach said "You come back tomorrow night to fetch 'em".

He limped back to the tent in the morning light, dawn glowing off his sculpted body. He slipped inside, praying his pals were asleep, not counting that they'd also be sprawled over his bed. He was naked, tired and sore, and when he saw them, pumped arms and tree trunk legs draped over his sleeping bag, he didn't have the energy to push them off. He crouched, naked and in fear, in the mouth of the tent, until the camp stirred and the call came to get up.

Then came the slow decline. His friends said nothing, no-one did, but their faces were clear enough. When they woke and saw him naked, leaning over them for his towel, their looks said "We know you were dicked!". Their hero grins, the lack of the usual banter, no mention of being caught out last night. In the showers was no better. There was a hush as he entered, all eyes following him as he slowly made his way to a shower head. He was still limping, although he tried to hide it, the pain was enormous. The only sound was the hiss of the water, and Nick's occasional involuntary yelp as the water grazed his mouth, his arsecheeks. He towelled off quickly, avoiding his face and arse, and went to brush his teeth. In the mirror, he saw his face - his nose and upper lip red, mouth slightly swollen, from Coach's wiry crotch. It was unmistakable, like the chicks the guys joked about back at the dorms.

Word must've spread through the camp, because after that, he was pretty much on his own. Everyone still respected his athletic prowess, so it was like a truce, the whiff of fighting in the air. He was jostled a bit, but when the coaches assistant took them onto the water, the real punishment started. Nick was tired and sore, and the motion of pulling the oar through the water sent waves of agony shooting from his sphincter up his spine. Twice the assistant stopped their practice to yell at Nick for slacking. Finally, he hauled him out of the boat, giving him a loud dressing down.

That night he waited until his friends sounded asleep and crept back up to the coaches tent. The coach was sadistic and relentless, all the bottled-up rage over the boys and their antics seemed to be channeled now into Nick. He made him do all kinds of disgusting things - 'tea bagging' his hairy balls into Nick's wide mouth, as Nick pulled on his nipples and jerked at his dick. If he didn't pull or jerk hard enough, Coach told him he would piss in his mouth. Putting him on hands and knees, punish fucking him across the tent, each stroke designed to slam his body forward, all weight on his arse. Jamming a pen in Nick's wide pisshole, stretching the dicklips and burning his urethra. The sessions lasted from night to dawn, and each morning, as Coach slept off the activities, he was forced back down to his tent, and onto the water, where the assistant would grill him, and his teammates got increasingly hostile. Everyone saw his pouty nipples, his limp, his swollen lips, but said nothing that would incur the wrath of the coach. Instead, they took out their disgust in little petty ways, stealing his clothes, tripping him up, or avoiding him like a leper. His own best friends were awake when he came back the third time, both flogging their meats now coach was not around. The air smelt thick with cum, and when he opened the tent, they both stopped, Ethan stretching his foot to stop Nick's head entering the tent. "No way man, you can't come in here. We don't want you getting off starin' at our dicks! Get back outside!" Ethan jerked his knee, slamming Nick backwards out of the tent flap. He fell on the grass, naked and miserable, hunching there as their groans got louder, and they came in unison. A few minutes later, the tent unzipped and they threw out his remaining clothes and equipment. The clothes were a mess, most covered in cum from their nightly wanking. Not that it mattered, the next night the rain drenched all his stuff, by the following it'd all been stolen except his training gear (which he wore until reeked from sweat), an old singlet, and the cummy boxers Coach made him wear when he wasn't fucking him.

The final days came, time for the races, and almost as if nothing had happened, everyone pulled together, focused on the prize. Coach told him not to come back again, and after a night's sleep on the grass, he was feeling almost alive. They all pushed themselves in the water, Nick especially, and when they made their time trials, guys slapped him on the back, cheering, like old times. They still avoided talking to him out of the water, but he felt maybe his ordeal was over. Then the races. They won their heat, and everyone cheered. His friends grabbed him by the shoulders like old times, talking about "their team" and "all for one" like it was all a bad dream. Late afternoon, they called the finals, and they all got in the boat. Nick felt on top of the world. Maybe the adrenalin, or the practice of nightly sessions, but his butt barely hurt at all, and was ready to give 110%. The starter gun went off and they all rowed at a cracking pace, like a machine. They were less than 10 strokes from the end, and a length ahead. The shoreline was abuzz with cheering. Nick glanced up at the bank, a momentary feeling of glory, and his eye caught his father, on the crest of the hill, arms folded, standing next to the coach. The coach was leaning in, talking, and his fathers face was getting grim. It was only a split second, but it shattered Nick's rhythm, and he struggled to keep pace. The cox screamed, and he faltered back into line, but their lead was lost, and they crossed the line third. As they reached the pier, the mood on the boat was black. No-one said a word, no-one looked at Nick, but he knew, he was top jock no longer, couldn't look them in the eye, and would have to quit the team, or be dropped.

They hung back for the awards, but third was no consolation for the coach or his dad, who came up, ordering him to get his stuff, he was taking him home. Since Nick nothing clean to change into, he went to jump in the car. "You're filthy boy, and you stink of sweat. You're not coming back like that!" Nick protested, said his stuff had been stolen, but his dad just shook his head. He reached into the back of the car and pulled out some old overalls. "Put this on" he barked. Under his stern stare, Nick undressed, revealing his abused body to his father. If he saw anything, he said nothing, and soon Nick was sitting in the car, the overalls showing off his pumped chest and flat abs, straps scraping at his nips. His long fat cock hung down one leg, easily visible against the rough fabric. His dad disappeared for a moment, before getting in. Nick's uniform and singlet were no-where to be seen. "I chucked em" he said, answering his thoughts. "You can wear that for now." The long car trip was in silence, and Nick sat uncomfortably as the denim scratched his sore raw skin with every bump. He hoped and prayed he was just angry at the race, nothing more. But as they pulled off the road, towards the farmhouse, his dad began to talk. 'We got a new farmhand now, Jack, from Redrock. Smart boy, he's my right hand man, you could say. Funny thing though, he been telling me the strangest rumours. So tell me, boy, and think carefully what you say. Is it true that you, my son, brought up to be tough, strong and masculine, god fearin like the rest of us, is it true you would do such a filthy disgusting thing as take it up the arse? Are you truly a faggot?" Nick hesitated, but his dad went on. "Cause if you are, I have half a mind to beat you within an inch of your life, til you realise the right path, and mend your perverted ways. But Jack, well, he has another idea. He said you bin schooled wrong, with them fancy ideas, says its just a matter of ed-u-cation. Jus like a dog, he said, if it licks its balls and you kick it, it'll just come back and do it again. But if you ed-u-cate it, you coat them balls with glue, so when he licks em again, he sticks fast, then when you let him off he won't never do that again! You give it to him so bad, he'll never even think of going back to his filthy old ways. So tell me, son, is it true you in need of an ed-u-cation?"