10 Years to Destruction

[Sf-travel]

(Cont…)

That knock would play out in my head for years to come. That knock was the start of a slippery slope — a slope that would ultimately lead me 10 years later, blackout in a trashy motel, throating a 9mm pistol, effectively destroyed no matter the rules of his game.

But that night 10 years ago? I just thought it was going to be some quick, rough fun.

—

Part 2.

 

I felt my phone buzz. “Just knock when you’re here.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I was so fucking in over my head. And fuck me, I knew it. 

I had walked maybe 10 feet up his concrete driveway in East LA. And you could hear my heartbeat out in Malibu. I knew I was in over my head, but also knew how hot that was, how much it made my dick stir and my hole pulse. I was going to get fucked by this latino thug, maybe he’d slap me around a little, call me a puto. Maybe he’d even want his cum inside me. I was ready to have some fun, and that adrenaline? That uncertainty? It was hot. I could use some rough sex. 

But David? He wanted exactly what he told me he would want. My 20-year-old self…  I just didn’t realize. I didn’t listen even when he told me exactly the truth. I didn’t listen when he repeated it before I came over that night. I didn’t listen, and I, well, I guess I needed the lesson. I needed that ultimate moment that shifts your life path, that moment when we discover who we really are. I far from knew it yet, but that's the lesson I needed. Its like some god of debauchery, some figure meant to corrupt born-fags — he let me ignore the warning signs,  he let me look past so much... all of David's own warnings, all of those bullshit sexual assault seminars on campus about responsible behavior, all those things that Pastor Eric told me I'd be drawn to if I chose to be gay. I ignored all of it. And, well. There I was. Hard as a rock.

 

I knocked.

 

I remember how he opened the door, never showing himself. I remember the scent of sweat and man and drugs — I’d remember… after it was over… I'd remember that smell. That smell, that filthy reality — it was my future. I knew it. Somewhere deep down… past the porn, and the fantasy… I just knew. Years later I’d remember how that smell meant I was really getting used. Fucked Up Used. There was a connection there, some cerebral soldering that would turn every drug fueled gang bang of my 20s into a drug unto itself. An addictive one. One that meant I'd pursue extremes, submit myself to Men, hurt myself for men. It meant I'd sell myself to men not for profit, but to prove a point about hierarchy.  That smell eventually meant I was doing it just fucking right; that night, that night it was simply new. 

David opened the door. After I stepped inside, into the dark, I got a glimpse from a light in the corner. He was fucking huge. Built. 6’3, maybe 6’4. Fit, dark skinned. Tatted with full sleeves. “Christ” was written across his chest. I couldn’t see it, but I knew: he was hung. I shut the door and smiled at him. I was going to have some hot, rough, fun sex.

And then he slapped me. He slapped me so hard my head spun. He drew blood. Not a lot, but enough that I felt it and saw it on my hand. I had to catch myself with a step sideways. I was so off balance, and he caught me. I guess you’d call it a catch? He reached one arm out, and it was enough to support my entire weight. I remember thinking he cared. That I told him I liked slapping. That this was fun. It would be fun. I just need to, reset, ya know? This was just a heavy start.

“You knocked, fag. We know what that means." And then -- and it felt so odd -- he touched my hair with his free hand, he touched it gently even. Like I was a prized possession. My cock had gone from shriveled with fear to rock hard instantly. I remember answering him, trying to sound seductive. "That we get to have some fun?" I coyly answered.

"Not 'we' faggot." He pulled his arm back, made a fist, and our eyes held contact. He punched me square in the face, my body going limp as he pulled out his other arm; I hit the floor and I was out fucking cold. He, for the first time that night, was rock fucking hard. 

[pigwest]

Wicked hot yes more please. 

[Bttm2go]

So different. So good. Looking forward to more.

[Headstrange]

5 hours ago, Bttm2go said:

So different. So good. Looking forward to more.

Very that. I love this angle. Please continue please

[drscorpio]

On 4/30/2020 at 1:49 AM, Sf-travel said:

 

“Cmon, faggot. Put your mouth around the barrel of the gun. I want to play a game.”

 

Moderator's Note: You are a good writer. Just a warning - snuff fiction is not allowed. Please don't go there. 

[bbcunthole]

wow thats hot . love it when guys go rock hard like that after they realise they have actually hurt me 

[Hellboy]

Fuck hot dude

[Hellboy]

Hot more