***The characters referenced in this story are Sixth-Formers, aged 18, or they are teachers. No character is any younger than 18***

I lay awake that night, tossing and turning for a while.

Earlier today, a very beautiful girl — with a penis — raped me in the boy’s changing rooms at school. My initial response of fear gave way to pain which gave way to a kind of pleasure I’ve never felt before, and may never feel again. It’s very confusing to consider, because how can anything involving a penis — if you yourself are a man — be anything short of gay?

I’m not attracted to men, nor to cocks, but…Freya’s gorgeous. And her penis…it felt amazing inside of me, to the extent that I came harder than I’ve ever cum in my life. I didn’t realise it could feel so good to have something shoved up my arse, to be honest. Freya seemed to know what she was doing, which helped…but it was just so filling, so hot, and seemed to find all the right spots.

And now there’s footage, somewhere in the world, of my face as I ejaculate a moment before she does, her cock buried up to its hilt inside my arse.

I understand the principle of her plan — something embarrassing to show the world if I were to reveal her secret — but I don’t understand how I fit into it. On the one hand, I had no inclination of telling on Freya, but on the other, I’m not sure that I’m ashamed of what happened earlier.

I’m not fighting between the fact that on the one hand I enjoyed being fucked by her, and on the other that I’m not gay. Freya is, without a doubt, the most attractive woman — penis or not — that I’ve ever laid eyes on. She’s a tall, curvy, busty bombshell.

I’m fighting the division between the part of me that’s terrified I’ll never again experience that kind of sex, with that kind of “woman”, and the part of me that’s grateful I got off so lightly in the grand scheme of things.

I’ve never been so confused.

*

The weekend passes, and Monday rolls around.

As far as Freya’s concerned, I seem to have dropped off the face of the world. She makes no eyes at me, no remarks, no reference at all to my existence. It’s just as things were before I overheard that particular tryst with Mrs Maxwell, like I don’t exist at all.

I guess one part of me, at least, has its fears realised. What occurred was, undeniably, a one-time attempt at revenge for a slight that hadn’t yet transpired. It was daft, but I can’t be blamed for having hoped that maybe, on some level, there was something more to it than

that.

It dawns on me, around second break, that I’m walking around with two secrets. Yes, I know that Freya Venyabildt has a cock, and it’s likely the cause of a great deal of her social ostracism. But I also know that I’ve been fucked in the arse by the hottest girl in school, and that’s worth something, right?

Right?

*

The week passes.

On the following Monday, after school, I’m alone in the locker room when the big fat coach, Mr Bulger, enters through the inner door. He comes to a halt just inside the changing room, putting his hands on where might, beneath all the fat, lurk his hips.

‘Well, well, well,’ he says, smirking. ‘Just the lad I was after.’

‘Coach?’

He licks his lips, and plods forwards. ‘Tommy-boy. Word gets around, y’know?’ The fat old man stops, and pushes down the front of his PE shorts. Out flops a semi-erect cock maybe eight-inches gölcük escort in length, and thick as my wrist. ‘You know what to do, son.’

I step backwards, pressing against the wall for support. ‘What the fuck?’

The Coach grabs his junk and gives it a shake. ‘Don’t be coy, mate. Don’t hide your amazement, either. Bet I’m bigger than any wimpy boy your age, that’s for damn sure.’

‘Coach, what the fuck?’

He looks puzzled for a moment, then frowns. ‘You fucking having me on, mate? Hard to get, is that it?’ For a big man, he moves fast. Half-dressed, I rush to the exit, but he’s on me with impressive quickness and superior strength. The Coach slams me against the tile wall and kisses my neck with his fat, spittle-covered lips. ‘Not your type, eh? Well, too fucking bad, mate.’

It takes moments for him to push down my boxers and, inevitably, slide himself inside of me. I wince and cry out, tears flowing already, but he’s too damn strong and too damn heavy. The Coach grunts and groans, slamming his hefty hips against my butt, ploughing me not so far from where Freya did that time before.

Only this time, at no point does the pleasure outweigh the pain.

‘Who’s your daddy, eh, mate? Who’s your–ughn–your fucking daddy!?’

I cum, and cry. I don’t want to, I don’t want any of it, but it comes as natural and expected as sunrise. He continues to fuck me, dirty talking, kissing my head and the sides of my face. My struggling only leads to bruises and scratches, to him slamming me against the tiles as he has his way. I cum again and at last he finishes, filling my backside with warmth.

The Coach leaves me sobbing, broken on the changing room floor. He groans contentedly, and waddles away. ‘Fine fucking arse on you, mate,’ he says, stretching a little, speaking over my tears. ‘Glad there’s some new meat. Feltham’s too fat, to be honest, and that other lad…Hosley, is it? Yeah, too feminine for my tastes.

‘Come to my office after school tomorrow, Tommy. I’ll teach you a thing or two about sucking cock.’

‘No…please.’

He looms above me, grinning. ‘Let’s say it’s detention, then. Be a real shame if you were to miss a detention set by a senior member of faculty, eh? What might happen, I wonder?’

‘Please…’

‘Best get used to my cock, mate.’

He winks, and with another vicious laugh, leaves me to my trembling fate.

*

First thing the next day, I go to the heads.

‘You consented,’ Mr Fradley says. The tall, skinny, moustachioed man looks at me like I’m a nuisance, not a raped student. ‘Coach Bulger is, by all records, an extra-curricular member of staff, and thus is free — if discouraged — to enter into sexual relationships with students of legal age, such as yourself.’

‘He raped me.’

‘His own testimony says otherwise.’

‘He’s a rapist!’

Mr Fradley sighs, and leans in. ‘Look, Thomas; Leonard Bulger is a wealthy retiree, a critical financier of this academy, which the school relies heavily on. If we push this, and we lose his money, just think how many students’ lives you’ll be damaging with your accusation. How many students’ lives are you asking me to damage, with your accusation?’

‘So…sucks to be me, then?’

Mr Fradley nods. ‘It’s fine to experiment with your sexuality, Thomas. However, regretting such acts is not grounds for calling them rape.’

I go to speak, gölhisar escort but this plain-faced, deaf-yet-hearing man is wasted on them. I’ve missed tutor, risking a detention, all to be told that what was rape was consensual, and that money matters more than my welfare.

‘Right, sir. Got it.’

He smiles diplomatically, losing the look as soon as I turn to leave.

‘Oh, and Tom,’ Mr Fradley says, calling after me, ‘don’t forget your detention with the Coach this afternoon. It’s booked into the system. He asked me to remind you.’

Oh God, no.

*

Freya is there at lunch break, sat against a wall behind the PE block as usual. For someone who presents as all beauty and no brains, she sits there reading Charles Dickens, his Tale of Two Cities, while delicately eating sushi rolls. Her reaction to my stomping approach is to merely glance up, not so much as changing her expression, then turn back to her book.

‘Go away,’ she says. ‘I’m eating.’

Fucking bitch! I rush up and kick her shitty lunchbox away, scattering its contents. The cunt has the gall to look surprised, to look as though she doesn’t deserve such a violent intrusion. With all the composure of an assassin, Freya delicately folds closed her book and pops it down, leaping onto her feet to tower over me with those extra four inches.

‘You fucking little bitch–‘

I’m not sure why, or how, but I manage to punch her mouth so hard her lip splits. That’s my one shot, and then Freya has my collar so tight it tears a little and she throws me around, slamming me against the wall behind her.

‘Sore arse not enough? I’ll break your fucking jaw then, you shitty little fag.’

But the tears are flowing now, and I’m trembling with adrenaline and fear. Not fear of her, not fear of harm — that’d be easy — but abject terror at what awaits me, unavoidable. And Freya’s eyes widen infinitesimally, staying her already-clenched fist.

‘I’m g-onna have to s-uck his d-ick now,’ I splutter out, trembling, eyes stinging. ‘You f-ucking bitch F-reya, you’re a f-ucking cunt, and I hate y-ou so bad I’d k-ill you if I could!’

She mouths the first part, then cocks her head. ‘Suck whose dick? What?’

‘The Coach,’ I say. ‘You s-hared that fucking footage, d-idn’t you? And he must’ve s-aw, and thinks I’m g-ay or might be, and…and…’

I can’t finish the sentence, because the tears are too much. Like a baby I bawl away, mouth a shudder devoid of true language, pressed against the brick wall by this towering dominatrix who doomed me to an awful fate. The Coach is, it seems, untouchable. Rich, powerful, has a role in things.

And this fucking bitch is laughing at–

No, she isn’t.

Freya stares at me with a look of sheer realisation, and gently lowers me back to the floor. She turns away, not seeming to be with me anymore. Through my teary eyes, her beauty is irrelevant.

‘Go away,’ she says, firmly.

‘If I don’t show up after school–‘

‘Go!’

But I remain, and she glares down at me. After a moment, Freya shakes her head, and sighs. ‘You had no problem with my dick, Tom. It’s clear that you’re gay.’

I could laugh, if all wasn’t so awful. ‘Are you fucking thick, Freya?! I had no problem with your dick because…because you’re…’

She lifts her eyebrows. ‘Because I’m what?’

‘A girl,’ I say. ‘You look and smell and sound like gölyaka escort a fucking girl, okay?’ I tremble and whimper beneath her solid, emotionless study. ‘He fucking raped me in the changing rooms, right? Go watch that footage and compare, if you really don’t believe me. If nothing happens before this afternoon…he’s going to make me give him a blowjob.’

The very notion makes me physically retch. The awfulness of that fat, disgusting man having me service him like his own personal bitch is something bordering on ineffable. I’d sooner die than do that and…maybe I will.

Freya says nothing. I run off, head alive with suicide methods, but that concept is somehow more terrible. I’m fucked, fucked, fucked, fucked.

And that bitch said nothing.

*

I skip the last lesson of the day.

It’s not like I can get in more trouble, right? The fucking headmaster is on Bulger’s side of things, so he can make my life hell without a whisper of dissent amongst the power structure.

I sit in the boys’ toilets of the English block, hidden in a cubicle, feet up against the door. The minutes tick away, the hour passing by, until that awful bell rings and my number is up. Coach Bulger stank of sweat when he raped me, and it was hard to deny that his cock was huge. Small compared to Freya’s, but still massive enough to be remembered.

I’ll have to suck it, won’t I?

The notion makes me shiver. It’s the gayest fucking thing, gross as hell, especially involving that awful, dirty, fat old man. I bet it’s not clean…ugh. The load he shot in my arse stank awfully, with an extremely bitter, bleachy odour to it, not like the clean muskiness of Freya’s cum.

I’ll have to taste it, won’t I?

The tears come again. It’s going to be hell, going to be the worst, and all because that fucking cunt shared the footage of me getting fucked by her. It must be that, surely, because nothing else in my life even hints at me being gay. I concede that she wouldn’t want her side of things to be known, but maybe the camera was only filming my face?

Fuck, what’s the point? I can’t escape this.

I put my feet down, sigh, and let all emotion drain away. Why me?

And that’s when the sirens hit.

It’s a hive of activity, after that. People are screaming, cheering, jeering, howling. A police car follows an ambulance into the school grounds, into the car park near the PE block. Students rush from their rooms, and amidst the human wave I fall in line, curious with excitement.

We don’t get far, because police block off the way to the car park. Mrs Maxwell stands to one side, her nose caked with dried blood, crooked to one side. What the hell happened? Nobody’s saying anything, and we never get a chance to actually see for ourselves.

The ambulance goes, as does the police car. Everything calms down just as the bell rings, and the school day ends. In the chaos of it all, I forget my worries, but the bell brings them conveniently back. Time to face destiny, I guess. Maybe it won’t be so bad? I mean, some people do like sucking dick, right?

But the Coach’s…

I resign myself to it, and go to the PE block. His office is the one right at the end of the corridor, around the bend and out of sight of the others. Convenient for a fucking rapist, to have his office out of the way.

It takes some courage to head to that door, with its frosted glass, and finally knock.

No answer.

I knock again, twice this time.

No answer.

Thrice.

No. Answer.

I hesitate to smile because inevitably, as soon as that look achieves fullness, he’ll open the door. But I try the handle, and it’s locked. I call his name, and there’s silence.

Am I…am I free?