Fuckboy Billy Ch 01

Note: This story contains BDSM themes. It was edited by MadamWhitewalker; thank you for your work! Comments are always appreciated!

*

"Fuck."

It wasn't an unusual thought for Bill to have. He bit his lip, staring at the crisp, white envelope he'd just taken out of the mailbox... and threw it in the kitchen bin unopened. He knew exactly what it contained. Well, there were actually several possibilities, but whichever notice it was, he didn't have the money. Fuck this shit, really. Fuck 'em all.

Fuck the kitchen, fuck the fridge, fuck the moldy yoghurt. Fuck the... what is this, even. A lasagne? Isn't this ready-made shit supposed to last forever? He'd only got it last... whatever. Beer's gone, too. Again. Fuck.

Billy went to the pile of socks and jocks on the other side of his apartment and dug through until he came up with a jockstrap. He sniffed it; yeah, maybe not clean, but close enough. After some more digging he had a pair of compression shorts, a wife beater, a hoody, and two almost-identical, almost-clean sports socks. Bill got himself dressed. He looked at himself in the mirror and flexed. Blue steel, dark blond.

"At least I look great, fuckers. This is what I call buff, bro. Fucking pumped, man! So shut the fuck up, or I kick your faggot ass!"

Billy went on his way - through the apartment door (make sure to lock it!), down the stairway, out the front door.

Fuck Ms. Ashe, stupid bitch. "You really need to start behaving like a professional, Bill." "We do not tolerate sexual harassment at this company, Bill." "It's becoming very obvious that you haven't had to work for a single thing in your life, Bill." Yeah, yeah, whatever bitch. Was it his fault that his parents were loaded? No, it wasn't, so fuck right off, Ms. Sorry-but-we-have-to-let-you-go-Bill. Let me go, my ass. I quit, bitch, I quit!

Past the news-stand, across the street, past the bus stop.

'Sides, it wasn't like Dad's money would do him any good, 'least not until the old man died. Fucker. "We supported you for too long, William." "At 26, you're really supposed to be taking care of yourself, William." "This is hard for us, too, son." Oh, really? Hard for you? Of the two of us, who has unpaid bills, and who has a shitload of money just sitting there doing nothing? Yeah, that's right, so fuck you!

Past the coin laundry, past the Police station (heart beating), across the parking lot (dude, relax.)

Because this... new thing... was working out just fine, so fucking relax already. The second time had already been much easier than the first time. In fact, the first time hadn't been very hard, either. It was just nerves! Nothing to be 'fraid of, really. As long as he was careful... I mean, way back in high school, Emma's house got burgled. They never caught the fucker, insurance replaced everything. No harm done, just gotta be smart, and careful. And Bill was very careful. He'd never get caught, either.

Past the car wash, across the street... here. (Finally!)

Bill entered the gym. This, this was what he loved. The one place where he could forget about his bullshit problems. Problems, what problems? Always completely empty as well, at this hour. Time to pump some steel! Bill put his sports bag in a locker, and crossed the showers.

"Whu...?!"

That was one scary looking chink, staring directly at him. Walking directly towards him! Trouble, no doubt, this was going to be trouble. Bill tensed, fight or flight. The chink was lean and athletic; tall, perhaps late 30es... maybe Bill could take him? It could go either way, really. Bill was beefier, but the stranger had a no-nonsense intensity about him that was fucking scary. Bill looked around, there was no one else in sight. What? What did the fucker want?

"William Fubo?" the stranger demanded. It wasn't really a question.

"How do you know my... what do you want?"

"I want my laptop back, for starters. And my titanium watch. And..."

Wham! Billy didn't even see it coming. Hard knuckles against his face, then the cold tiles of the shower floor against his back. Bill scrambled, slipped, and landed on his ass. The stranger was just standing there, legs wide, muscles tense.

Bill rallied. He got to his feet, let go a wordless cry, and threw himself against his opponent, his right fist aimed at the stranger's face. The other man moved like a shadow. Bill missed, felt a blow to his abdomen, and crumpled to the floor. He stayed there, on his knees, hunched over, hands protecting his head, expecting another blow. None came.

Slowly, Bill lifted his head. He looked at the looming stranger. It seemed safer to stay on his knees.

"Have you already sold the watch?" the man demanded.

"No! I mean... I... I can get it back! I'll get it back, man, and your laptop, too! Just give me... a week, to..."

Bill winced as the man's face hardened even more. Expecting another beating, he raised his arms to protect himself as well as he could. But the man didn't move. He seemed to be thinking.

"Incompetent as you are, you'll never get my belongings back," the stranger stated, matter of factly. The calm, hard tone cut right through Bill's panicking mind. He knew it to be true the moment he heard the words. Bill lowered his head. He didn't know what would happen next, but he knew, with a sudden certainty, that there wasn't a single thing he could do about it. Overcome with a combination of shame, resignation, and patience, Bill waited, the tiled floor pressing hard against his knees.

This was strange, Bill thought, while time seemed to stand still. A strange feeling. Not unpleasant. Not completely unfamiliar, either. He tried to remember when he had last felt like this; but it was as if the memories slipped through his fingers as he tried to grasp them. Thoughts and emotions that had become mere phantoms after years and years of relentlessly suppressing them.

"Oh, so that's how you'd like to repay me?" scoffed the stranger. Billy blinked confusedly, looked up to the stranger's face. The man wore a hard smirk; his eyes were wolfish and... surprisingly playful.

That's when Billy noticed the pull between his own legs.

He looked down in panic. Bill had no idea what was happening, but somehow he had gotten an erection. He wasn't particularly well equipped, but an unmistakable outline was clearly visible against his compression shorts. Pre-cum was already oozing through the spandex, leaving a dark stain.

"I... I'm not... I mean..." Billy blanked.

The stranger had lowered the elastic of his dark sweat pants, revealing a considerable bulge underneath grey, tight cotton boxers. He moved closer.

Billy didn't resist, as a strong hand took hold of the back of his head, pressing his face against the bulge. He took a deep breath through his nose: sweat, sperm, the faint odor of piss. The musk of a man.

Bill started touching himself through the fabric of his shorts. He couldn't help it.

The man snorted a short, mocking laugh; but Bill felt him harden underneath his boxers. His manhood was pressing against Billy's face, only separated by a thin layer of cotton. Then the boxers were gone, too, and Bill was faced with the man's impressive, throbbing cock. The head glistened with pre-cum, smelling intense and animalistic.

A moment of confused panic scuttled across Billy's mind. This couldn't be happening. This was not who he was, he wasn't a... Billy tensed, tried to move away.

The hand at the back of his head stayed firm, a second hand closed the stranger's lock on Billy's head. Guided slowly, but firmly, Billy's lips touched the man's glossy cock-head. Finally giving up all resistance, Billy parted his lips. The cock slid in.

The cock filled Billy's entire mouth, sliding back and forth, first carefully, then in a steadier rhythm; slippery with saliva and pre-cum; domineering, but not violent. He closed his eyes, giving himself up to the moment.

No teeth, Billy thought to himself. He wanted to be good at this, he realized, confusing himself with that thought.

The stranger's movements were... gentle, Billy realized with surprise. The man didn't ram the whole of his massive manhood down the boy's throat, instead he eased himself a little deeper with each thrust. This man could hurt him, if he wanted... but he wasn't. Overcome with an inexplicable sense of blind, total trust, Billy didn't gag when the stranger's cock finally hit him all the way in the back of his throat.

A low moan... the intense, thick flavor of semen flooded Bill's mouth. The sensation overpowered him, and he climaxed himself underneath his compression shorts. He let loose a gurgling groan, still containing the man's cock.

The man remained for another few heartbeats, then pulled out. He wiped his dripping cock off on Bill's cheek, then pulled up his pants and tucked everything back into place.

"This doesn't cover even a fraction of what you owe me," he said, his voice collected again, dismissive. "You cross my path again, boy, I'll ass-rape you 'til you see stars!"

With that, he disappeared. Billy was left behind with a black eye, sore knees, soiled pants, and a mouth full of cum. He had never been so confused in his life.

***

"Fuck."

Yet another envelope. This one looked bad, even worse than the previous ones somehow. Bill had been staring at it for almost half an hour. He bit his lip... then promptly drew blood as a fist started pounding against his apartment door.

"Yo, Billyboy! Guess who's here!"

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Fuck! He knew this voice. This was Rizzo, his man for the 'roids. Whom he had payed, surely? Oh god. Oh god, Bill realized. Dear fucking god.

His phone was blowing up, luckily on silent, but that didn't seem to deter Rizzo, still banging and screaming just on the other side of the door. Rizzo was not someone you wanted to mess with. Bill backed away as quietly as he could, grabbed his phone, looked around for his wallet... until he realized there wasn't a penny in there, not a single credit card that was still any damn good.

He looked at himself in the mirror; what he saw was pathetic. His face was bruised from a confrontation he had a couple of days ago with Jenna's older brother, not to mention when he got his ass kicked in the gym shower by that stranger two weeks before that. His hair was greasy, his T-shirt unwashed. He knew he stank.

So, it had come to this. Bill climbed out of his back window, tested whether the drain pipe would hold his weight. Some straight up action hero stuff. Except, this wasn't glamorous. This felt like shit. He managed to reach the ground, and started running.

Running where?

Bill realized that he was sprinting at full speed, and slowed down to a more sustainable jog. Breath in, breath out. Breath in, breath out. Sweat was running down his temples. Above him, the evening sky had gone dark blue. Breath in, breath out.

Running where?

Running where?

Bill slowed down, stopping in front of a residential building in a better part of town. How long had he been running? He was breathing heavily, spikes of adrenalin fighting with exhaustion. His shirt was drenched in sweat.

He recognized this place. He had been here before. He knew why his legs had carried him here.

Bill stared at the name plate for a long time ("K. Xen"), then finally rang the bell. He waited. He heard footsteps behind the door. He held his breath, his heart pounding, his entire body tense.

He had been to this place before, had been inside, uninvited. Now he was here again, still uninvited. But things were very different now.

The door opened. The Asian man stood there. Bill fell to his knees.

"Sir. I... please, Sir. I'm in trouble, Sir. Please, Sir, if... Sir. Please."

Bill stared at the ground between them, not daring to imagine the man's facial expression.

An unbearable moment of complete silence.

A jolt went through Bill's body as he felt the man's strong hand on the spot where his neck met his shoulder. The touch was firm and kind.

"Come in, boy. I'll take care of you."