He Made Us Do It

This is my first submission, please tell me what you think! I failed to specify before, but this is only the first chapter in the series; there's more to come.

*

"What the hell, man? Look, I don't have much, just take it, I don't want any trouble, all right?" Dylan held out his wallet, slowly turning around to offer it to the mugger behind him, a gun pressed into his lower back.

"Shut the fuck up and I said,

don't turn around

," the other man grunted harshly through his ski mask, jabbing the gun into the boy's back.

He yelped and dropped his wallet, his breathing faster and faster, terrified that he would die any minute. "Look, man, just take the wallet, I won't even go to the cops, all right? Just let me go!"

The mugger, in his early thirties, by the sound of his voice, laughed. "Like I care. You can't see my face anyway."

Dylan was running out of options. "Please…I'll do anything…just let me go," he was breaking down, terrified, unaware of the message his words carried to the mugger. He knew he shouldn't have taken the shortcut home. He knew he shouldn't have gone to a city college. He knew he should've stayed in his dorm, rather than venturing out at three AM because he wanted a soda from the 24-hour drug store down the street. Now he was stuck in some shady alley behind buildings, his face pressed into the brick wall, where people would never hear him shout from the main street where there were still random pedestrians and taxis about.

"Anything?" The man's right hand suddenly snaked down around to the boy's inner thigh, rubbing up and down, each time getting closer and closer to Dylan's crotch. His left hand still pressed the gun firmly into the boy's back. Dylan's breath caught in his throat.

Shit.

"I—"

The mugger's hand suddenly grabbed onto Dylan's crotch, rubbing harshly, greedily, eager fingers rotating over the boy's package through his jeans.

"Stop—!"

"Shut the fuck up," the mugger breathed into his ear, cocking the gun audibly. Dylan shut up. The mugger deftly undid the college boy's pants, the jeans dropping down around his ankles. Dylan shivered in the autumn night air, but he didn't protest. He'd rather freeze than have his brains dripping all over the sidewalk, but he was still terrified, breathing in short gasps.

The mugger's open palm started moving roughly up and down the entire length of the teen's slowly-growing erection. Dylan was horrified—what the hell? He didn't want this! "Yeah, you like that, you little bitch?" the mugger chuckled darkly as the plaid boxers tented. The older man's hand slipped into the confines of the underwear, pulling Dylan's now-hard six-inch cock into open air, and wrapped his fingers along the shaft, jerking up and down.

A strangled moan forced its way past Dylan's lips, his eyes starting to glaze over. "You slut," the mugger grunted, grinding his own cock into Dylan's ass from behind. "You actually like it, don't you? Don't you, you whore?"

The derogatory language, which normally would have fired Dylan's temper up immediately, instead oddly aroused him. Another moan tore out. The mugger's hand flew faster down the boy's cock until Dylan practically couldn't take it anymore. "No—cumming—" he whimpered. He exploded into orgasm, his moans louder and whorish than before, echoing in the empty alley. Slowly, it subsided and Dylan slumped (as best he could, anyway, given that he was still shoved against a brick wall), ashamed of what had just happened.

"We're not done yet, fucker," the mugger smirked, backing Dylan up a bit and shoving him forward, making him bend at the waist.

"No—wait—stop, please!"

The mugger didn't listen. Rather, he bent forward and licked slowly and provocatively up and down the college boy's virgin asshole. The boy's flaccid cock began to harden again, against his wishes. The gun now pressed firmly into the back of Dylan's head, and the boy didn't dare make a move to try to break away. Suddenly, without warning, he heard the rustling of fabric and then a split second later, he felt himself being rammed in from behind.

"Shit," Dylan whimpered. It

hurt

. He couldn't see the man's cock, but from what he was feeling, it must've been the size and length of a baseball bat or something. "Please, stop! Please!" Tears streamed down his face from the pain of being penetrated so violently.

"Fuck, you're tight," the mugger groaned, ignoring him. He pulled back. Dylan was ecstatic. Was it over? Was it finally over? Two seconds later, his hopes were dashed again as the mugger slammed into his ass over and over, grunting and groaning occasional "Fuck yeahs." The mugger's right hand hadn't left Dylan's cock and as he pounded into him from behind, his hand worked up and down the college boy's rod, bringing it to full length again.

"You whore, look at you, you want this," the mugger laughed.

"No—please—stop—I don't—" Dylan protested weakly as the first beads of precum dripped down his length.

"Oh yeah? Your body's saying something completely different, you cock slut," the man said, still pounding full-force into the boy. "I bet you—" He stopped suddenly, dick buried deep into Dylan's ass, eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy as his orgasm hit him hard, his load shooting into the poor boy's ass.

Dylan was terrified. He could feel himself being filled with the semen—it was disgusting, and yet oddly erotic. The mugger's hand squeezed around his dick and he screamed, hitting his second orgasm, his own jizz shooting all over the brick wall in front of him.

"Fuck, that was good," the mugger laughed into Dylan's ear. The boy wanted to cry. He was straight and yet he had just been fucked in the ass. "Well then," the man continued, stepping back from Dylan, who collapsed onto the ground, "I'm done with you."

"I—what?"

"'Bye now," were the last words he heard before a shot rang out.

*

"Mr. Shale, do you care to tell me why you've been dozing off in my class every day?"

Dylan jerked awake, looking around him with wide eyes. He was in class! It had been a dream! He laughed quietly to himself for thinking his dream could've been reality, before he shut up, realizing the whole class was staring at him. He must've been talking in his sleep. He reddened slightly at the thought of what he could've said.

A girl in the row in front of him whispered something to her neighbor and they both turned around and giggled at him. What the hell was their problem? He looked down and realized he had a bit of wood. Well that was just great.

"Mr. Shale, I asked you a question."

Dylan turned his coal-black eyes back to his middle-aged teacher. "I, uh, would answer, that, you see, but the bell is ringing…now."

On cue, the bell rang, dismissing the students in the English Lit class. Every student in the room bolted up and dashed out of the room, belongings having been packed ages ago in preparation for when they would all escape Professor Wright's English Lit clutches. The middle-aged rotund man with a balding head had quite the reputation of being the worst teacher on campus, and more often than not, people skipped his classes rather than have to deal with two hours of his monotonous voice. Dylan had attended today, though, because he was in danger of failing the course.

"Mr. Shale, please see me in my office."

"

Fuck

," the raven-haired boy cursed under his breath. This was his last class of the day and he wanted nothing more to go back to his dorm and play a few video games or something with his roommate. The boy got up and followed his professor into his office just outside of the lecture hall.

"Sit down, Mr. Shale." The professor waited until the boy had done so. "As you're well aware, there's going to be a test next week."

…There was? Dylan nodded quickly, trying to cover up his surprise. Professor Wright wasn't fooled though. "I announced it weeks ago—it's going to be covering two months' worth of what I've been teaching you. You will need to pass this test if you don't want to fail my course. If you fail this course, you know very well what will happen to you."

"I'd be kicked out," Dylan said carelessly. No sweat, he'd just go and cram for the rest of the week, live off of energy drinks, and he'd do just fine. That's how he passed every other test in his other classes. He could be passing this class too, but he had thought this class wasn't worth it and hadn't bothered trying his study method for this class.

Change of plans now, I guess

, he shrugged to himself.

"That's correct. Mr. Shale, I don't offer extra credit in this course. I sincerely hope you do well."

"Yeah, yeah," Dylan nodded, getting up. "Can I go now?"

The professor sighed. "Yes."