Drilled

Don't bother reading unless you're looking for a story about sociopathic wives forcing their unwilling (and unknowing) husbands into an act of same-sex rape. Otherwise, enjoy.

It was a late summer afternoon—warm, humid, a little breezy to take the edge off. Fat bees clambering on the marigolds, monarchs flitting around the Mexican sunflowers. Wind chimes humming. Lily and I on the back porch with Jill and Desmond, sipping our ice teas. Quietly, awkwardly, again. Why did Lily and Jill keep doing this to me and Desmond? He and I had nothing in common.

"A fucking long week," said Jill, stretching arms behind her head. Blonde back-length dreadlocks, tie-die tank top showing off her Pilates-toned shoulders and arms, long black flowing skirt, Birkenstocked toes scuffed from working in her garden. Sunglasses with a heart-shaped right lens and a star-shaped left lens. A hippie in 2015. Bet she smoked pot.

"Really long week," Lily agreed. "Good to unwind. Right, guys?"

"Sure," I said, sipping my tea. "Great."

Desmond nodded once, slowly. Bald, blue-black, ripped Desmond, impassive behind mirrored sunglasses.

Desmond makes me nervous. We don't have anything to talk about. I don't want us to get to know each other well enough to discover that we don't like each other. I think he already doesn't like me. I'm a little scared of him.

Desmond sipped his tea.

The girls talked about work, talked about movies, talked about people they both knew, and they laughed. I watched the insects and listened to the chimes and thought about dinner and wondered how Jill talked Desmond into coming over every single time. There was no way he could enjoy this. Or us. Or me.

"Time for wine," said Lily. She ducked inside and came back hugging an open bottle of white wine between her crossed arms. Four glasses dangled from her fingers. We drank, and the girls talked, and the bottle went down, and Lily got another bottle, and we kept drinking. The girls got louder and happier. Desmond and I loosened up a little. The shadows got longer.

There was an odd pause in the conversation. "So," said Jill. She was on the edge of sloppy-drunk.

"Well," said Lily.

Jill raised her eyebrows. "Yeah? Out here?"

Lily nodded. "Yes." Something was happening.

The girls pulled away from each other and sidled up to their men. Jill ran her pale white fingers atop Desmond's skull. Lily tousled my hair. We looked at our women, and they smiled at us.

Jill cooed to Desmond. "You wanna have some fun, baby?" Desmond raised his eyebrows at her, as if to say,

What the fuck kind of fun could I possibly have here?

Jill brought her lips to Desmond's ear and whispered something. He stiffened, and straightened, and then relaxed and set down his tea and looked at me. Something had changed. Desmond was studying me, sizing me up. What had Jill said to him?

"Hey, what—" I said, but Lily brought her mouth close to my ear and said something I couldn't quite make out and I just sort of melted away and got relaxed and loose and limp.

"Omigod," Jill said. "I've got butterflies. I can't believe we're doing this."

"Still time to back out," said Lily. "We haven't done anything yet. Could just wipe the slate clean."

"Fuck, no," said Jill. "No way am I backing out of this. This took forever to set up. If it works then you're my best friend forever."

"Nothing's forever," said Lily. "But we're good friends. Just one sec, need the final touch." Lily turned my head and stared directly in my eyes. "Your job is to pretend you don't like what's about to happen. Get it?"

I nodded. Pretend I don't like it.

"You actually love it. It gets you so hot, so hot you'll never want it to end. But you'll pretend at first you don't want it. Okay?"

I love it. Only pretend at first that I don't.

Lily kept her hand on my arm as she turned to Jill. "He's ready."

I didn't know what they were talking about. I didn't care. I felt great. Just, you know. I'm going to love it. Whatever it is. I'll love anything at all.

Jill leaned against Desmond, white flesh against obsidian muscle. "Baby," she said to him, pointing a toned and pale arm at me. "Rape."

Desmond grinned, rose from his chair, and stalked over to me. He gripped the front of my shirt and lifted me up and slammed me down on the deck. All my breath exploded out of me. He knelt and pressed his knee into my sternum and clamped a massive hand over my mouth and nose. I couldn't breathe.

He brought his face over mine. He spoke smoothly, softly, and firmly. "You want to live?"

I nodded. I saw my pretend fear in his mirrored sunglasses. I looked very convincing.

He pulled his hand off, calmly slapped my face hard, and then again, and then again. My world exploded in light. I hurt. Then he clamped his hand back down over my nose and mouth. "If you want to live, you do everything I say."

My ears ringing, my eyes watering, I whimpered and nodded. My cock bloomed in my shorts.

"Oh my god," said Jill. "Oh, fuck, yes. I need more wine."

"Let's go indoors," said Lily. "Downstairs. This is gonna get really loud."

Desmond dragged me inside and threw me on the kitchen floor. I'm tall and fit, but Desmond tossed me like a toy.

"Oh, God," I said, sounding scared. "Oh my fucking God. Please—"

Desmond bent over me and brought his face close. Desmond worked in the sun all day, and he smelled of hot skin. "Shut up. Get to the basement. What I do with you is gonna take privacy. No, don't get up. You don't walk. Walking is what people do. You're my pet, now. My bitch. And I'm gonna train my bitch up really good."

I crawled to the stairs. Desmond followed, and then the girls. Going down stairs on all fours wasn't easy—I almost fell a couple times. But then I made it. The girls bundled themselves onto the sofa, bottles of wine and full glasses in their hands. They snuggled and smiled wide-eyed as if at a sleepover.

I was kneeling in front of Desmond. He was still wearing his sunglasses. With his left hand he gripped my hair. With his right hand he tore open his jeans and pulled his underwear down. Out flopped his heavy, fat, cut cock. He pulled my head back so I could stare at him. Then he dragged his heavy cock across my lips, under my nose, over my eyes—all over my face, leaving trails of precum behind. Marking me as his bitch. I breathed deeply, the scent of Desmond's arousal filling my sinuses.

"You gonna suck my cock, now, you dumb white bitch," he said. He wasn't angry. He was calm, and certain. Utterly in control. "You gonna suck it for as long as I tell you to suck it. And if you don't make me happy, I will beat the hell out of you. You understand me?"

I nodded.

"I'm serious. You don't make me happy, I feel any teeth, then I'll beat the hell out of you and cut your balls off and drop you off in the forest somewhere to bleed out. You understand?"

I nodded again, more vigorously. The girls squealed, delighted.

"Do it," urged Jill. "Do it, Desmond. Rape that white face of his."

Desmond grinned hugely at Jill. "You got it, baby. Anything for you. Anything at all."

"Oh, I know, baby. Anything at all. Now fuck that sissy bitch."

Desmond forced my face down onto his cock. His cockhead was like a small apple, his shaft thick and ridged like a cob of corn. I opened my mouth as wide as I could, and he pushed it in hard and fast. Too fast. I gagged and choked. And my teeth scraped against him.

Desmond pulled my head off him and rewarded me with a series of devastating and deliberate slaps. I couldn't keep track of how many. He said something to me, and I don't remember what it was. Then he slapped me so hard I might have blacked out for a moment—I don't know. My head hurt worse than I ever remember it hurting.

Then he forced my head back onto his cock and fucked my skull like it was a dead thing. I was crying, and I was careful not to hurt him, this incredible man. I had pretended to be scared because Lily wanted to see this, but I was loving it. It was obvious I was loving it—I wasn't fighting, and an enormous blotch of my precum had bloomed across my crotch. I wanted to please Desmond. Please, yes. Fuck me. Use me. Rape me.

Desmond muttered as he raped my head, urging me on, calling me stupid, calling me a whore, calling me a dumb white fuck.

The girls watched and chatted. "I can't believe Adam's taking it all," said Jill. "Look at that."

"Glad I worked on his gag reflex," Lily said. "Desmond's a farm animal."

Jill giggled and nodded. "It still hurts me, even after all these years. He's practically deformed."

"He's blessed," said Lily. "I wouldn't mind getting that in me."

"I could make him turn on you . . . ."

"I'm not into rape," said Lily. Then she said, in mock seriousness, "'Rape is wrong,'" and the girls laughed. "But maybe later we can dial Des down a little and have some fun with him. Assuming he can go after he's done with Adam."

"Des's got good recovery time," said Jill. "Give him maybe 20 minutes. We can play with him most of the night."

My eyes were burning. Snot bubbled out my nose. I could barely breathe—I was nearly hyperventilating. Desmond was grinning like a demon. He just seemed to be getting thicker and bigger. The pretended fear in my wet eyes fed him. The more he hurt me, the hotter he got.

He pulled his cock out of my throat. "You're my slut. Say it."

I was coughing and burping and gagging and couldn't say it quickly enough, so he slapped me.

"You my slut. Say it."

I gasped out, "I'm your slut."

"You're my bitch."

"I'm your bitch."

"Bitches need raping."

"Bitches need raping."

"You love this."

"I love this." It was true. I loved it. Raped and humiliated by Desmond in front of Lily and Jill. I never wanted it to end.

Desmond gripped his cock by its base and slapped my face with it. I kept my mouth open wide and stuck out my tongue and tried to follow it and get it back in my head.

"You're fucking pathetic," said Desmond. He threw me back to the floor so hard my head bounced on the carpet. "You're not even fighting. You're no kind of man at all, you sissy. Say it, that You're a sissy."

"I'm a sissy."

"A fucking sissy slut."

"I'm a fucking sissy slut," I said. I'd stopped pretending not to love this. I loved this, and I wanted everyone to know I loved it. "I'm your fucking sissy slut bitch."

"Goddamn right you are," said Desmond. He gripped my shirt and tossed me face-first on the couch between Jill and Lily. The girls squealed, then separated to give me room. My eyes fell on Jill's lower half: Skirt hiked up around her waist, panties off, legs splayed, one hand caressing her glistening clit, the other hand clutching her fifth or sixth or seventh glass of wine. Her legs were hairy, her thatch thick. Fucking hippie, getting cunt juice on my sofa.

Desmond grabbed the back of my pants and my hair and dragged me off the couch and down on all fours. I ended up kneeling between Jill and Lily.

"Undo your pants," Desmond breathed. "Don't make me do all the work." My hands flew to my belt and button and zipper. When I'd loosened my pants, Desmond wrenched them down to my knees. For a moment I felt cool air caressing my ass and balls. And then an enormous sound, a violent shudder, and a throbbing sting. And again. And again. Desmond was spanking me. My cock bounced and balls jounced with each strike.

"Fuck this is hot," said Jill. "I didn't know how hot this would be. Look at your man."

"Look at

your

man," Lily said. Her voice was breathy, distant. I think she was doing what Jill was doing. "He's really into this."

I heard the shrug in Jill's voice. "He doesn't like Adam. I think he'd probably be pretty happy if he knew what I was making him do. Well, aside from the gay thing. He'd actually kill me if he knew that—Oh, look. Here he goes."

Desmond had stopped beating my ass. I felt a dull, large swelling at my back door. And then a horrible, thick pain. I screamed into the floor and beat my fists as Desmond's apple-sized cockhead, coated in my slobber and snot, began tunneling up into my ass.

Now small hands held my head steady. Lily's voice came in my ear. "Desmond is wrong. You're not a sissy. You're straight."

I'm not a sissy. I'm straight.

"But you can't help loving this."

I love this. I can't help loving this.

"You're straight. But you're loving this. You want this so bad."

I'm loving this. I want this so bad.

"Good boy," said Lily. She kissed my forehead. "That's my good sissy boy." And she went back to jilling herself on the couch with, well, Jill.

I love this.

Loving it didn't stop the pain, though. It hurt. Desmond clutched my hips and pushed in, and as he pushed in he roared, and I howled as my insides got dragged along as his great steel spike tunneled up into me.

Eventually Desmond's hips reached my buttocks, fully inside me. I felt like a specimen pierced on a spear carved from an oak trunk. Desmond gripped my hips as he steadied himself. Drops of his sweat fell on the small of my back. I floated above the scene, just for a moment: A pale man in agony, mounted by a powerful dark man, flanked by two drunken and happy women pleasuring themselves.

Then Desmond began thrusting, which wrenched me back into my body.

"Jesus!" said Jill. She was shouting. "He's so loud. Can you shut him up?"

Lily placed a throw pillow below my head and pushed my face into it. I screamed and hollered into it. I loved it so much I was sobbing.

Through my pain, I heard Desmond's shouts. He was also in pain. Fucking my ass must have hurt him, too. But he didn't stop. Whatever pain he felt was outweighed by the pleasure of ravaging my ass. Although he didn't have a choice in what he was doing, either. He loved it, too. Our women, this is what they wanted from us, and so this is what we were doing. I imagined the same thoughts were going through his head, too.

I'm not gay. I'm straight. But I love this. I'll do anything. Anything at all.

I sobbed, biting into the pillow, wanting it to never end.

Desmond rage-fucked me for what felt like forever, but he fucked me so fast and hard that it probably didn't take long. His fingers dug into my hips; his pelvis hammered my backside; and then a series of thick, meaty pulses ballooned in my rear, dumping his cum up into me. Filling me. With a last howl he collapsed onto me.

We lay there a moment, slick with sweat, Desmond's hard body crushing my soft one, my head forced into the pillow. Master and bitch. Lily and Janice were talking, but I was glowing with too much joy and pain and pride to focus on anything but the fact that Desmond had shot his load inside me and ruined my ass with the gift of a furious and terrifying rape.

I love this. Lily said so. They can do this to me forever, all three of them.

The rest of the evening is a tottering daze. I remember slumping off Des's cock like a marshmallow melting off a hot stick, Lily's pretty white feet by my head. I felt so empty, now, and aching, and cold. I think I was shivering. Lily said something to me, something about clean and sleep and forget. I found myself upstairs on the toilet, dollops of Desmond's cum falling out of me into the bowl. Then a hot, hot shower, legs wobbling. I brushed my teeth and pulled on my pajama pants and night shirt and crawled into my bed and turned on the laptop and am typing this out. For her, for my wife Lily, who loves me, and for all of her readers, too.

Someone large just got into the shower. Desmond, washing my stink off him. I hear women laughing in the basement. Now the shower stops. Large footsteps down the stairs. Voices and urgings and moans and cries. All of them, fucking each other. Shouts, and more laughter.

I'm so happy. I'm Desmond's bitch. There are witnesses—Lily and Jill, getting off on my degradation. I'm enlarged and full and empty, hot and burning and cold, all at once. I'm so horny, so hot. Fuck, I'm hot. I wish I could jack off and cum, I want to cum so badly, but I'm not doing it and I don't know why. Something is telling me I shouldn't.

I'm going to post this, now, and then go to sleep, and while I'm asleep, I'll forget. I don't know how long it'll take me to fall asleep. I'm still shaking. I'm so sad that I have to forget.