A bunch of guys have fun with a “special” friend

Forced milking, humiliation

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The dancer – Part 2

To be honest, I felt something like affection for Raoul. I viewed him like well-loved dog, or a younger brother. Despite taking advantage of him that day, I felt protective towards him, and I think any of us would have stepped up to fight for him against anyone that challenged him.

But for all that, he was not someone that any of us ever hung out with alone. That would have been more like babysitting than having a good time. But three months after we goaded him into wanking himself into unconsciousness, fate intervened.

It was a labour day weekend, and by unusual happenstance, every other one of the guys was away with their families on family visits or vacations. I had resigned myself to a quiet weekend alone. It was not so bad – three days at the end of summer.

I was in between girlfriends, but on Saturday, I thought I might wander down to the park and see what was going on, then if I didn’t bump into someone I knew, I guessed I might go home and wank myself blind for the weekend. Just kidding of course, but I was pretty sure I would be getting multiple visits from Mrs Palm and her five daughters over the next few days.

I wandered out of the house, and headed towards the park. I didn’t have my driver’s permit yet, and even if I had, I was too lazy to afford a car, so I had to take shank’s pony. I was in no particular rush to get there. I had five bucks in my pocket. Enough maybe for a cab one-way, but I didn’t want to waste it on that when my legs worked just fine.

I was fifteen minutes into my journey; half way there, walking along quite suburban avenues, when I heard a familiar voice.

“Hey Daniel!”

I turned to see Raoul behind me. I turned to face him with a smile.

“Hey Raoul how ya doing?” I said.

To my memory, none of us ever actually went to his house to include him in our plans, nor did we call him, but he had a habit of just turning up wherever we were. It was not ALL the time – he didn’t make a pest of himself, but he joined us often enough to be part of our core friend group.

“I’m fine. Kind of bored. Mom and dad are out of town.”

“I know what you mean. The guys are all away. I’m bored too. I was heading to the park. You can come too if you like?”

“Oh, I don’t know, that’s pretty far.”

“It’s not THAT far, I said. “A mile or so.”

“Yeah, but I told my parents I wouldn’t go too far from home while they’re away.”

“Ahh, well I can stick around a while. We can talk if you like?”

His expression lit up.

“That would be great. You know my dad bought a VCR. He rented a ton of movies for me to watch.”

“Oh yeah? What movies?”

“Umm, ET, Riders of the Lost Ark, Tur… Turn… Turnimator…”

“You have Terminator?” I asked impressed.

“Yeah, I haven’t watched it yet. You can come and watch it at my house if you like?”

I didn’t need to be asked twice. That movie was all over the place, and I was dying to see it.

“Yeah, that sounds great. You haven’t got any dogs have you?”

He frowned.

“No, why?”

“Oh, dogs and me don’t really get on. I didn’t want to get bit.”

“I’ve got a goldfish. They can bite hard when they’re hungry.”

“Wait, what, really?!”

He smirked at me.

“Nah, I always feed them. I think you’ll be okay.”

I roared with laughter. Raoul was always quick to laugh at other people’s jokes, and he took a ribbing in good humour, but I didn’t remember him ever making a joke of his own. He smiled happily at my laughter.

“Chomp, chomp, chomp!” he said, and we laughed some more.

We walked back to his house. It wasn’t far – a nice detached three bedroom on Highfield. He showed me to the living room and produced a bag of chips and two cans of unbranded soda.

“Hey, your house is nice,” I said.

“Thanks, dad works hard. He works at Dale Uni… Dale Uni…. Dale U.”

“He a janitor?” I asked, and immediately regretted the horrible assumption I had just made. I hoped it would go over his head.

Roaul was either too distracted or thick-skinned to pick up on my casual racism.

“Naw, he’s a teacher. Something to do with space.”

“An astronomer?” I asked, impressed and relieved.

“No, I don’t think so,” he mused. “It’s to do with how the stars got there.”

I didn’t know the word “cosmologist” back then, but if the guy had immigrated from Latin America and was now teaching in a decent university, he was obviously a smart man.

“He’s a perfessor. He was famous in Nicaragua. That’s where he came from.”

“Holy shit, smart guy!”

“Yeah, not like me,” Raoul said mournfully.

“Hey you’re not so bad,” I consoled.

“Yeah, I am, I’m real dumb. But at least I can dance!”

“Yeah, you dance real good!”

I thought back to the finale of that day.

“Can you dance?”

“Erm, not really.”

He turned the TV on to a music channel.

“Show me.”

“Ahh dude, not here, I feel silly.”

“Show me!” he insisted, and I detected a tone in his voice.

“Dude, chill.”

“You never gave me my prize.”

“Oh shit yeah, sorry I totally forgot.”

“Have you got it now?”

“Nah, sorry dude.”

I showed him the five.

“I’ll give it to you next time I promise.”

“In that case dance.”

I looked at him, there was an earnestness in his expression. I decided to humour him. I stood up and started dancing. I was far less energetic than he was. Even though the music was rap, I did the self-conscious dance that rednecks do to a country tune. Arms swinging slightly, feet shuffling slightly.

He watched for a minute smiling then he spoke again.

“Not like that. With your clothes off.”

I stopped.

“No way Raoul, that would be weird.”

“I did it. That was okay.”

I didn’t want to admit that we had been playing with him.

“That was different.”

Out of nowhere, he produced a gun. I didn’t know much about pistols, but I guessed that it was a 45. Not a large bore, but more than enough to end me. My eyes widened in horror.

“Dude!”

“Naked dance.”

I looked down the barrel to see if maybe it was a toy. I saw a hole that went all the way down, and it was clearly made of metal. I didn’t want to take the gamble.

“Dude, where did you…”

“Naked dance!” he insisted, getting impatient.

I didn’t know where his patience threshold was, but I didn’t want to find out. I reluctantly undressed, stopping with my boxers.

“All the way,” Raoul said.

I pushed my boxers down and let them puddle at my feet. Sitting on the couch, with the gun on his lap, he watched me intently.

“Now dance.”

I danced self-consciously. His smile split his face.

“Small pee pee!” he announced delighted.

I ignored him, but he was right. Even if it wasn’t shrunken by fear, I had nothing to brag about and I didn’t go out of my way to show it off. It was curved, with a long snout, and underneath my balls rode high in a grooved nutsack. Whereas Raoul’s dick had swayed and flopped like snake being charmed when he danced, mine bounced – a little willy on a near-grown man. I mean, that was an exaggeration – it wasn’t THAT small, but I was not the kind of guy who took every opportunity to show off in the showers either, if you catch my drift.

I could feel my face glowing. Even though Raoul was slow, I still felt embarrassed by my modest dimensions. I wondered if he fully comprehended the ramifications?

He watched; his attention focussed on my dick.

I was not surprised when, after a few minutes, he said, “Make it hard.”

I really had no argument except my discomfort. In his mind, we’d asked him to do it so it was fair that I did also. It wasn’t about humiliating me; after all, he hadn’t felt humiliated; it was just about tit-for-tat.

I gripped the head between my thumb and first two fingers, and started pumping. I didn’t have a lot of length to work with, and Raoul laughed with delight at my short strokes.

“Pee pee! Pee pee!” he said delighted.

I was certain that I wouldn’t be able to get hard under the circumstance, especially with him ridiculing me, but my dick had other ideas. I’d not jacked off that morning. I was saving myself for a luxury wank in my bed later that evening, but that put me on a hair trigger, and my dick rose in spite of my self-consciousness. I was certainly not as big as him – a bit over 5inches, but it wasn’t my length that I cared about. My dick is kind of thin. It was hard as wood, and the helmet slid out of the tight foreskin like an animal escaping a burrow that was way too small. Once it was out, the skin contracted behind the head, as though it was trying to throttle the head. And the head was not large like Raoul’s either. Not large or long. It looked like a maraschino cherry balancing atop the rigid shaft.

I acted as though that was normal for a dick but Raoul grinned with delight. I ignored him.

“Make it spurt,” he commanded.

I was already surprised that I had managed to get hard at all, so I didn’t dismiss the idea. I started rapidly pumping, squeezing it in my fist. Despite the weirdness of the situation, there was something kind of horny about jerking it for another guy.

Also, let’s be fucking honest, at that age, I could get a boner looking at a photo of pudding!

It was only a minute when I felt the familiar rise of excitement in my balls.

“I’m gonna cum,” I told him.

“Make it squirt on the table,” he said. “I wanna see it.”

I looked down at the smoked glass coffee table. It was an odd request, but no stranger than jacking off for my retarded friend was in the first place.

I moved to the end of the table, arriving just in time. The ball churning rapidly converted into a rush, I lowered into a crouch with my legs apart, and then I was blasting. I was no stranger to explosive orgasms; I was a horny kid, and it didn’t take much to spray my own chest; even my face if I was laying down. And this occasion didn’t disappoint. I fired off five blasts in rapid succession. The first almost entirely overshot the four-foot glass table. The next four formed streaks that landed in a messy line leading back towards my dick.

Once I started cumming, I was on automatic, and even the weird situation could not have derailed me. I kept pumping till the surging feeling passed, and then kept going ten seconds longer. I finished with a rapid fast-pumping flourish just to ensure the pipes were cleared. It made my legs tremble and for a second I felt light headed. I took a steadying step forwards. I was relieved to have given Raoul what he demanded.

“Again.”

“Wu, what?”

“Again. Do it again.”

I sighed and started pumping again. My helmet was sensitive from my orgasm and I felt uncomfortable shivers from my dick-head to my balls, so I held my dick lightly until the extreme sensitivity diminished.

The double was not a massive rarity for me. Perhaps once a month, I was so horny, or so bored that I could just pop off twice in relatively quick succession. Sometimes I just did it to improve my technique and self-control. If I’d invested one tenth as much effort into lovemaking with a girl, I’d have been known as a Casanova throughout the area.

The trick was not to cum too hard the first time, then continue at a steady, light level of arousal to a second orgasm, then you could really pound it for that sense of deep satisfaction. You kind of traded the powerful first orgasm in return for two. Quantity not quality I guess.

Anyway, I’d already blown my usual technique. I’d gone all out for one massive orgasm, never considering that he might demand a second.

The second time was not as effortless as the first, but I managed to maintain the general sensation of arousal, and it only took three minutes for me to cum a second time. I looked down at my dick as I added more spunk to the streaks on the table. Three watery blasts in close succession. I was glad that I had fulfilled Raoul’s demand.

“Your balls are disappearing!” he said with obvious amusement.

He was right. My nuts had pulled so tight, that they were up on either side of my dick, trying to climb all the way back into my body. I gave Raoul an awkward grin.

“Again,” he said.

I panted.

“Buddy, I don’t think I can.”

“A real man can do three…” he said, parroting my words from the forest back at me.

I stared at him, trying to assess how dangerous the situation was. I had manipulated him into putting on a sex show for us, and now he was demanding that I provided the same show in private. I knew there was no moral or reasonable argument that I could make to support a denial, but I still tried.

“Raoul, I can’t do three. I’m sorry dude. I’m all wiped out. I came too hard the first time.”

“Like I did the first time. In the forest. I squirted hard, but I still squirted two more times, ‘member?”

I couldn’t argue against his logic. We hadn’t warned him that day that he needed to pace himself, but I’d still urged him to go three times.

I started pumping lightly. It actually didn’t take that long to get past the refractory discomfort, but there was no horniness waiting on the other side. The novelty of wanking for my friend was gone. My usual adolescent libido was sated. All that remained was pure mechanical friction. I kept going, my fist sliding rhythmically up and down my slender dick. Every so often, I would feel a rise of interest in my balls, and I’d pump as fast as I could to try to push it over the edge, but I quickly tired and slowed, then my excitement would fade again.

Finally, after 17 minutes of constant pumping, and drenched in sweat, I came. There was no gradual build up. One moment I was pumping, and the next, cum was spraying from the end of my cock. Actually, spraying gives it more credit than it deserves. Cum was being flung, left and right, in a small arc from the head of my dick. If I wasn’t pumping so frantically, it would probably have been no more than a sticky dribble oozing from the end, but as it was, my energetic efforts to cross the line, launched it in every direction like a man doing an orgasmic windmill with his dick.

Raoul watched with a grin on his face, clearly delighted.

“Hard the third time huh?” he said.

Sweat was pouring down my face and chest, and I was pink with exertion.

“No kidding,” I agreed, exhausted.

“Guess you’re a real man too.”

“Yeah, guess so.”

I was exhausted.

“Again.”

I stared at him in shock.

“Dude, there’s no way I can go again. My helmet is almost raw.”

We both looked down. My dome was bright red, although “raw” was something of an exaggeration.

“Again,” he said, this time, the pitch of his voice was half an octave lower, and there was a coldness in his voice.

“Dude please, I can’t.”

He picked up the gun and tapped it on his knee. His finger was inside the trigger guard, resting on the trigger.

“Please dude, that thing’s gonna go off. Take your finger off the trigger.”

His expression turned dark. I was shocked. He was usually such a happy-go-lucky kind of guy. I decided not to push my luck. Instead, I took my twig-dick in my fist and started to pump it again. I felt a few shivers of discomfort at first, but I was relieved when they quickly disappeared, then I was left with exactly the same mechanical action as the third time, utterly devoid of eroticism.

I pumped joylessly for over half an hour, varying my pace, and doing my best to push myself over the edge, but I had nothing left to give, and my body refused to comply. On a couple of occasions, my sap started to rise, and I frantically pounded my dick. I got close, teetering frustratingly right on the brink, then the feeling would recede, and I was just exercising my arm again.

I saw through his jogging pants, that Raoul was hard. After 20 minutes, he took his impressive dick out and slowly stroked it as he watched. I took it as a good sign. After all, he would lose interest after he had nutted.

“Why don’t you squirt?” he asked after 40 minutes.

“Ra-Ra, I can’t. My balls are empty. I’m sorry man.”

“Empty?”

“Yeah, I came three times. Nothing left.”

“Nothing left…”

He stood up, leaving the gun on the couch. His dick was drooling copious amounts of precum. Without asking, he stood before me, grabbed the back of my legs, and lifted. I fell back onto the couch. He lifted higher, raising my ass in the air.

“What are you doing?!” I asked in alarm.

Instead of an answer, he gripped his boner in his right hand and placed the head against my starfish.

“Raoul! No, stop, not that!”

He ignored me, instead jamming his fat cock into my hole, his own precum serving as lube. Without loosening my virgin hole first, the experience was excruciating. My hole went from tight to fully stretched in under a second. I was certain that he must have torn me wide open. It felt like he had jammed a medieval morning star club up there, ripping me in every direction at once. I screamed, and struggled, twisting and turning, trying to unimpale myself. But I felt like a little kid struggling in his father’s arms. He was ungodly strong. My lower legs flapped around, and my torso twisted side to side, but my pelvis; the important part; barely moved and I remained firmly impaled on his thick log.

“No please, Raoul, pull it out, you’re hurting me, please!”

My dick instantly shrivelled, flopping lifelessly back on my belly.

“Hurt?”

“Yeah, your dick is tearing me apart!”

He withdrew fully. To my surprise, his dick wasn’t covered in blood or shit.

“I’ll go slow.”

“No please, Raoul don’t do it at all.”

I felt him pressing firmly against my hole. It was still stinging from the first time, but the second time was not quite as bad. I felt my hole slowly opening.

“No Raoul, I’m not a fag.”

He looked down at my face with a dumb grin and it seemed to me that he had reverted fully to his most retarded state. His dick slid inside and his grin widened.

He started thrusting, and I could feel his dick sliding all the way into me. The head pressed against some part of me deep inside. It was not pleasant.

“No, Ra… Accch!”

I let out a series of strangled, choking sounds as his brutally hard dick rearranged my organs.

He ignored me and started pumping in and out. The initial pain was astronomical, but to my relief, it diminished to a manageable level after a few minutes.

I reached up and tried to push his belly away from me, but it was like pushing a wall. He was immobile, and I realised how badly out of my league I was in terms of strength.

I screamed and begged and insulted him the whole time, but nothing changed his expression or his actions.

His pace increased, then became frantic, then aggressive. Then he added a series of gurgling noises of his own. His eyes rolled up to the ceiling, and there was no doubt that he was cumming hard.

He slowed, but never completely stopped.

“Did you squirt?” I asked redundantly, hoping that he would release me.

He gave me the dirties leer I have ever seen.

“Uh huh.”

“Ummm, dude, can you fucking let me go then maybe?”

“Real men squirt three times,” he said.

I looked at him and he grinned back at me. I’d created a monster and I had nobody to blame but myself.

He kept pumping, clearly enjoying the sensation of my asshole. He gave me a grin.

“Your pee pee is hard.”

He was right. I don’t know why, but now that the edge of the pain was gone, my dick had inflated. More than inflated. It was rigid. It was raised to 45 degrees. If I was standing, it would have pointed toward the upper corner of the room, but laying on my back with my ass lifted, it pointed towards the lower corner. Honestly, I’d never seen it so hard. I mean, it got pretty hard sometimes, which I attributed to its narrow girth; what some people called a “pencil dick,” but this was hard as steel, all the way down to the root then back up inside my body. With every pump of Raoul’s hips, it swung, vibrating in a short arc like a flag pole. And the cherry on top was red, the skin stretched so much it was shiny.

“What the fuck?!”

“You must be happy,” Raoul said. “Me too.”

I was confused, disgusted at my body’s betrayal. I curled my lip in contempt as I saw how excited my dick was.

“Balls gone,” Raoul added looking at my flat, empty sack.

He reached down with his left hand, spread his index and middle fingers, and ran the finger tips over the lumps that protruded from my abdomen on each side, a couple of inches above my dick.

My balls were very late to descend as a kid, I had just started puberty in fact, and for a few years into my teens, I still experienced retractile testicles when I was horny, but it was years since they had done that.

Raoul pressed the lumps, and I squirmed.

“Not, not my balls Raoul!”

“They’re your balls?” he asked.

“Yes!”

“It hurts?”

“Yes, of course!”

“Why they go up there?”

“I don’t know. They just do.”

“Hiding!” he said, and burst out laughing, giggling like a little kid at a willy joke.

But at least he stopped pressing.

I didn’t know what to do about my boner. Should I ignore it, or draw attention to it by covering it?

Again, Raoul’s rhythm became aggressive, slamming into my hole like he was trying to seed me. Soon enough, he came a second time, automatically screwing his face up with ecstasy.

He panted hard when he was done, and took a 20 second breather, then he started up again. I could feel the rough sides of his man-cock, sliding past my sphincter, and when he was buried, I could feel the girth and length of him filling me up fully.

On the back strokes, I could feel his helmet brushing past my sweet spot; what I later came to learn is called my prostrate. Every time he did, I felt a shiver of excitement. I didn’t want to feel horny being fucked. I was straight for fuck’s sake, but my body responded despite my belief.

I don’t know if he knew that his fat helmet was affecting me like that, but I guess he picked up of my little shiver, and the involuntary high-pitched whine I let out every time his glans touched that spot.

His grin grew wide. He knew that I was his to control. He shortened his strokes, until my whimpers of pleasure turned into a near-continuous pant of euphoria. I didn’t like being his fuck sock, and I liked even less that my body was enjoying. I squirmed in slow motion, but it’s hard to tell if it was ecstasy or resistance. My snarling expression of rebellion slowly morphed into the open-mouthed lust-pant of a guy who has just discovered that being fucked is not just something for girly faggots; that manly guys could get pleasure from it too.

Suddenly, my cock coughed up one final series of spunk jets. I don’t know where it came from because my balls had already given more than I thought they were capable of. It hit me right in the face, passing into my open mouth and splattering on my tongue. I was as shocked by the cum drink, as I was by the fact that Raoul had fucked another orgasm from me in the first place.

He laughed as he saw me inadvertently swallowing my own cum.

“Spunk juice!” he said, and in spite of myself, I instinctively laughed with him, before quickly stifling my response lest he think I was enjoying myself.

Now that I had cum, he returned to his full stroke and pounded me hard. It only took another few minutes, then his mouth opened, his face screwed up and he grunted like a lion dominating a lioness.

He pounded like that for almost a minute, ensuring that his nuts were completely empty, then he fell on top of me exhausted. We were both sheathed in sweat, our naked bodies pressed together. He lay like that for maybe three minutes, his face close to mine, eyes closed. His cock stayed hard inside me the whole time. I was still trapped and impaled but I no longer felt violated. There was something comforting; unifying, about feeling the older boy’s cock filling me.

Then he roused slowly and lifted onto his forearms. He pulled a strange face; half a grin, and half something else. Something horny? Affectionate?

“Three times. Like a real man. Filled you up. You’re all squishy inside.”

“Yeah.”

“Your bum is nice!” he said.

“Is it?”

What else was I supposed to say?

“It’s hot and wet.”

“Oh.”

“Can you feel my dick?”

“Seriously Raoul? Of COURSE I can feel it. It’s massive.”

He laughed.

“I can’t wait to tell the others.”

I felt a surge of panic.

“No Ra, Ra, no! You mustn’t! They’d crucify me. Please don’t tell anyone. Not ever!”

He thought for a minute.

“Okay, but you have to let me do it again then. Any time I want.”

I was horrified. Become Raoul’s fuck toy? I couldn’t think of anything worse…

Or could I? I mean, after the pain, it wasn’t that bad. Almost pleasurable.

I weighed that against Raoul telling everyone that he’d fucked me. I guess it was the lesser of two evils. At least I could try it a while and see how I got on with it.

“Not ANY time,” I said. “That’s not fair. But sometimes.”

“Okay, deal!” he said with bright innocence.

“And no more guns.”

“It’s only pretend; it’s not a real gun. I would never hurt you Daniel.”

I stared in shock. Psyched by a reta… I’d have to stop thinking of him like that. He was obviously smarter than I gave him credit for. Or more cunning.

He leaned forwards and kissed my cheek.

“You got spunk on your lips.”

“I know.”

“Do you want ketchup on your burger?” Raoul called from the kitchen.

He wasn’t an adventurous cook, but I liked to let him fix dinner a couple of times a week.

“Yeah, that’s great, cheers Ra Ra.”

He brought the food in and sat on the couch beside me. I wrapped my arm around his waist. Our apartment wasn’t large, but it was away from our home town and we were happy. Our seventh anniversary together was fast approaching.

Raoul snuggled against me.

“Hurry up and eat your dinner. I want to fuck you.”

He was never one for subtlety, but I’d grown used to it.

“Save it till bed time.”

“I want to do it now. I’m horny. We can do it again at bed time. Like a real man.”

I laughed. He was fucking insatiable!