Bio of a Bully Ch. 7 Pt. 2

With additional editing and ideas by The Pecman

The fat fuck was all over me, holding me to the bed and running his tongue up and down my torso, his stinking fuckin’ breath choking me every time he came near my face.

I tried calling out, but he knew it was coming and slapped a hand over my mouth.

“Now you listen good, punk,” he hissed in my ear. “You make a sound and I’ll break your fuckin’ neck before you finish making it, understand? When I take my hand away, you’re gonna lie there and take it, and do exactly like I say….or else. I’ve already killed two dumbshits in here before, so I got nothin’ to lose. Got it?”

I stared up at him and he glared right back. I knew the cunt wasn’t kidding, so I nodded carefully and he took his hand away.

“Good boy,” he said, smiling. “You do as you’re told and Daddy will look after you.”

He pulled down his fly and flopped out his massive cock, shaking it in my face. Even soft, it was about half again as big as mine was hard.

“Now you show Daddy how much you want to please him and he’ll forgive you for your bad behaviour.”

I looked up at him again, trying desperately to work out some way to break free, but the cunt just smiled down at me and slid his arse further up my chest, shoving his cock in my mouth.

I gagged at the taste of it, but I was pinned down, barely able to breathe from his weight pressing down on me. It began to expand in my mouth, then began to touch the back of my throat.

“That’s right,” he said, beginning to thrust in and out. “Take it like a good boy. Daddy says ‘Eat all your supper’!”

I reached up with my hands, trying to push the cunt back, but he immediately grabbed my wrists and rubbed my hands all over his flabby chest and stomach. I knew I was gonna vomit and started convulsing like a fuckin’ rap dancer.

The prick climbed off me and let me spew over the side of the bed, ripping my shirt off and undoing my pants while I chucked.

When I’d finished throwing up, he grabbed me from behind and pulled me up to my knees, running his sweaty palms all over my fuckin’ chest, feeling my muscles and groaning with every fuckin’ groove he felt on my bod.

“Oh, yeah,” he whispered to me, “I’m gonna like having you as my room mate.”

And suddenly he shoved me down face-first on top of the bed and yanked down my pants, then my underwear. Before I could move, he slapped my arse hard, spit on my backside, and started putting his dick inside me.

“No…!” I gasped, but he kept on doing it, holding me still with his massive hands as he began plugging away. It hurt like hell but I couldn’t move, not even when he let go with one hand to reach around and paw at my fuckin’ chest again. His hips dug into me as he started a slow rocking motion, and his chest hair scratched on my back while he murmured softly into my ear. I felt like I wanted to vomit again, but I gritted my teeth, shut my eyes, and just kept my mind blank.

It felt like it went on forever, the cunt’s hands and bod getting sweatier and sweatier as he worked me over roughly, treating me like fuckin’ livestock at a slaughter. I began to feel a moistness between my thighs; I wasn’t sure if it was blood or just our sweat mingling together. Suddenly, his movements became faster, rougher. He groaned and collapsed on me, then kissed me roughly on the back of my neck, his rough beard scraping my skin.

He pulled out with a soft ‘plop’ when he was done and left me lying on the bed, curled up in a ball, then put his shorts back on and went back to his own cot, where he sat watching me.

“You did good,” he said. “And tomorrow night you’ll do even better. Hell! By the time you get out of here, you’re gonna be a goddamned expert! You’re gonna love it, by the time I finish with ya.”

And he wasn’t joking. I knew the rumours of what happened to prisoners who lagged to the screws, so I kept my mouth shut. And every night he came for me again, ripping open my arse with his throbbing cock and plugging it hard like he was trying to stop the bleeding. Sometimes, he took me in the cell; sometimes it was in the shower, while the other prisoners looked on. As bad as it was getting butt-fucked, that was better than when he raped my mouth; his smell and his taste was too horrible for me to take, and at least when I lay down, I didn’t have to look at the fucker. It got to the point where I expected it at the same time every night, right after “lights out” at 10 pm. The cunt would smile and give me the look, then I’d nod and weakly pull down my pants and lay face down, forcing myself not to cry.

By the time my court case arrived three weeks later, I could barely walk and was too afraid to fuckin’ sleep.

I looked a wreck at the court case, all pale and stressed-out. I still couldn’t believe it was happening and couldn’t bear the thought of spending years in prison.

My lawyer made sure the court was closed to the media and public, ‘cause I didn’t want the fuckin’ dweebs from school coming along to laugh at me. Only my Dad was there, and Scott, who I said could come along. Aside from my Dad’s one visit, he was the only other cunt to visit me in the remand centre and the only one still talking to me.

I sat there and listened while the judge heard all the evidence from the cops, reading out my statement, and telling how my fingerprints were all over the gym, and how Fab’s fingerprints matched some of the ones taken when I was kidnapped. I was fighting back the tears, trying hard to act like the man I was, not wanting to look or act like a faggot.

The Principal of my school got up and talked about how nice I was and how I had been through a hard time with the kidnapping, and how my grades had gone right up that year because I was trying really hard. He had no fuckin’ idea that Scott’s brother was the one doing my homework and I was fuckin’ relieved that it didn’t come up.

When it came time for the judge to pass sentence, I thought I was gonna faint from fuckin’ stress. He repeated what the Principal said about me and that it was a good sign, and how I had been honest in my statement about brawling with Fab and had pleaded guilty to manslaughter.

“The honesty of your statement works in your favour,” he said to me, “and I appreciate that your recent experience of being kidnapped was a traumatic one which for which you received no support or counseling afterwards.”

I felt a twinge of hope and crossed my fingers behind my back.

“However,” he said, “Vigilante actions are not justice, nor something this court can condone, particularly when the result of such irresponsible behaviour results in the death of another, accidental or otherwise, and for that you should be most severely punished.”

My legs started to shake again and I grabbed hold of the table to stop myself from falling down. The courtroom had disappeared from my sight, replaced with images of me, the battered plaything of all those fuckin’ convicts behind bars, year after year, stretching into fuckin’ eternity.

“In balance,” the judge continued, “ I pass judgment thus. Justin Peter Michielsen, you are hereby issued with a two-year suspended sentence on the condition that you live at home with your father for the duration of that period. You are ordered to complete 1000 hours of community service to be negotiated with your probation officer, who you will report to at 9 am on the Monday of every week, or 9 am on the following working day should a public holiday fall at your scheduled appointment time.

“Further, I order you to attend psychiatric sessions on a weekly basis with a doctor chosen by this court until such time as he or she deems you fit enough to cease his services. Do you have any questions?”

I knew it was over. My Dad had said he wanted me out of the house, so there was no fuckin’ way they would let me free.

“No, Your Honour,” I said.

“Do you understand your sentence?

“Yes, Your Honour,”

“And Mr Peter Michielsen, the father of the accused, do you accept responsibility for your son and agree to have him continue to live with you for the duration of his sentence?”

My father stood up and we looked at each other for a long, long time, both our eyes watering like a fuckin’ fountain.

“Yes, Your Honour,” he said, never taking his eyes from me. “He’s my son. I take full responsibility for him and promise to see him right.”

I choked back the tears, covering my mouth to stop the sounds coming out. And my father smiled weakly, letting me know everything will all be alright. I took a deep breath to compose myself and turned back to the judge, who was sitting patiently, allowing the father-son moment to happen.

I didn’t want to see the shrink. Fuck knows I don’t need one, but if that’s what it took to keep out of jail, then I’d do it. I knew my old man would make me anyway. I was totally wrecked, but not going to jail was the best fuckin’ thing I could’ve wished for. I was wrapped!

There was no way I was going back to school, not with all the kids knowing I’d fucked Fab up the arse and caused his death. I didn’t want all those fags pointing at me, knowing what had happened. I’d get a job and see out my sentence, then blow this place just as soon as I could; start fresh somewhere else, where the faggots didn’t have the upper hand. I had plenty of time to map it all out.

The judge closed the case and I grabbed my Dad. He began to crying again, whispering “I’m sorry, son, I’m sorry,” and we held on tight to each other. I knew he was still my mate after all.

Behind me, Scott came up to congratulate me and I was so fuckin’ ecstatic, I didn’t give a shit who he was. I would’ve embraced fuckin’ Liberace right then, so I grabbed him in a bear-hug too.

I walked out of the courtroom arms still wrapped around Dad and Scott’s waists, so fuckin’ happy, I had tears still streaming down my eyes like a fuckin’ pussy. It was a new life for me and one I wasn’t going to fuck up again!

When we got home, Dad poured us a stiff drink and we took it like alcoholics, pouring it down our throats before topping up again.

I went to my room and threw myself down on the bed, enjoying the soft mattress under me instead of the hard fuckin’ boards they used at the remand center. I didn’t look up from my pillow until I heard my bedroom door slam shut. It was Scott, who’d left my Dad in the lounge room and followed me.

“We have to talk,” he said to me, his voice shaking like he was nervous about something.

“What is it?” I sat up, looking at him suspiciously.

“Us.” He answered. “After everything I’ve done for you, you still don’t care about me, do you?”

I laughed.

“How can I?” I said, “I’m not a faggot like you. Listen – you may be a faggot, but you’ve proven you’re a good mate too. You’re the only fuckin’ one who stood by me. You’re okay.”

“That’s not enough,” he said, stepping closer. “I know so much about what you’ve done of the years, Justin. One word from me and the judge would repeal your sentence and throw you behind bars faster than you can blink.”

I stood up, knowing where he was heading.

“Are you fuckin’ threatening me?” I growled, moving towards him.

“Not threatening,” Scott said. He held his ground and didn’t back off like I expected despite looking and sounding so scared. “I’m just tired of being walked over all the time. It isn’t fair. I want something in return for a change.” He paused. “I want you.”

“Me?” I laughed out loud, but stopped suddenly when he started undoing his fly.

“From now on, you do what I say,” Scott said, “or else I’ll go to the cops and tell them I was too scared of you to tell them everything. You’re going to love me, Justin, in my way and on my terms, and when we have sex, it will be because I say so. You’re going to be gentle and you’re going to enjoy it, just like you did that time my brother beat you up and I had you pinned to the bed.”

“You’ve got to be fu….”

“No, I’m not,” he interrupted. “You love being the one losing control, and now you’ve lost it completely. Suck me off.” He flopped out his cock and wagged it in my direction. “Now.”

I looked at him hard and could see he wasn’t joking. The cunt was gonna go straight to the cops if I didn’t do what he said.

“You’ll pay for this,” I threatened.

“No I won’t,” he said, “’cause for once you’re going to admit that you enjoy it. And when we’ve got more time, I’m going to teach you how to make love properly…and gently.”

I was in a corner and he knew it. And as I sunk to my knees to take his cock in my mouth, Scott smiled, stroking my hair and enjoying his own new found freedom.