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If you told Freddy Newendyke that he was gonna end up getting fucked in the ass by a convicted felon, he'd knock you clean the fuck out. He doesn't swing that way, not even a little. He got the fag kicked out of him in high school.
And yet, somehow, there he was, bent over his bed—his actual bed in his actual apartment—with "Mr. White's" cock bruising his internal organs while the older man sucks bruises into his neck and shoulders. Maybe those jocks didn't beat his head in right because he's enjoying the ever-loving hell out of being fucked. Enjoying it so much that he doesn't give a rat's ass that he's loud enough to wake his neighbors, loud enough to warrant the police being called, loud enough that White's got to grip him by his greasy hair and force him face down into the sheets to shut him the fuck up. He should mind it, but he doesn't. It makes him harder, actually, makes his balls ache for release.
He wants to touch himself so badly, and it's not like he can't, but Freddy's gripping the sheets too tightly, clinging onto everything he can as not to get pummeled through the bed. With his face pressed into the mattress, he can't beg White to touch him, Freddy can barely breathe at all, and it feels like they're playing some kind of sick game where White gets to do whatever he wants to Freddy and he just has to take it. The way White's thrusts border on the razor edge between pleasure and pain has Freddy's mind spinning out. He's so glad that White barely prepared him.
Trying his damndest to meet White's every powerful jerk, Freddy chokes and writhes against the covers, hoping that his growing restlessness will spur the older man into touching him. The rough hand in his hair doesn't budge, and the one on his bony hip barely even twitches. And, Jesus, he should be frustrated, but thinking about White's hands sends a fresh trail of precome down his thighs. Freddy doesn't know if he can classify his feelings towards White's hands as a kink anymore. Whatever it is, it's indescribable.
He groans, twisting and twisting, this way and that way. Desperate for more. Desperate to come. Desperate to burst out his skin.
White bites him on the shoulder, not too hard, but enough to get the point across. "Stop squirming, Kid," he scolds gruffly and his hand is finally releasing Freddy's hip and moving down between his legs.
The blond barely has time to react before White is fisting his dick and he comes all over the corner of the comforter.
Back in high school, they really should have done a better job at beating him straight.