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You walk through the school, looking at your feet to avoid eye contact, like if you don’t see him, he won’t see you. You try, desperately, to keep the events of yesterday out of your mind. Away from Whitney and his brutality. How he forced himself on you, while his posse of bootlickers watched and recorded. You barely registered anything during science or home-ec, just gliding from class to class, thankful you didn’t have to deal with an hour of Whitney in math today.
Almost as if your life is some tragic comedy, you bump into somebody while you trudge through the hallway, and feel a hand grip your collar, slamming you into the lockers. Whitney. “Watch where you’re fucking going, slut.” he spits, as that terrifying smile splits his face again, the same he had yesterday, and the time before, and the time before. “But since you’re here… C’mon, I’ve got something to show ya. It’s your favorite.”
Your stomach drops as the color drains from your face. “Whitney, n-no, please-” is all you can stammer out before the back of his hand slams into your face and you feel yourself getting dragged into the nearest empty classroom. It’s not like you could fight back, he’s a senior that’s 2 heads taller and a hundred pounds heavier than your lanky freshman frame… plus, you’ve tried that before. Your heart races a million miles a second as he pins you to a desk and pulls down your pants, and you desperately ramble out anything you can to try to get him to stop, but you know he won’t.
…
Your cheeks feel wet. At some point you must’ve started crying, between all the screaming and begging, but now all you hear are your own meek hiccups and voiceless sobs… and the slapping of flesh against flesh. The pain is agonizing, the only lube Whitney ever uses is his spit. You think the pain is the point, and the only reason he uses any lube at all is so it feels good for him. You’re not sure what you did to him to deserve this. It’s not just him either, it’s the entire town. It almost feels like this place was specially engineered to breed suffering.
Whitney's done this so often you can't even remember every incident, but you will never, ever forget the first. It was back when you still thought you could fight back, when you thought he was just a bully, and not a walking nightmare with a smile like a demon. You think you must’ve finally pushed him too far, hit him in his pretty face one too many times, because he dragged you out of the hall and into the bathroom, and had his posse keep watch while he tore your clothes off. You remember the confusion, the terror as he planted your ass on the sink and pulled his massive cock out, the pain and agony as he roughly shoved it inside you with nothing to lubricate it. You remember the confused look on his face, as he puzzled out the reason why you’re so tight- he was your first. The grin that spread across his face will never leave your mind. The one that says, “I took your first, and you have to live with that the rest of your life,” the one he wears any time he sees you now, any time he looks at you like a thing to fuck rather than a person.
Whitney speeds up his thrusts and the pain gets worse, dragging you out of your mind and forcing you to sob louder. You hope it means he’s getting close. You want to book it back to the orphanage and turn the shower on so hot it scalds the suffering off of your soul, but you know it doesn’t work like that. You’ve tried. Still, better than having to go to Doren’s english class smelling like semen and sweat. You’re late now anyway, you might as well skip, right?
Right as you think Whitney is reaching his peak, you hear the door open and a moment later feel his length rip out of you. You look over your shoulder as Doren grabs Whitney by the collar and slams him into the wall, giving him a verbal reaming as the senior shoves his cock into his underwear, and zips back up. If it were any other teacher the delinquent might fight back, but Doren is HUGE, even compared to Whitney. Add on his bulging muscles and veins as he gestures wildly in anger and the savage look his long scraggly red hair and beard give him, and you've got the one and only staff member in this school willing to stand up to the bastard.
Amidst the shouting you try to stand, but find the pain from Whitney’s violation and the weakness in your legs too much.
You collapse.
…
For once, you don’t dream. No nightmares, no trauma, just… nothing. You wonder if you might be dead, but as your eyes flit open you realize you wouldn’t have the chance to wonder if you HAD actually died.
“You finally awake there, kiddo?” the english teacher asks, worry writ all over his face even as he gives you a soft smile.
You shift your body but find the pain radiating from your rear is intolerable, forcing you to lean back and nod instead. You take a look around the room. You’re in the nurse’s office.
“How long was I out?” you ask, grimacing from the pain. He offers you a glass of water and what you assume must be a painkiller, which you gulp down like you haven’t had any in years.
“Four hours,” Doren replies, gesturing to the clock which reads about 10 til 3. You missed almost the entire school day because of that bastard. All sorts of emotions flood your mind, overwhelming you. Anger, shock, sadness, embarrassment. You start to cry again, hiding your face in your arms, and bunch your legs together as you sob. It hurts to move, but you don’t care. No one else seems to, so why should you?
“Hey, hey, you’re okay now.” Doren coos, gently placing one of his large hands on your shoulder, which makes you jump a little, and he hesitates before backing off. You cry for what feels like forever, loudly and without care for how you look. You think you hear the bell ring at some point. When your sobs turn to sniffles and finally to shaky, unsteady breathing, you look to the older man who now offers you tissues, which you take gratefully.
As you finish making yourself semi-presentable, your eyes still puffy, it dawns on you that Doren was here when you woke up, several hours after the incident.
“D-Did you stay with me the entire time?” you ask, voice quivering from the thought of inconveniencing this man so much.
“Well I wasn’t just going to leave you alone after finding you like that. Headmaster Leighton covered my class while I sat with you.” he said, his face going serious. “But, more importantly…”
“Whitney’s been suspended.” the older man states, bluntly.
Your stomach twists into knots and the words rattle in your skull as you sit in the silence. Oh god, you think, the payback is going to be so terrible. You stammer-ramble out that “it’s okay” and “he’s not that bad” and “I consented,” anything to try and overturn that which you know you can’t control.
Doren listens, his face twisted into pity, you think. “Look, faculty knows what he’s been doing, and what happened back there was absolutely wrong, but Leighton refused to get the police involved, so…” he sighs, “He won’t be returning for a week. That’s all I managed to get him to do.”
A moment of silence passes, the only sound, the clock’s soft ticking.
“The school day’s already over, you might as well go home. Do you feel safe enough to walk home yourself?”
You shake your head no, vigorously. Whitney will be waiting, somewhere, out there. He knows where you live, the route you walk, the ‘safe path.’
“Would you like me to walk you home?”
You don’t answer. Instead, you slowly sit up, then curl yourself into a ball. You feel safer that way, like you can block out the rest of the world by turning inward.
Doren sighs, standing up. “Well, I shouldn’t, but… you can come to my flat, if you like. It’s quiet and small, and the hot water works. No one’ll bother you there, promise.” he offers his hand out to you.
You look at his hand, large and calloused, evidence of a life of hard work. You look up into his eyes, expecting to find the same roughness, but are met with a softness you’ve only seen very rarely, like when you cry into Robin’s arms about the tortures of the day because only he can truly understand the utter hell this town puts you through. After a moment of staring, you reach out and take it.
Doren steadies you as you try to stand, but you nearly collapse again from the pain. With a huff from the older man you suddenly find yourself being princess carried, and feel the heat rise in your face. “W-Wait, what are you-?” is all you manage to stammer out before you segway, “I-I don’t want the other kids to see me like th-this! I- I’ll never live it down-!” You cover your face in embarrassment, even though you know it won’t do much to hide yourself.
“Don’t worry about what they’ll think, doesn’t matter anyway. How others think of you matters very little in the grand scheme of things.” Doren says, matter-of-factly, as he struggles to open the door with you taking up both arms. You cried for so long that most students have already filed out, though a few stragglers gawp and snicker as the two of you pass by. Doren admonishes them, telling them to either go to the library or leave the school already, classes are over. Your heart drops as you spot Whitney by the school gates, his twisted smile replaced with anger, or frustration, or something else you know he wants to take out on you. You’re now very thankful to Doren for being there, but you know if not today, then tomorrow or the next day Whitney will get his revenge, and it’s going to hurt way worse than you already do now. He says nothing as the two of you pass by, but the glare he gives you is enough to know you’re right.
It isn’t much better once you leave the school, either. The sight of a 14 year old boy in his uniform being held in the arms of a much older man incites oohs and ahhs, as well as a few jeers. Doren ignores them, and tells you to do the same.
The route he takes home differs from yours, considerably, though you guess it’s because his size and strength affords him the kind of safety your frail figure could never. He doesn’t have to worry about the filth of this town that could be waiting around every corner waiting to take advantage of a young beautiful boy. His walking is almost rhythmic, and you begin to fall asleep on the way to his home.
…
You’re awoken by his sudden shifting, and he has to set you down gently on your feet in order to reach his keys, and after fiddling with them for a moment he unlocks his flat and lets you in.
He wasn’t lying about it being small. It’s all one room, save the bathroom, with the bed and couch being so close you’d be hard pressed to squeeze between them, with a tv mounted on the wall opposite. Doren picks you up again, laying you down on the couch before quickly closing the door behind him.
“Well, here we are. Like I said, it’s not much, but I hope it can serve as a safe space for you.” He looks away, rubbing the back of his head and ruffling his mane of fiery red hair.
You look around, taking in how quiet this place really is, for an apartment complex. It’s… nice. You lean back into the couch cushions, and let out a long sigh.
“Thanks… thank you, Doren, sir.” you stammer out, tensing up a little as he approaches.
“Don’t mention it.” He says, “Here’s the remote, put on whatever you want, I’m going to read.” passing it to you before promptly kicking his shoes off, pulling a book from his nightstand and laying in bed.
You stare at the remote for a moment, about to turn it on when you finally realize just how gross you feel. Your clothes are clinging to your body from the sweat produced by the day’s tortures. You slowly get up, careful to try not to agitate your sore butt, but the painkillers have kicked in, dulling it ever so slightly.
“Getting a shower? Careful kiddo, it gets hot very fast.” the older man warns, not looking up from his book.
“Good.” is all you say in reply.
You close the door and strip out of your uniform, wishing you could burn it and all the terrible memories you’ve been forced to form wearing it. You open the curtains and look at your options for soap… and all he has is a single bottle of “3 in 1” men’s body wash. Great. Well, it’s better than stinking of sweat, sex and the faintest hint of Whitney’s axe body spray.
You turn on the water, getting it as hot as you can. It’s scalding, but that’s the point. The room fills with steam and the sounds of your gentle sobbing. It hurts so bad… It hurts so good. You only start to wash once the pain begins to die down, rubbing the soap all throughout your hair and up and down your body. You bask in the now far gentler heat of the water as you rinse off, staying there until nearly all the hot water is used up. As you step out and dry off, you realize you have no clean clothes to wear, so you wrap yourself in a towel and meekly poke your head out of the door.
“D-Doren, sir… do you have any clothes I can borrow?” You eek out, as if this gentle giant of a man would somehow scoff or rebuff your plea.
“Hmm, let’s see here,” he murmurs, setting his book aside and scrounging through his drawers. “I hope this will do,” the older man says, handing you a thin sleeveless shirt and shorts. You close the door and begin putting them on, and you notice just how baggy they are on you. Well, he IS far, far larger than you. These must be workout clothes, with how thin and airy they are. You don’t feel very covered at all.
You gently make your way back to the couch, taking your place and turning the tv on, flicking idly through the channels. You zone out so much you almost don’t notice that Doren has sat down next to you, but perhaps his presence just makes you feel so safe that for once, you don’t feel the need to constantly have your guard up.
You’re snapped out of your malaise as Doren addresses you, “Can’t pick?”
You look at him for a moment before returning your gaze to the tv. “No, nothing’s interesting.”
The older man ponders for a moment, “Do you like insects? I think National Geographic is running an entire week on beetles right now.”
“Mmh, I guess,” you respond, flicking through and settling on that. Better than just changing channels constantly.
You watch as the narrator explains the daily life of some beetle from Africa, and find yourself slowly scooting towards Doren. There’s a lot of comfort to be had in an adult who doesn’t try to get anything from you, who’s just there for you. Eventually you’re right next to him, and rest your head on his chest. He doesn’t move, his arms don’t shift from their spot on top of the couch. He just lets you find comfort in the closeness. You close your eyes and slowly drift away.
…
When you come to, you feel a rough hand gently weaving its way through your hair. At some point during your nap you must have shifted, because now your head rests in Doren’s lap.
“Evening, sleepyhead. I’m surprised you fell asleep after already spending half the day unconscious.” he chuckles quietly, stroking your head gently, like if he was any rougher you’d break into a million tiny pieces.
“Mmhmm, evenin’,” is all you manage to groggily slip out. You twist on the couch, turning to look up at the older man. He looks back at you, his soft green eyes almost unreadable from how often you see lust and lechery and anger in the eyes of others. You assume it’s kindness. You hope it’s kindness.
“You ready to get up?” He asks, smiling.
“Not yet,” you murmur, shaking your head.
Absent-mindedly, almost innocently, you let your head lean to your left as you relax, and you feel his cock throb through his jeans as you unintentionally lean against it. You instantly jump up, heart pounding.
“I- I’m sorry, I promise that’s not- I have no intention of-” Doren stammers, suddenly flustered, hands raised trying to calm you.
Your mind races with panic, all the comfort this flat afforded suddenly turns to terror as you begin to wonder his true intentions. He has you here, completely alone, and there’s no way in hell you could fight him off.
Your survival instincts kick in, learned from the dozens of times others have had their way with you. You place a hand on Doren’s thigh, instantly shutting down his ramble of half-baked excuses and explanations as he stares at you in shock.
“Let me help,” you coo into his ear, slipping your hand up his inner thigh, shaking slightly from the panic still coursing through you. This is what’s easiest, what’s always worked. You laugh at yourself internally for ever thinking a man’s actions could ever be driven by anything other than his libido.
Doren looks disgusted, but not at you, you think, at himself. “No.” he states, grabbing your arm by the wrist and pulling it away.
…No? He’s saying… No? That’s never worked for you before, not in this town, so why does it feel so crushing now?
“Please, let me help, i-it’s my fault, so please-”
“No. You’re a child, I’ve lived your lifespan 3 times over. It’s… wrong.” he says, sternly.
“Since when does that matter here? Do you know how many people have had me? People your age, or even older too. I-It’s the only thing I’m good at, so please-” You plead, placing your free hand directly on his crotch, eliciting a jump, “-Let me help.”
Doren’s eyes flit across the whole scene, your pleading expression, your flat chest barely visible through the wide gaps of your ill-fitting top, your hand on his crotch. You think he must be trying to decide, like choosing which head to think with. He spends an agonizingly long time just staring, his breath shaky. He sighs deeply, closes his eyes, and without saying a word, lets go of your arm.
Even though you begged for this, you can’t help but feel bad. Somewhere between disappointment at his choice, and acceptance that this is just who you are now.
You get to work, unbuckling his belt and undoing his jeans, and with a tug of his underwear his cock pops out, nearly whacking you in the face.
Oh god, he’s huge. With his stature it almost looks normal, but you can barely wrap your slender fingers around it. Your knees dig into the couch cushions as you bend over his lap, getting your face close and giving it a slow, sultry lick. Doren tilts his head back as you put your lips around the tip, your hands slowly working their way up and down his shaft. You earn a long deep groan from him, like this is the first time he’s getting off in years. Maybe it is, he clearly lives alone after all, and he certainly can’t afford whores on a teacher’s salary..
You struggle at first to get it in your mouth, saliva leaking down his shaft as you struggle to accommodate its girth. He’s clearly getting into it now, one hand gently rests in your hair as you bob up and down, the other groping your ass and squeezing ever so lightly.
“Fuck,” you hear him swear under his breath, a clear indicator you’re doing well. He might be the same as everyone else in this town, but he deserves a reward for being so nice beforehand. Most just take what they want and leave, or if you’re lucky they’ll throw some cash on your splayed out body as they leave you lying there.
It’s not much longer before the familiar taste of pre fills your mouth, and Doren moans out “I’m gonna-” He cuts himself off with a loud groan, pressing down on your head lightly. You gulp down his massive load, he must’ve been really pent up to let out this much. The taste never gets better. When the last spurts come and go, you pull yourself off his cock with a loud pop, licking your lips and smiling up at him. As your eyes meet you feel his cock throb again in your hands, and the expression on his face tells you it’s not over, the softness in his eyes replaced with lust.
Doren suddenly grabs your face with both hands, shocking you as he plants his lips against yours. With his massive size difference he easily pushes himself on top of you, letting go with one hand and slipping it under your shirt. His rough hand brushes over your nipples, making you gasp as your mouths mingle together. Through breaths he moans, “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll forget all about what he did to you.”
…You wish that could be true.
With great ease he lifts you by the waist and carries you to the bed, placing you down gently but staying stood. He lifts his shirt and reveals his well toned chest, absolutely covered in hair. He pulls his jeans off completely before laying on top of you. He smushes your faces together into a kiss once more, only broken momentarily as he lifts your top off, followed quickly by your shorts. His hands wander your body, the rough callouses feel almost like sandpaper on your smooth, supple skin. It’s not bad though, if anything it makes it feel even more wrong, in the best way possible. Like the bitter coffee Bailey buys, that you hated at first, but now gives a sense of comfort in its bite. It’s not good, you shouldn’t enjoy it, but you’ve acquired the taste for it anyway.
Suddenly, a thought crosses your mind- your ass is still in heaps of pain, and you gently push against Doren until he breaks the kiss.
“M-My ass, it’s still hurt from earlier… I, we can’t-” you stammer out, hoping he’ll be willing to listen even after you got him this riled up.
Doren pants, looking into your face but not quite meeting your eyes, constantly shifting as if deep in thought. He leans over to the nightstand and grabs two bottles from the drawer, both look to be lubricant, with a condom slipped between his digits.
“W-Wait Doren, sir, please-” you protest meekly, but he cuts you off.
“I’ve got numbing gel. It should relieve some of the pain.” He huffs, almost flatly, but you can tell there’s frustration under there too. It reminds you of when you answer one of his questions wrong in class.
He grabs your legs and you hesitantly open them for him, watching as he squeezes out the gel onto his fingers and places them on your sore, abused anus. Your little cock throbs as the gel makes contact with your butt, the cold slimy feeling eliciting a gasp. You wince as his finger probes your insides, gently working back and forth to lubricate your hole with the numbing gel.
“I-Isn’t your hand gonna go numb too?” you ask, trying to take your mind off the pain radiating from your poor behind.
Doren just shrugs, like it’s the least of his worries. He strokes his own cock slowly with his other hand, and this goes on for several minutes until you feel the numbing agent start to kick in.
“It doesn’t hurt as bad anymore,” you gasp, as he pops another finger in to test, pouring some of the non-numbing lube over as he works his fingers in and out of your hole.
“Good, I don’t wanna hurt you, kiddo,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers out and tearing the condom open with his teeth and non-numb hand. He slips it on and lubes it up, and your heart jumps as he starts lining himself up with your slender ass.
I don’t wanna hurt you, you repeat in your head. How sweet.
“Doren-” is all you manage to get out before he locks lips with you again. You feel his tip slide in, and with a single savage thrust he shoves the entire length inside you, forcing you to moan into his mouth as your back arches. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck as he slams himself in and out of you, over and over with reckless abandon. You struggle to stop the spasms as you buck wildly into him, your little cock shooting ropes onto your belly. Doren either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, because he doesn’t stop.
Should’ve known, you think to yourself.
Tears begin to stream down your face as the feeling overwhelms you, being fucked so aggressively while you’re still sensitive from cumming. Your chest heaves and your hips buck, as you sob into the man you trusted, his taste in your mouth and his tongue wrestling with yours.
He pulls away from the kiss, shifting his body weight up and grabbing your waist, speeding up his pounding as your sobbing moans reach a crescendo. You tense up, squeezing on his cock as you cum again, only a few drops of cum drip from your tip as you dig your nails into the pillows.
He groans deeply, almost animalistic as his rhythm slows, forcing you to take him to the base each time as he reaches his peak, his load spilling into the condom. He collapses onto the bed, twisting you onto your side as he pulls you into him, spooning you with his cock still deep inside your guts.
You squirm a little, his great length becoming uncomfortable in the afterglow of your orgasms. You feel his breath on your neck as he wraps his arms around you.
“D-Doren, sir, are you going to… pull out?” You whisper, and you hear his breath hitch, his chest heaving shakily.
“I-I… I’m sorry.” He stammers out, right next to your ear. You feel his grip on you tighten and his cock twitch inside you. Right as you open your mouth to ask him what he means, he starts slamming into you again, turning your question into nothing but boyish moans and sobs.
“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorryI’msorryI’msorryImsorryImsorryImsorryimsorryimsorryimsorry,” Doren repeats, over and over, as he thrusts in and out of you.
As your body melts into the overstimulating pleasure, your mind begins to wander, and your thoughts grow distant.
Why, why does this keep happening?
Is it the town?
The people?
Or maybe,
It’s
just
you.