O’Melissokomos
The Bee Keeper

Undercover (mm anal bond rape)

by Wolfpek

Footsteps sounded loud and hollow in the murky hallway of the deserted locker rooms. Annoyed, Brent Farrington rubbed at his strained shoulder in the murky light as he strode to the massage room. At 25, with three years experience, he was in his prime as the most successful quarterback in the league. He had a 7.2 completion percentage. He was named his league's only three-time MVP, as well as being its leading active passer with a career rating of 92.1 and held its second-highest winning percentage among starting quarterbacks who have begun their careers in 1980 or later. Just yesterday, he was named Offensive Player of the Week for his performance in the last game, his second consecutive and third POW honor of the season.

He was also named People magazine's Sexiest Man of the Year last year, and had yet to live that down among his teammates, or fiancee. He had a very good life.

This injury did not jeopardize any of that, but it was a major annoyance, and he was looking forward to therapy and maybe a steam bath. It was hard to schedule the massage therapist. He had finally snagged the latest hour Eddie had free and had to admit it was a little creepy to be in these dark tunnels now that everyone was gone.

He swung the door open. Brent's trademark was his gravelly deep voice. "Hey Eddie thanks for squeezing me in..."

A small, thin, swarthy man with a dark mustache turned to face him. "My name's Doc. Eddie got stuck out of town and asked me to fill in. It's nice to meet you, I'm a big fan. I studied with Eddie, and he called me when he couldn't make it and asked me to come by and send his apologies. He filled me in about your rotator cuff, well, him and the evening news. A specialty of mine. Don't worry I'll take good care of you. Get undressed. I'll be right back in."

Another annoyance. It was weird having a stranger touch you to begin with, and there was something... beady... about his eyes. Seemed a little light in the loafers as well. Brent hoped he wasn't a fag. He hated fags, but his shoulder hurt. He was tired from practice. Fuck it. He started to get undressed.

Brent, of course, was completely unaware that he was something of a cliche, but if there was a stock image of the square jawed All-American football hero, Brent Farrington would have been what immediately came to mind: 6'0", pale blond hair, blue eyes, all around Midwestern no bullshit good looks. As he peeled off his sweaty gear, we moved from Midwestern idealism to ancient Greek idealism--the scientifically toned hard body of a professional athlete straining at its peak of maximum performance. He was also unaware of just how stunning he was--vast shoulders, gracefully bulging triceps, perfect mountainous pectorals shadowing over a breadbasket midsection, peppered lightly in the center with soft light hair.

As he skimmed off his snowy briefs, we saw an impressive piece of meat rest along a meaty midthigh. Best of all, an ass round, hard, and high. Usually highlighted by his uniform, now revealed, better than any gay fan's dreams. He lay face down on the massage table, only a small towel covering the rock hard mounds, round and pert that rise high above the top of the muscular thighs familiar to many a binocular wielding straight woman and gay man who attended the games.

Doc returned and began to work on the injured shoulder. "I'm using a new oil. The smell's a little strong, but I've had a lot of success with it" It was a very strong smell, something between alcohol, glue, and hemp, but it created strong and immediately smoothing sensations as skilled, pointedly strong fingers worked to separate the beautiful but knotted muscles that created an intricate pattern on the V-shaped back. This guy was amazing, but the smell was really starting to make him a little dizzy... even so it felt sooo good. He felt as if he were melting into, no, through the table, and then floating up again upward in a circular motion. He began to hear a buzzing in his ears and with each breath a ticklish wave rolls into his solar plexus. Something was not right, but then he felt so relaxed. Sailing with each breath inhaling the pungent oil upside down toward the ceiling and back around as the long thin hands worked their way down from the vast lateral, reaching under to cup the rounded pectorals, then down again to the tapering small of the back, he noticed that the touch now seems less therapeutic, more of a grope really.

A coolish breeze floated over his now exposed bubble butt as the towel was gingerly removed. The softly stroking hands lifted the lean hips to slide a bolster under his hardening cock. Something was wrong! He sat up abruptly knocked away the molesting paws and screamed, "GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME YOU FUCKING FAGGOT!!!"

That's what he said and did in some dim corner of his mind floating perhaps near the moldy ceiling. What his body said and did stretched out under the hands of his abductor was to press his cock against the bolster and say, "Nnnauuunngggh!" The persisting hands turned on by this moan boldly squeezed the firm mounds and the thumbs moved inward to invade the defenseless hole. From far away in the room he heard two more voices.

"Careful Doc, you know how the boss doesn't like us fucking the merchandise, and the client has made it very clear that he wants to be the first in there. He's paid enough for that privilege."

"Can you imagine having enough money to buy this prime piece of ass, and then do anything you want to this fuckin' hot stud anytime day or night?

A hand reached under in between his now rigid cock and the bolster, raising that delicious ass even higher another low protesting moan excited the kidnapper's ears.

"We get to play in the stables pretty regularly. Besides, that therapist was pretty hot too. He's tied up in the trunk right now, a little bonus souvenir to take home. Probably fetch a nice price at auction."

"Ah come on. We're never gonna get a chance like this. Look at this. It's fuckin' Brent Farrington's prime ass on a platter right in front of us. I say we plow his stud ass lights out."

"Tell you what Doc. You made the catch, why don't you just clean him out a little instead. You know the Saudi royalty likes their slaves delivered clean. No one has to know. Then we crate him up for the plane. I've got a little something here that'll make this even more fun for our helpless hunky friend."

Brent's mind still spinning around the room tried to focus enough to make sense of the situation, but its too busy feeling the lewd hands caressing every part of his body. The buzzing in his ears grew louder as he tried to come down from his flight around the room, but he felt a small glass container shoved up his nose, and his hands tied painfully behind his back, an unnecessary but appealing precaution. Then he felt someone blowing into his open presented asshole--an entrance not an exit, he remembers joking with his friends. His heart pounded in his ears. All on their own, his hard glutes bucked upward towards the appreciative kidnappers's hands. Something wet and slimy invaded his helpless chute and began to squirm around inside. There seemed to be a mustache and stubbly chin pressed into the cleft between his obscenely parted asscheecks.

"GET OFF ME YOU FUCKIN' PERVERT FAGS! " he tried to say somewhere but only managed, "Oommphh un unghhhhh mmmph," as something large and stiff was forced in between his parted lips. The bolster and jacking hand were replaced by a greedy mouth underneath.

Brent Farringtonk, MVP of his football league and national heartthrob, drugged, tied up with a rapist's dick in his mouth, his own sizeable cock swallowed by some sick pervert, and a long tongue squirming around his prostate. His swirling drugged mind sensed a burning ache growing from the base of his cock, swelling up through his washboard abs, his inner thighs, as the probing tongue flickered deep within his raised ass, until he growled and spumed long puddling ropes of cum into the greedily sucking throat below him. Darkness enveloped him from the edges of his mind as he sank from consciousness into sexual slavery.

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