The star of abyss

Whitney’s trainers squeaked against the linoleum floors as he stormed down the hallway. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms so harshly that they drew blood. He gritted his teeth. His vision blurred. The rage inside him was white-hot, simmering just beneath his skin, threatening to boil over. The other students scattered, instinctively moving out of his way as soon as they saw him. Whitney’s wrath was known throughout the school, and nobody wanted to be on the wrong side of his fists.

His head throbbed. He could barely think straight, his thoughts overlapping into an indecipherable, furious cacophony. He was just lucid enough to surge forward, his attention fixed on a short, dark-haired freak standing by his locker. Whitney heard a dark, animalistic sound leave his lips. He saw red. In the blink of an eye, he was standing behind Kylar. Whitney grabbed his hair and slammed his face into the grate of the locker.

Kylar let out a pained yelp. “G-get off me!” he demanded, struggling against Whitney’s grip.

Whitney leaned in over his shoulder, his hot breath dancing over the skin of Kylar’s ear. “Fuckin’ pervert,” he snarled. He flattened his palm against the metal on the other side of Kylar’s head, caging him in.

Kylar grunted, still trying to wriggle free. “W-what do you want?” he muttered.

Whitney slammed Kylar’s face into the locker again, eliciting another cry from the shorter boy. “What do I want, hm?” he mocked. “Here’s an idea. How about you stay the fuck away from my bitch?”

“Your… what?” Kylar managed, his voice hoarse.

“Don’t play dumb,” Whitney snapped. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re stalking my bitch. You stole their underwear and built that freaky little shrine to them.”

Kylar continued to squirm. Whitney shoved his thigh between his legs, pinning him in place.

“And now, they’re telling me that you snuck into their room last night,” Whitney growled. “Fuckin’ disgusting. Makes me sick to think about you putting your hands on them.”

It was true. A little earlier, you had come to Whitney, barely holding back tears. You had told him what had happened to you last night. Whitney felt the fury bubble up inside him. He asked you who had done this to you, already knowing the answer. Whitney left then, set on finding that creep. You were still too in shock to stop him.

Now, the culprit had stopped squirming. Kylar was strangely still for a moment. Then, he spoke.

“They’re not yours.”

Whitney’s grip on Kylar’s hair faltered. His face fell in shock for a moment before his rage returned with double the force.

“The fuck did you say?” Whitney hissed.

“I-I said…” Kylar breathed, his voice quivering. “They’re not yours.”

Whitney’s thigh dug harder into the space between Kylar’s legs. “Of course they’re mine,” he insisted. “They’re my slut.”

“No,” Kyler retorted. “They… they should be mine. It would be better for them. I-I’m the only one who can take care of them. They’ll see.”

The last frayed thread of sanity inside Whitney snapped. His mind went blank. He grabbed Kylar by the collar of his shirt, hearing the smaller boy choke slightly as the fabric pressed into his windpipe. Whitney dragged Kylar through the first door he saw. He flung the door shut, the sound resounding with a loud bang throughout the empty classroom. He threw Kylar down on the teacher’s desk, sending a few leftover papers flying. Kylar whimpered.

Whitney stared down at Kylar, his red-rimmed eyes filled with something terrifying and monstrous. “You…” he began, his voice low and hoarse. “You… fucking…”

Barely a second had passed before Whitney was lunging at Kylar, crawling on top of him on the desk. Whitney pressed his thigh back in its place between Kylar’s. His strong, nimble hand wrapped around Kylar’s wrists, easily pinning his arms above his head.

“You… are disgusting,” Whitney whispered. His voice rumbled against Kylar’s lips. “You… you’ll get what you deserve.”

Whitney pried Kylar’s lips apart. Kylar tried to turn his head away, but Whitney’s fingers dug into his jaw, holding him in place.

“Filth for filth,” Whitney muttered. He spat into Kylar’s mouth, then forced Kylar’s jaw shut. “Swallow.”

Kylar writhed, his legs kicking frantically, futilely. Whitney slapped him across the face. Kylar let out a small gasp, and his body stilled.

“Do what I fucking tell you,” Whitney grunted.

Kylar’s face was red, wrenched to the side from the impact of the slap. He slowly turned his head to face Whitney. A small trail of Whitney’s spit ran from the corner of his mouth. Whitney felt his cock twitch at the sight. It wasn’t that attracted to Kylar or anything. Obviously not. But someone who he despised was writhing beneath him. Someone who had wronged him was completely at his mercy. Who could blame him for getting horny from that?

Kylar peered up at Whitney and swallowed. Whitney’s eyes lingered on the gentle motion of Kylar’s throat bobbing. His free hand wrapped around Kylar’s neck. He didn’t try to choke him. It was the gesture that counted.

Whitney was about to speak when he felt something pressing against his leg. He glanced down and saw a tent in Kylar’s pants—not a huge tent, obviously, but still—poking into the flesh of his thigh.

Kylar let out a noise that sounded like a squeak. “I… I’m not…”

A sharp laugh from Whitney shut him up. “So, this is what gets you off, huh?” he mused. “You’re one of those sick fucks who needs to be abused to get his dick hard.”

“No!” Kylar cried. “I-I don’t like this!”

Whitney ignored him. His hand wandered down and tugged at the hem of Kylar’s trousers until they relented, slipping down his thighs. Whitney noticed immediately that Kylar wasn’t wearing underwear. He snorted.

“I-I forgot,” Kylar managed.

“Of course you did,” Whitney murmured.

He eyed Kylar’s cock. It wasn’t as small as he would have thought, but it wasn’t huge, either. It was perfectly average. In any case, Whitney pitied the poor fuck that would have this inside them one day, because it probably wasn’t all that clean.

He ran his thumb over the tip. Kylar’s whole body shuddered violently in response.

“Never been touched there before, have you?” Whitney tutted. “Damn shame. Well, I’m not going to touch you there either.”

He pushed himself up to kneeling and quickly undid his belt buckle. He pulled his pants and underwear down just enough to reveal his thick, erect cock. He liked it this way—Kylar fully exposed, terrified and quaking, and himself, almost fully clothed, with only his cock on display. Everything about Whitney screamed power. Just the way he liked it.

Whitney released Kylar’s hands. Kylar immediately tried to grab Whitney’s shoulders and push him away, but another slap across the face stopped him.

“You’re not getting out of this,” Whitney muttered. His hands, now free, gripped the undersides of Kylar’s thighs and lifted them up, practically folding the boy in half. He ignored the wail of pain from Kylar at the stretch.

Whitney lined up his cock with Kylar’s hole. It was only then that Kylar seemed to realize what was happening.

“D-don’t!” he shouted. “Stop! I-I’m not-”

Whitney tore at the fabric of Kylar’s shirt, ripping off a scrap just large enough to stuff into Kylar’s mouth. “Shut up and this will be a hell of a lot easier,” he hissed. “Who knows? You might even cum from it.”

Then, without any preparation or prelude, Whitney shoved his cock as far inside Kylar as it would go. Kylar’s screams of pain were muffled by the makeshift gag. Whitney gasped for air, hovering over Kylar as he adjusted to the feeling of being inside him.

“F-fuck,” Whitney whispered, his eyes wide with awe. “Fuck, I can’t believe this is your first time. I would’ve thought that someone would’ve discovered this tight hole sooner.”

With that, Whitney started moving, giving Kylar no chance for reprieve as he thrusted with a breakneck pace. Kylar’s screams were quickly reduced to pained whimpers. Tears spilled over the edges of his eyes, which only spurred Whitney on.

“Fuck, keep crying, that’s so good,” Whitney panted, his hips moving with an almost inhuman intensity. “You deserve this. You deserve every bit of this.”

Kylar’s cock leaked pitifully, red and untouched. A bulge formed on his stomach, his flesh protruding outwards from the sheer girth of Whitney’s cock thrusting into him. His torn shirt was the only thing left defending his dignity. His arms were technically free, but they weren’t of much use to him, pinned under his own thighs and the crushing force of Whitney’s strength.

Whitney laid a hand on Kylar’s stomach. “Look at that,” he said, his voice filled with awe. He fished around in his back pocket until he found his phone, then quickly snapped a photo of Kylar. When Kylar glared at him, Whitney laughed. “You think I’m sharing that photo? Fuck no. That’s all for me.”

All it took was a few more pointed thrusts into Kylar’s prostate before he was cumming hard, his back arching off the desk even as he fought against it. A series of strangled moans filtered through the fabric of the gag.

“See, you do like this,” Whitney breathed. “Told you so. Nasty little fucker.”

His movements grew more erratic as he neared his climax. “Gonna cum inside you,” he huffed. “I bet it’ll stay in you for weeks, since you never shower.”

Tears streamed down Kylar’s face, his body having long since gone limp. Whitney fucked him like a ragdoll, like a fleshlight, like he wasn’t human at all. A loud groan left Whitney’s lips as he came, his hot seed filling Kylar’s ass. He withdrew his cock, but the bulge in Kylar’s abdomen stayed. There was no sound in the room besides two sets of breaths—one blissful and satisfied, the other hoarse and labored.

Whitney stood up. He tucked his cock back into his boxers and re-buckled his belt. He snapped another photo of Kylar, wanting to preserve the image of his cum leaking out of the smaller boy’s ass, then slapped him one more time for good measure.

“Tell anyone about this and I’ll kill you,” Whitney threatened. He strode towards the door, slamming it shut as he shouted one last command over his shoulder: