Mikey couldn’t bring himself to write the apology. Every time he tried to type it out, bile rose in his throat. He couldn’t stop thinking about what had been done to him, to Connor, to who knew how many others. Was he really just going to let Bryce Allen get away with all this?
He begged his dad to let him stay home sick from school the next day, but that excuse could only last so long. When he returned the following day, he was on alert for something to happen, someone to grab him or threaten him or something.
But nothing happened.
Eventually, Mikey relaxed. Even when he walked by the principal’s office, the man just glanced up at him and looked away as though nothing had ever happened. Maybe they thought he’d been punished enough. Maybe it was all over.
Mikey was still resolved to figure out some way to bring Bryce Allen down, but he knew now he’d have to be much sneakier about it, much more quiet. He couldn’t risk being found out again.
He watched the news for mention of Mr. Allen, and found that his tweet had, in fact, attracted national attention. But it was only a footnote on most news sites, and the stories all painted him as a delinquent kid who was acting out, trying to damage the reputation of an important genius. It made Mikey furious.
Several days later, when the weekend finally came around, Mikey was getting his shoes on, preparing to go see Connor. Maybe he’d be willing to help Mikey come up with ideas for revenge. But before he could leave the house, his father called out to him.
“Just a sec Mikey, hang on, don’t go anywhere,” said his dad.
He looked up to find his dad on the phone, finishing up a conversation. He seemed to be listening intently, interjecting occasionally to confirm whatever he was hearing. “No, I understand,” he said. “Yes. Yes, of course. So, now, then? Alright, if that’s- yes. Will do. Thank you.” He hung up and turned to Mikey.
“There’s an event we need to go to,” he said, looking stern.
“An event?” Mikey asked. “I was just about to go see Connor-”
“This is more important,” his dad interrupted. “I understand you got in some trouble recently with Mr. Allen, and refused to apologize?”
Mikey flushed. “That’s- we already settled that. It’s fine.”
His dad sighed and came to join Mikey in the entryway. He opened a closet and handed Mikey a red turtle-neck sweater. “Wear this,” he said, “it’s getting cold out. We don’t want you catching a chill.”
Mikey obediently pulled the sweater over his head, confused. “But, where are we going? We don’t have to- to go to his house or anything, do we?”
His dad shook his head. “You’ll see when we get there. Depending on your behavior, we may have to have a talk when we get back. I don’t like to hear that you’ve been misbehaving, especially after I explicitly told you not to.”
Mikey’s heart sank, but he got into the car with his dad without further complaint.
It didn’t seem like they were going to a residential area. In fact, Mikey realized quickly, they were headed for the center of town. He recognized the park out the car window, the big one between the churches where there were concerts sometimes. There was a big bandstand stage in the center of the place, a large gazebo-like structure surrounded by fences. People would perform there, or occasionally the mayor would use it to give speeches, like on the fourth of July before the fireworks. Now, as they drove past, Mikey saw that there was an enormous crowd of people gathered around, watching something. They drove by too fast to see exactly what it was.
They didn’t go far, though. Soon his dad parked the car and they both got out, crossing the street into the park proper.
Mikey got to the edge of the crowd and froze, seeing Mr. Allen’s enormous bodyguard approaching them. Fear seized him. But his father just waved at the man and stopped, waiting for him.
“You’re just in time. He’ll be up soon,” said the bodyguard to Mikey’s dad. Mikey wasn’t sure what he meant. He flinched as the man knelt in front of him, taking something out of his pocket and reaching for Mikey.
The object he was holding appeared to be some sort of dog collar or small belt. It was really little more than a loop of leather with a clasp at the back, but there was a strange small plastic box mounted on the front. As the bodyguard lifted it up in front of him, Mikey saw that there were two rounded metal nubs on the box, facing the inside of the collar.
Mikey started to protest as the bodyguard began to fasten the collar around his neck, but his father’s hand on his shoulder stopped him in place. “Do what the man says,” his father ordered sternly.
And so the bodyguard clipped the collar around Mikey’s neck and tightened it until it was vaguely uncomfortable, pushing it down to hide it under the fabric of Mikey’s sweater. “Be silent,” he warned, his tone threatening. “Not a single word out of you. Nod if you understand.”
Mikey nodded, incredibly confused about what was going on. But he said nothing as the bodyguard led both him and his father towards the crowd of people around the bandstand, taking them through to the front.
As the people in front of them parted, Mikey realized it was Bryce Allen on the stage, dressed in sleek business casual with a well-tailored suit jacket over a t-shirt. He was standing at a podium with microphones, and there were TV cameras right at the foot of the steps, all pointed up towards him.
“And finally,” Mr. Allen was saying, “I would like to announce a new local initiative. The investors might not care so much about this one, but it’s near and dear to my heart personally. As many of you know, I suffered a bit of a social media incident recently.” There were soft chuckles from the crowd. Mr. Allen smiled self-deprecatingly. “I know many men in my position would be angry, would demand satisfaction, but to tell you the truth, it’s really just made me realize how very easy it is for young men in our culture to go astray. To lash out. Now, I’m not angry about the rumors that were spread about me. Honestly, it really just makes me sad to see such a young boy ruin his own future like that.”
He stepped to the side where there seemed to be some sort of easel set up next to him, covered in a cloth. “Which is why I’m proud to announce Right Path.” He pulled the cloth off of the easel, revealing a professional-looking logo in deep crimson. It was shaped like a capital letter Y, with the right-hand branch turning into an arrow that pointed upward and outward. At the base of the shape were the letters “RP”.
“Right Path is an after-school program designed to reach out to local youth,” Mr. Allen continued. “Our goal is to keep young boys in school and out of trouble, to give them a place to spend their afternoons, and to help teach them proper behavior by focusing specifically on community service. These boys need to learn about not only the consequences of their actions, but also the responsibility and the duty that they bear to those around them.”
He beamed. “Therefore, to start with, our very first member is going to be young Michael Campion himself!” He gestured broadly to Mikey in the audience. Everyone turned to look at him. Before he could do or say anything, the bodyguard was leading Mikey up onto the stage, a hand firmly on his shoulder. He brought him to Bryce Allen’s side, where the man put a companionable arm around him, smiling brightly for the cameras.
“Mr. Gene Campion is a single father. We all know how difficult it is to raise a child all by yourself, which is why Right Path is here to lend a hand. I’m funding the project entirely myself. Young Michael here will get all the support he needs, and will learn the best ways to serve his community and keep himself out of trouble in the future.” He grinned down at Mikey, causing the crowd to laugh once more.
Now was his chance, Mikey thought. He looked at the video cameras. Was this live? He wasn’t sure, but either way, this was his best opportunity to tell people the truth about what was happening. He opened his mouth to shout out what Allen had done to him, to beg them not to trust him.
But the moment he tried to speak, his body was shot through with a sudden, blinding pain. He gasped. His throat burned where the collar under his sweater had sent a significant electric shock into his body. He was unable to make a sound.
He wasn’t sure he would’ve been heard anyway. The crowd was cheering, and Bryce Allen was waving at the cameras. “Thank you all for coming,” he said graciously. “It’s been very much appreciated, and I hope I’ve been able to provide a bit of insight for everyone into our upcoming projects. You all have a great afternoon!”
The red lights on the TV cameras went off, and they were taken down off the shoulders of various cameramen as they began to pack up. Tears pricked the corners of Mikey’s eyes. He’d been so close! It had been such a perfect opportunity!
“Now,” said Mr. Allen, apparently not done speaking yet, “for those willing to stick around, I have a very special preview of our Right Path methodology. Bruce, if you would?”
The bodyguard moved out from behind them and proceeded to grab something off to the side of the stage. Whatever it was, it was so heavy that he apparently needed help to lift it. Mikey watched as he and another man carried a large wooden board to the center of the stage and placed it out in front of the podium, right at the edge of the stairs that led up to the bandstand. The wooden beam was probably about a foot high, although narrow, and had three large holes in it, with the largest one in the center.
The bodyguard returned to the podium and grabbed Mikey roughly, dragging him forward. Mikey tried to protest, forgetting about the collar, and got zapped again for his trouble. It made his legs weak, which made it that much harder to resist being pulled along.
The other man who had helped bring the wooden beam onto the stage reached forward and grabbed the top of the strange object, lifting it. Mikey saw with surprise that it was hinged, the top half lifting up and exposing the circles.
He gasped as he was practically thrown down onto his knees. The bodyguard forced his head down into the central circle in the wood and his hands into the other two smaller holes. Then the men let the wooden board slam closed, locking it in place with an enormous metal latch to one side. Mikey tried to stand, but the board was immensely heavy. He couldn’t lift it off of him, and the holes were too small to pull back his head or his hands. He was stuck in place, pinned on his knees in front of the intrigued crowd.
Mr. Allen came up beside him and put one foot up on the top of the wooden stock. “As I was saying,” he said, loudly enough for the crowd to hear him, “Right Path’s main focus is on community service. Well boy?” He looked down at Mikey. “Time to learn to service your community.”
He looked down into the crowd and extended a hand forward. “As we all know, the strongest figure of discipline and respect in the household has to be the parent. Gene Campion is an incredibly hard-working citizen, and Michael here owes him everything in his life. The very least he could do is show his father how grateful he is. Mr. Campion, why don’t you come up and take the first turn.”
There was applause from the crowd as Mikey’s dad stepped forward, looking sheepish and uncertain. Mr. Allen guided him to stand behind Mikey, out of line of sight. “Here,” he heard the businessman say, “Bruce has some gel for you there to help you get ready.”
Mikey felt hands on his pants, drawing them down to his knees along with his underwear. He tried desperately to look behind him, but the stock completely halted all neck movement and blocked his peripheral vision. All he could see were the faces of the audience, staring at him with rapt attention.
Moments later, Mikey felt a weight settle behind him, straddling his legs, and then hands on his cold, exposed butt cheeks. They were held firmly, pulled apart, and then Mikey felt a penis begin to slide into him.
Unlike his previous encounter, Mikey’s anus had not been prepared for this intrusion. Although the penis was well-lubricated, the push into him was immensely tight and it hurt. Mikey gasped and tried to call out, but the collar was still around his neck and immediately shocked him. Mikey’s entire body convulsed; he heard his father gasp behind him as the movement involuntarily clenched his rectum tightly around his dad’s cock.
Mikey gritted his teeth as his father recovered and continued his plunge inward, forcing himself steadily deeper and deeper. He finally came to rest so far inside that Mikey could feel his father’s balls brushing against his ass cheeks. Then he was treated to rhythmic grunts in his father’s voice as the man pulled backwards and began to firmly and mercilessly fuck his son’s ass.
The expressions on the faces in the crowd were mixed. Some looked astonished, others delighted. Some even seemed fearful. No one made a move to stop what was happening.
“There we are,” Bryce Allen said cheerfully, coming forward once again as Mikey’s father continued to thrust. “Let’s show this boy what the love and support of his community looks like, shall we? Gentlemen, if you’re interested in taking part, please form an orderly line at the base of the stairs here. Ladies, I’m sorry to say that at his current level of training he’s not really good for much else than a pair of holes right now, so I’m afraid you won’t be able to be satisfied this afternoon. Sorry about that.”
The crowd separated into two factions. Many people left, but many more stuck around. Some seemed content to merely stand around and watch Mikey be fucked, but a great number of men took Bryce Allen up on his offer and lined up in front of Mikey. Mr. Allen directed the first man in line to mount the stairs.
While Mikey’s father pounded away at his ass, Mr. Allen helped the first man kneel down on the step in front of Mikey and pull his dick out to press it against Mikey’s lips. Mikey tried to keep his mouth firmly shut, the horror of the upcoming future unrolling in front of him like a bad dream, but Mr. Allen leaned in very close.
“Now now,” he whispered, “you know better. This is your community. Service them, or you will be punished. Trust me, you don’t want to know what the punishment is.”
Cowed, Mikey opened his mouth and let the man slip his cock inside. At least he didn’t have to do much. The man eagerly fucked his face, plunging in and out of his mouth with wild abandon. He came quickly, and the next man in line stepped up to replace him.
Mikey swallowed back his humiliation and submitted to a repeat of that horrible day in the principal’s office. Except this time there were far more people ready and waiting to fuck him. Eventually his father finished, pumping his son full of his seed, and stepped away. Then he came back around front to watch the man plugging Mikey’s face. He wouldn’t meet his son’s eyes.
Mikey’s ass was not vacant for long. The next man in line came up to kneel behind him and the process continued. Mikey could say nothing in protest over the endless parade of cocks that railed him, impaling him from both ends and filling him with gallons upon gallons of seed.
Eventually a man approached the steps with an enormous floppy dog on a leash, brown and white and drooling. Mr. Allen stepped forward to shake his hand. “Ah, Hal, I was wondering if you’d finally join us! Welcome, welcome! Michael,” he turned to Mikey as if he was introducing the man at a party, “this is Harold Amorsby. An excellent example of the top caliber of citizenship here in our little town. He breeds Saint Bernards. It’s his dog Rufus here whose collar you’re borrowing.”
“Had a real barking problem,” said Harold. “Nothing like a shock collar for the training. Silent as a mouse he is now.”
“You owe him your gratitude,” said Mr. Allen to Mikey. “Why don’t you show him how very thankful you are for his gift?”
Mikey opened his mouth, resigned, waiting for the man’s phallus. Harold knelt down on the steps and proceeded to unzip his fly.
“Oh, I’m sorry, that too,” said Mr. Allen, “but I meant you should show Rufus your gratitude.”
Mikey’s eyes widened, as did Mr. Amorsby’s. The man let out a low whistle. “Well, I suppose, why not. That fella behind him almost done?”
As he asked, Mikey felt the hips of the man fucking his ass start to buck wildly. Seconds later he was coming messily, pulling out part way as he did. Mikey hadn’t even seen the man’s face, knew him only from the girth of his dick and the warmth of his cum splattering Mikey’s cheeks.
As he withdrew and stepped aside, Harold gave a sharp whistle and patted Mikey’s back between his shoulderblades. “Rufus,” he said in a sharp, commanding voice, “mount.”
Horror swept over Mikey as a large, furry form heaved itself up onto his back. The animal was larger than he was; he felt one of its massive paws on either side of his ribs where they were pressed against the ground. Forgetting himself, Mikey tried to shout once more, to protest, to wriggle away somehow. All he got was another shock from the collar, leaving him groaning.
His desperate writhing seemed to excite the dog, who began to happily hump his rear end, hips pumping away behind Mikey. He could feel the brush of its soft, warm fur repeatedly coming into contact with his ass and the back of his thighs. Its cock was firm against his backside, skating around wildly in the generous deluge of cum and lube coating Mikey’s ass.
Harold was still kneeling in front of Mikey, but looking over his back, apparently supervising the dog. “That’ll do to start,” he said, “but you may have to help him find the mark a little bit. Just grab his hips and direct- yeah, like that.”
Mikey’s eyes widened as the animal’s cock suddenly hit home and began to press into him. His cheeks burned in humiliation as the animal penetrated him and then continued its mad thrusting, swiveling its cock in and out of him with reckless abandon.
Satisfied, Mr. Amorsby returned his attention to Mikey’s front and took his own satisfaction, forcing Mikey’s head down onto his rock-hard member.
The dog’s cock felt very different from all the others that had taken their pleasure in Mikey’s ass that afternoon. At first it seemed smaller, much more bearable, but as the animal continued to fuck Mikey, the feeling of penetration seemed to grow and grow. It was as though the dog’s cock was inflating inside him, getting bigger and bigger until the stretch became genuinely painful. Mikey groaned in confusion and discomfort; the loudest sound he could make with the shock collar on.
Mikey felt the dog’s seed gush into him, but the thrusting did not stop. Still the penetration grew more and more massive, until finally, just when he thought there was no way it could get any bigger, he felt the dog shift over him.
‘It must be done,’ he thought, but though the dog moved its weight off of his back, the feeling of penetration did not go away. On the contrary, Mikey was treated once again to the sensation of cum flooding into him as the dog came and came and came inside him. The deluge seemed endless. And still the feeling of immense penetration did not stop.
“Well, he’s knotted and tied now,” said Mr. Amorsby as he thrust particularly viciously down Mikey’s throat. “He’ll stand like that with his knot up the boy’s ass for, oh, probably fifteen minutes or so. Thirty tops. Then the swelling should go down and the next person can have their turn.”
“Fascinating,” said Mr. Allen. “I’m learning all sorts of new things about dog breeding. Thank you so much! As you can see, Michael is very grateful to both you and Rufus for loaning him your property.”
“Happy to help,” said Harold, and came hard down Mikey’s gullet.
“Is this going to take much longer?” asked Mikey’s father diffidently from one side. “We really should be getting home soon so I can start on dinner.”
“Hmmm,” said Bryce Allen thoughtfully. “Well, as you can see, there’s still quite a bit of a line.” He gestured to where, now that Harold Amorsby had stepped aside, Mikey could see that there was indeed still a substantial line of men waiting their turn for his holes, a patient queue that snaked down the path and off into the park. “How about this? Why don’t you head home whenever you need to, and we’ll drive Michael back when he’s done here. Sound good?”
“Oh,” said Michael’s dad. He hesitated. “Well, I suppose, if it’s not too much trouble...”
“Don’t even worry about it,” said Mr. Allen, his voice genial. “It’s no trouble at all, I promise you. What do you say, one more quickie before you go?”
Mikey’s dad was silent for a moment. Mikey tried to look over at him, but his vision was eclipsed by a large man coming to kneel in front of him, wrenching his head forward and forcing it down onto his cock.
“Alright,” said his father’s voice eventually. “Once the dog finishes up, one more for the road.”