(This story contains a major theme of non-consent; please be warned.)

*

We had been friends forever, you and I.

From when we were kids, all the way through school, then after school and through the college years. We had been inseparable.

Well, some of the time. There were times when we didn’t see each other. We hadn’t done the same things at college. I was the artistic one, you were the engineer.

But we’d done so much together. Changed after PE in the same changing room at school. Gone swimming together. Gone running together. Got drunk together.

When I realised, at the age of 19, that I was queer, and I didn’t want to tell you in case it ended our friendship, you figured it out yourself, and took me out one night and we had beers and you told me that you were happy for me. And we hugged each other.

And you had girlfriends, and I mostly liked them, and I had girlfriends as well as boyfriends, and you mostly liked them. But we were still best mates, even if we preferred to be with our partners at least some of the time.

There was one thing that you did, which I never did.

You used to joke about you and me.

I loved you like a brother. Actually more than I love my own brother, because he’s kind of a dick. But that was as far as I felt about you. I never had dreams about you–well, maybe a long time ago, a couple, when I was having dreams about every boy and girl I knew and liked. But I never thought about you and I that way.

But you liked to joke about that.

After a few beers, in the right company, and only when you were single, you would start making jokes that if you were still single when you were thirty, well, then you’d just have to give it all up and marry me. Or if you were feeling really horny you’d ask me to talk about the last guy I was with and really go into detail.

I was always a bit uncomfortable about that. Because I’m not some stereotypical bi guy who lusts after twice as many people as gay or straight guys.

I’ve always been quite picky, and have always had a type, when it comes to women: women who were quite boyish or androgynous. I’ve lusted after an awful lot of lesbians. But occasionally, another girl and I have had the same thought at the same time, and the chemistry has happened.

Just like my male type is guys who are taller and stronger than me, who could throw me around the bed if they wanted to. You’re a bit like that, physically, with your rugby playing and everything, but you’re also… you. For all the times I’ve seen your ass in the changing room, I’ve never wanted to see any more of you.

And it turned out that that was our problem.

*

I met Dee when we were all 28.

She was very much my type. Angular, short-haired, dry, funny, smart. We clicked immediately.

Maybe we clicked a bit too hard. We were each other’s type. She liked guys who weren’t conventionally masculine, and I fit that bill, what with liking guys as well as women.

For a few months, Dee and I spent every spare moment in bed together. It was great. We were both so experimental that we tried out everything that we wanted to try out.

Well, it was great while it lasted. After we had been so experimental, Dee began to be more distant with me, and then even more so.

And then came the day that she admitted that she no longer fancied me, and wanted us to break up while we were still friendly.

I was sad, but I said yes. We hugged, and we went our separate ways.

I admit to being a little surprised when, a couple of weeks later, Dee was going out with you.

However, my lingering blazing jealousy only lasted a week, because then I met Martin.

Martin was French, and bi, like me, and sexy, and charming, and he was into me. He and I fell into bed on our fourth date. He was a great partner: energetic but also tender and affectionate.

Of course, everyone wanted Martin. But I was the one who had him, perhaps because I was the one who so neatly met all his needs as a lover.

Except, as it turned out, for one other person.

*

Once we were all hanging out together–you, Dee, Martin and I, and the rest of the gang–it didn’t take me weeks to realise that Martin and Dee hit it off rather well.

Maybe a little too well.

Martin encourage me to get my hair cut like Dee’s hair. He and I became boyfriend and girlfriend in all but configuration of genitalia. He bought me sexy lingerie. I found it a bit ridiculous, but the sex was so good that I didn’t mind.

But one night, as he was falling asleep, I heard him murmur Goodnight, Dee, and it was the writing on the wall.

I was quite proud of myself. It only took me a week to summon up the nerve to break up with him.

He took it philosophically, but I think he was secretly relieved. I was certainly relieved to not have to pretend to be my ex-girlfriend for him. I simply got on with my life, and waited for what I suspected might happen.

And sure enough, it did.

*

You rang me, one night, drunk and stoical, and told me that Dee had broken up with you, and that you were gutted because you’d been planning to propose to her.

I was all sympathy, but I was in for the night. I wasn’t in any particular mood to help you drown your sorrows.

That came a few days later.

*

You invited me out for a drink and scheduled it for Friday night, so I knew you planned to go on quite late.

That was fine with me. I had nothing better to be doing, and I did feel sorry for you.

We met up early, and got some food, so as to lay down a basis for the night’s drinking, and then we went to the pub.

It was a pretty good night, to begin with. We were in a pub that we both liked to go to so our friends kept showing up, and so there was always at least a couple of other people at the table, enabling us to avoid heavy silences.

You cheered up somewhat, and I kept our drinks coming. By closing time we were both feeling pretty merry.

It was then that a guy carrying the last round past our table slipped slightly and jogged it, causing my half-empty pint to spill over my lap. He was very apologetic and got me another one, and I didn’t really mind, but I wasn’t pleased that my jeans were now soaked in beer.

By the time we finished, my jeans were still damp and I smelled like a brewery. But you and I were having fun, and you invited me back to your place so we could have a couple more drinks and I could wash my jeans in your washing machine.

This seemed like as good an idea as any, so you and I walked back to your flat feeling like the best of brothers.

When we were there, you instructed me to put my damp jeans in the washing machine and you gave me a spare pair of yours–slightly the wrong size, as my ass sticks out more than yours and your legs are longer.

But we sat on the sofa and got more beers and ate snacks, and then we started talking, as your washing machine whirred in the room across the hall.

You talked about how much you missed Dee, and what a bastard Martin was, and I agreed. You were bitter about the irony that my boyfriend had left me to steal my ex away from you. I had got to have sex with Dee and Martin, but you had only got to have sex with Dee.

‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘but you’re not bi.’

‘How do you know?’ you said.

‘I think I’d know by now,’ I said.

‘You never give me any credit,’ you said.

‘What does that mean?’

You changed the subject.

We talked about good times we’d had, and good times we’d have later, and tentatively made plans to go off cycling together, or something.

As we drank more beer, we got into the mood to watch a movie. You wanted to know if there were any queer movies I liked, so I thought of one, and we watched it, or started to watch it. About an hour in, you dozed off. I had been enjoying the sex scene, but I paused the movie and nudged you awake. You peered at the TV and spent the rest of the movie trying not to fall asleep.

After that, we talked some more, and by then it was half two on a summer night and it would be getting light soon. I was encouraging you to not be down on yourself, telling you what a cool, good-looking guy you were. Trying to raise your spirits.

Eventually you said you were going to bed. I said I’d sleep on the sofa. It wasn’t a very big sofa but I already felt quite drunk and was in no mood to walk three miles home.

You said ‘Nah, don’t be like that. You can share with me.’

‘You sure?’ I said.

‘Course. Not a problem.’

‘Okay if I take a shower before coming to bed? I still smell of beer.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ you said. ‘That’s fine.’

Then you came over and leaned over me, your breath smelling of beer.

‘Love you, man,’ you mumbled, and held out your arms.

I stood up and gave you a hug, and I heard you going to bed, then I went to the bathroom, stripped off and got under the shower.

The lukewarm water revived me and cleared my head a little. I dried off and put my briefs back on, then I brushed my teeth with some toothpaste on my finger, and went into the dark bedroom.

You were over on the left side of the bed. I put my clothes on a chair and got in at the right side, and turned away from you.

Presently I was asleep.

*

I woke up with the dawn coming through the window.

You were behind me. Your arm was flung around me. You were in t-shirt and shorts. I was wearing only tight briefs.

It was quite friendly and brotherly, and I was almost sort of flattered.

But then you made a little sigh, and rubbed your groin against my bum.

‘Stop that,’ I murmured, smiling.

You made a noise in your throat, a sort of negative ‘Mn.’

You did it again. I could feel your cock through the fabric of my briefs and your boxers.

‘I said stop that.’

In response, your hand moved down to my crotch and you touched me.

I made a little gasp.

Your fingers curled around my cock and balls, not inside my briefs, still outside them, but stroking me.

‘You don’t want to do this,’ I said softly.

‘Mmm.’

‘Seriously. You need to stop, man.’

Your body shifted closer to mine. You were up against my bare back. One of your legs parted mine so that I was partly rolled onto my stomach.

‘Come on,’ I said, uncomfortable. ‘This isn’t right.’

‘Mmmmm.’

Your fingers strayed inside the waistband of my briefs and touched my cock for real.

I was getting hard.

My eyes shut, I was imagining you doing me. Your bigger, more masculine body mounting mine and taking me. And I knew that everything about that was wrong. That it would mean the end of our friendship, if I let you do it.

But you were holding my cock in your hand. And your cock was rubbing through two layers of cloth against my bum. And it was feeling like something that was just naturally happening.

We had both been fairly recently broken up with, and we had been hanging out all evening, and we had been as close as we had ever been, and we’d got drunk, and we’d said we loved each other.

And now, you had woken up to find my almost-naked body in bed next to yours. The body you’d so often joked about being with. You’d got me to tell you what I liked other guys to do to my body, and I had humoured you.

And now, here I was, with only a small piece of fabric covering me.

Friends with, as they say, benefits.

Your right hand pulled down the fabric of my briefs at the front, freeing my cock and balls. I squirmed in your grip.

You started kissing the back of my neck and my shoulders.

I cursed how much this was getting me aroused. The more you treated me like a sex object, the more I felt like acting like one.

‘This isn’t right,’ I gasped as you pulled on my cock. I was already exposed at the front.

You let go of me for a moment and pulled down the duvet, uncovering us. I know how much you get turned on by visual stimulation, because I’m the same.

Your left hand was pulling at the waist of my briefs just above my ass.

I moaned softly and grabbed hold of my briefs.

You made a little purr of pleasure and tugged harder. I held on tight to the thing that was covering my modesty.

‘Please don’t,’ I sighed.

You abruptly pulled on them, and they slid down over my hips to the tops of my thighs, uncovering my ass.

I whimpered. You rapidly pulled them down my legs to my ankles and, I don’t know why, but I helped you by kicking them off.

You had finally got me naked.

Over the years we had seen each other naked in lots of situations, but never like this. Never as two grown men sharing a bed. Me naked, you keeping your modesty intact.

Now there was no doubt what you had in mind.

‘Oh no,’ I moaned. ‘Please.’

You let go of my cock for a moment and reached behind you, and then I felt you reaching between us and taking your cock out of your boxers and pushing it between my buttocks.

I squirmed, but you were already half on top of me.

‘Don’t do this,’ I whimpered.

The tip of your cock was slippery with lube. I gasped as you shifted your weight on top of me, rolling me so that I was face down on my belly. You parted my legs. This is my favourite position when a guy is fucking me. I must have told you that, at some point.

Your left hand came up my body.

‘Oh, no,’ I moaned. ‘No, please, no…’

Your left hand clamped itself over my face, your fingers closing my eyes, your palm covering my mouth.

And you directed your cock downwards, up against my anus.

My only option was to force myself to submit, to relax, and yield my body to yours.

We had known each other forever. But I had never fantasised about you doing this to me: treating me as your sex doll.

But now you were doing it, stripping me naked and mounting me and preparing to fuck me like the girl you were probably fantasising I was.

Then you penetrated me, and then you, my oldest friend, were buggering me as I sprawled naked and face-down beneath you, squirming and whimpering in helpless protest.

You were very good with your hips. I gasped and gave muffled squeals and whimpers as you occupied me, fucking my boy-cunt with your long, narrow cock.

And the truth was that I had given up wanting to keep our friendship. I wanted you to master me, to own me, to violate me, to make me your bitch.

Deep down, on some level, I had wanted this for years. I had just been afraid of what I wanted.

My body shook and jiggled slightly as you pumped into me, and you greedily kissed my face and hauled on my cock, making me into your squirming boy, knowing that I wouldn’t fight you off.

I heard myself giving repeated high-pitched moans: ‘UNH! UNH! UNH! UNH! UUNH!’ I sounded just like the girl you wanted me to be.

I felt the shaft of your cock sliding inside my ass, owning me, splitting me. I moaned with abject submission as you used me.

Well, you had certainly got your revenge on me, for getting to have sex with both Martin and Dee. You were fucking the guy who had fucked or been fucked by each of them.

Now you were fucking my brains out, without my consent and indeed in spite of my protests.

I was deep in myself and knew nothing except your cock up my ass, your hand on my cock, and your body pressing me into the mattress. I heard the high-pitched squeals and realised that they were coming from me. Helplessly, I felt myself cumming over the sheet, and then felt you doing the same inside my rectum.

I whimpered as you consummated your violation of me, and then felt you pull out and wipe your cock on my ass, and then roll over and be still.

I lay there, stunned and trembling for a moment, then I went to the bathroom and cleaned myself a little.

Then I returned to the bedroom and got back into bed, without putting my briefs back on.

*

From the moment I woke up the next morning, it was clear what we were going to be doing.

You came in from the bathroom with a towel around your waist, and looked at me as I looked back at you.

You jerked the duvet off me, exposing me. I didn’t cover myself up but looked up at you, wide-eyed. You got on the bed, knelt over my head and pushed your cock into my mouth, pulling my face up into your crotch.

I did my best to suck you off, but I’m not very good at it. You took your cock out of my mouth, reversed your position and sat on my face, putting your cock back into my mouth and then reaching down and jerking on my own.

I squirmed beneath you, whimpering at you using me like this. The towel was still around your waist and was draping my head like a tent.

Before either of us came, you got off me and flopped down on the bed and turned away from me.

I got up and went to the toilet, and then I went to the bathroom and got my enema bulb and returned to the toilet.

I cleaned myself out inside, then had a shower. After I was clean, I stepped out of the shower, dried off and wrapped a fresh towel around my waist, then I left the bathroom.

You were in the hall outside the bathroom, fully dressed. You took my towel and snatched it away from me, then pushed me, so that my naked back and arse were against the wall, and you leaned in and kissed me, grabbing my cock. I moaned softly into your mouth.

You kept kissing me, your hands all over my bare arse, and then you were kissing my neck and I was gasping with arousal.

Then you pulled me down to the floor, and rolled me onto my belly.

I moaned ‘Please, no…’ because I wanted to be somewhere more comfortable than lying on your hall carpet, but you were already squirting lube between my ass cheeks and then you grasped my shoulder with one hand and directed your cock between my buttocks.

I squealed as you entered me, and you put both hands on my shoulders and pumped me, buggering your naked best friend as he lay beneath you, face down. I submitted to it.

You fucked me for a long time but still you didn’t come. I sensed that you were getting frustrated.

You pulled out of me and I lay there, panting, and you said brusquely ‘Get up.’

I got to my feet and you took me into the living room, where you bent me over the back of the sofa and entered me again.

This was more uncomfortable and more humiliating, but I was no less aroused. I had the feeling that all you wanted to do now was fuck me until you had had enough of it. And I was willing to let that happen to me.

I whimpered as you sodomised me, my face buried in the fabric of the sofa, and then you pulled me up and took me standing almost upright, bent away from you, my eyes closed and my mouth hanging open.

But even then, with your cock pushing into my arse for several minutes, you still didn’t come. You pulled out and pushed me so that I fell forward over the back of the sofa again. I let myself tumble down so that I was naked on the sofa and then turned around and sat, hugging my knees to my chest, as you zipped yourself up and sat on the chair opposite, looking at me.

We were silent for a long moment: me naked, you clothed.

‘What do you want to do,’ I said quietly.

‘I want to do everything to you that I wanted to do with her, but she wouldn’t let me.’

‘You can do that,’ I said.

‘Everything?’

‘As long as it doesn’t involve injury or death.’

You looked at me steadily for a moment.

‘You fancy dressing up?’ you said.

*

Half an hour later I was on the bed, face down.

I was wearing Dee’s clothes. She’d left a pair of jeans and a couple of shirts and some underwear at yours, and I was now in bra and panties and jeans and shirt.

My head, however, was tied and laced into a fake-leather hood with a blindfold over the eye-holes and another piece of fake leather buckled in place over the mouth hole. A plastic ball gag filled my mouth. Inside the hood, a sleep mask covered my eyes.

I waited as you stood at the foot of the bed, watching me.

Then, as I knew you would, you got on the bed and ripped the shirt down my shoulders, and yanked the jeans down my legs and off. You pulled the shirt down my arms and threw it aside, then you tore at the bra fastening and yanked down my briefs.