My Bullies - Chapter Thirty-Four

The living room filled quickly.

Nine boys sprawled across couches, armchairs, and the floor—beers cracked open, snacks scattered, TV already tuned to pre-game highlights. Caleb stood in the center in his black Calvins and white tank, arms crossed, looking every inch the leader. Ethan hovered near the doorway in his tiny black shorts and cropped tank, heart hammering so hard he could feel it in his throat.

Caleb’s voice cut through the chatter.

“Ethan. Middle of the room.”

The talking died instantly. All eyes turned to him.

Ethan walked forward on unsteady legs, the carpet soft under his bare feet. He stopped in the center, surrounded by the semicircle of guys—some smirking, some openly staring, the five new ones leaning forward with hungry curiosity.

“Strip,” Caleb said.

Ethan’s hands shook as he peeled off the crop top, exposing his smooth chest and stomach. Then he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of the shorts and shoved them down. They pooled at his ankles. Naked again—cock already hard, smooth shaved pubes and hole on full display under the bright living room lights.

A low chorus of whistles and laughs rippled through the group.

Caleb stepped closer, voice calm but commanding.

“Walk to each guy. Offer your service for the rest of the day. Then show yourself off—fully. Cock and hole.”

Ethan swallowed. His cheeks burned crimson.

He started with Mason.

He walked to the couch where Mason lounged, dropped to his knees in front of him.

“I offer my service for the rest of the day, sir,” he whispered.

Mason grinned, reached out and squeezed Ethan’s balls lightly. “Good boy.”

Ethan stood, turned around, bent slightly, spread his cheeks with both hands—showing his smooth, pink hole to Mason and the room. Then he faced forward again, spread his legs, and lifted his cock so they could see every inch of his shaved groin.

He moved to Tyler next. Same words. Tyler slapped his ass hard enough to sting, then made him hold the pose longer.

Diego was quiet—just a nod and a slow stroke of Ethan’s leaking cock as Ethan showed his hole.

The five new guys were worse.

The lacrosse captain made Ethan repeat the offer twice, louder. The football players took turns pinching his nipples while he held himself open. The wrestler cupped his smooth balls and weighed them like fruit. The quiet swim-team kid stared longest, eyes wide, whispering “holy shit” when Ethan bent and spread.

By the time Ethan finished the circle, his face was on fire, cock dripping steadily onto the carpet, hole clenching with every heartbeat.

Caleb pointed to the center of the floor.

“Sit. Legs spread. Edge yourself. Finger yourself. Alternate. Don’t stop until the game starts.”

Ethan hesitated—eyes darting to the nine watching faces, the phones already out, the TV blaring pre-game noise in the background.

Caleb’s gaze locked on him—dark, steady, expectant.

That look alone was enough.

Ethan sank to the carpet, sat with his back against the coffee table, and spread his legs wide. The room went quiet except for the TV and the occasional low chuckle.

He wrapped his hand around his cock and stroked—slow at first, then faster—pre-cum slicking his palm. After ten strokes he switched, two fingers sliding into his still-loose hole, fucking himself while the other hand rested on his thigh.

Back and forth.

Stroke. Finger. Stroke. Finger.

His cheeks blazed hotter with every cycle. The five new guys stared openly, some palming themselves through their jeans, others filming discreetly. Mason and Tyler laughed and narrated for the burner.

“Look at the sissy go.”

“Bet he cums in front of everyone.”

Caleb sat back in the armchair, legs spread, watching with calm possession.

Ethan’s moans grew louder—soft, broken sounds he couldn’t hold back. His hole clenched around his fingers; his cock leaked in thick strings. He was right on the edge, over and over, but he didn’t dare cum.

Not without permission.

The game kicked off on the TV.

Caleb leaned forward slightly.

“Enough.”

Ethan’s hands froze instantly, body shaking, cock throbbing angrily against his stomach.

The boys cheered for the first play.

Caleb patted his thigh.

“Crawl here.”

Ethan dropped to all fours and crawled across the carpet to Caleb’s feet. The room watched, some laughing, some already palming themselves again.

Caleb spread his legs wider in the armchair, black Calvins stretched tight over his bulge.

“Sit,” he said softly. “Between my legs. Like a good puppy.”

Ethan settled on the floor between Caleb’s thighs, back against the armchair, head resting against Caleb’s inner thigh. Caleb’s hand came down, fingers threading through Ethan’s hair, petting him gently while the game played on the screen.

The other eight boys glanced over occasionally, smirking, but the focus shifted to the TV.

Ethan stayed there—naked, denied, leaking quietly onto the carpet—owned, displayed, and used exactly how Caleb wanted.