Marshall had been suspicious about Brett for a while. It was odd, because Brett hardly fit the image of "one of them". He was lean and well- toned, a talented swimmer with an air of confidence around him, but Marshall had often noticed the way Brett eyed him so furtively in the locker room. Himself a fine swimmer, Marshall was probably the only other freshman who could be a match for Brett in the water, and at first he thought this was why Brett seemed to gravitate toward him. It soon became apparent, though, that there was more to it than that. Marshall would glance over at Brett in the shower just as Brett was looking away, and from the corner of his eye he often saw Brett's gaze lingering on him. It made him nervous, and he tried to give Brett a wide berth as much as he could. Brett had never made any overt moves, and Marshall wanted to keep it that way. Still, every time he went to the pool, it seemed Brett was either already there, or would arrive shortly after. It didn't surprise Marshall when his buddy Kurt, a hulking tight end on the varsity football team, caught up with him in the student union with a proposition for an evening's entertainment. "Friday night," he grunted, grinning in anticipation. "It's about time someone rolled that fag."

"We figured you'd want to help, since he seems to have the hots for you."

That was Nick, Kurt's sidekick, a slight fellow who clung to Kurt's coattails

and helped him with his more difficult coursework. In return' Kurt didn't

let anyone kill him, which was a trying job at times. Marshall blushed

furiously and took a step toward Nick, who responded by ducking behind Kurt and snickering. Typical.

"Hey, chill," said Kurt. "You gotta admit, he's got a hard-on for you. That's

why we need you."

Marshall winced. "Me?" He wasn't sure he liked where this conversation was

going.

"No, your mother, Dumbshit! Of course you! All you gotta do is get this guy

to come back to your room with you, and we'll be waiting. It'll be easy --

just make the invite, and he'll probably come in his pants."

Nick tittered. "Yeah, we got Kurt, me, and Wayne Barenburg." He noticed

Marshall's discomfort. "What's up? You got a problem?"

"Uh..." Marshall began.

"Hey, Kurt," Nick said in a conspiratorial tone, "l think maybe him and that

Brett guy are butt-buddies." He leered tauntingly. "He doesn't wanna beat up

on his boyfriend!"

Marshall aimed a kick at Nick, who dove once more into Kurt's monolithic

shadow. He felt a pang inside. Yes, Brett was obviously gay, but...

But what? Something. What if Brett brought them up on assault charges? That

wasn't likely to happen. Wayne Barenburg was an even bigger fag-basher than

Kurt, and he usually did a thorough enough job that his victims didn't dare

finger him. Worse, though -- what if these guys didn't show, and left him

alone with Brett? What then?

"I'll do it," he muttered. "No sweat."

Kurt grinned broadly. "All you gotta do is get him to your room around nine.

We'll give you a couple of minutes and then come rescue you. After all, we

don't want to scare him off before we get a chance to beat his brains out."

"Right. Nine," Marshall said. Great.

For three days, Marshall wrestled with the idea. He'd never taken part in

any of the gay-bashing that Kurt and Wayne had done, though he'd been vocally

supportive of it. After all, if he didn't, he'd become a target himself. He

tried to tell himself that this was the natural order of things, that homos

deserved what they got; still, Brett had never done anything to him. He was

worried about getting in trouble for it, but then the others had always

managed to come off clean. Even so, he couldn't back out now. That wouldn't

look good.

By Friday, Marshall had formulated his plan. He arrived early at the pool

and swam idly, waiting, until his target emerged from the locker room.

Marshall watched Brett's chiseled, hairless form slide gracefully into the

pool, as though it was his natural element. Taking a deep breath, he waited

for Brett to surface, and then swam toward him. "Hey, Brett."

"Hi, Marshall. What's up?" "Not much." He tried to look nonchalant. "I've been meaning to ask you:

what's your fastest time on the hundred?"

Brett cocked his head and smiled impishly. "Not as fast as it could be. Why?"

Marshall shrugged. "Just that mine's not too bad, itself. Care to race?" As

expected, Brett eagerly took the bait. The two climbed from the pool and

mounted the blocks. Marshall cringed inwardly as he bent over to take his

mark, imagining what a picture this must present to Brett. "I'll let you call

it."

"Gotcha." Brett bent forward. "Set...go!"

They hit the water simultaneously, torpedoing ahead and breaking the surface

at quarter-length. Marshall swam with all the force he could, but as he

whipped his head aside to breathe he saw Brett slowly drawing ahead, his arms

pumping almost effortlessly. He was a full body-length ahead at the turn,

and his lead grew as they approached the blocks again. By the time Marshall

slapped his palm on the edge, Brett was already lounging back against the

wall. He wasn't even breathing heavily!

Brett turned and smiled at Marshall. "I was watching you," he said softly.

Marshall froze. "Huh? You were?"

"Yep. You've got to bend your knees more when you kick. You wouldn't

believe how much power you lose when your knees are too stiff. Let them flex

a bit, and you'll take off two whole seconds."

"Knees. Bend. Right!" Marshall started laughing in utter relief, unable to

control himself, until he noticed the odd look Brett was giving him. He

quickly fished for an excuse. "Er...your hair. It's standing up like two

horns in front. Makes you look like the devil."

"Does it, now?" Brett said with a sly grin. "Devil this!" He lunged

forward, bracing his hands on Marshall's shoulders and dunking him, then

launched himself away. Marshall came up sputtering and took off in hot

pursuit.

The next hour passed in good-natured horseplay, though Marshall was

constantly nagged by the reminder of his mission. The more time he spent

with Brett, the more he dreaded what was to come. He couldn't call off the

plan, though, especially not now. Besides, nothing changed the fact that

Brett was a queer, and like Kurt said, he had it coming to him. After the pool had closed and they'd headed for the showers, Marshall

gathered up his courage and made his move. First he chose a shower far in

the corner and lingered there, waiting for the locker room to clear out. Brett remained, too, as Marshall had expected he would. OK, stay cool, he

told himself. He made certain no one remained in the locker room, and then

allowed his gaze rest on Brett,s lean body, like Brett had done so many times

to him. When he knew Brett had noticed, he looked away quickly and shut off

his shower. "Sure builds up a thirst, doesn't it? Swimming, I mean."

"Yep." "I, uh, I've got some Pepsi in the fridge back in my room. Wanna drop by?"

Brett considered. "Your roommate wouldn't mind?"

Here we go. "I've got a single."

Brett smiled and nodded, and Marshall felt a sinking sensation. "Sure thing. Lead on."

Marshall tried to control his anxiety as he led Brett back to his room. He

was certain that Brett noticed, but wasn't saying anything. It was a few

minutes before nine when they arrived; Marshall half-hoped that the other

conspirators would tail to show up -- but then, that might well be worse than

what he knew was coming.

The soda cans in the refrigerator were pleasantly cold. Marshall noticed his

hand shaking a bit as he handed one to his guest. "Have a seat," he said.

Brett settled himself on the bed, and when Marshall sat down, Brett

nonchalantly shifted closer. Marshall felt a sudden surge of adrenalin, and

listened for telltale footsteps outside. "So...," he said, searching for

some small-talk, "thanks for the advice on the kicking." He paused. "I wish

I was as good a swimmer as you."

"You are. You just need practice." Brett downed his soda and set the can

aside, then laid a hand on Marshall's leg and squeezed a bit. "You've got

the build for it, after all."

Marshall felt his insides tum to ice, and he shot another glance at the door.

Did he see a shadow outside? His gaze retumed to Brett, who smiled gently at

him. "Nervous?" he whispered.

"No. Just..." Marshall glanced again at the door and swallowed. "Brett..."

he began, but he was cut off by a loud crash as the door burst open. Wayne

rushed in and pounced on the startled Brett, seizing his right arm and

hauling him up off the bed. Marshall acted mechanically, supressing

something inside that was trying to protest, and took Brett's other arm.

They all looked up as Kurt, a wooden baseball bat in his hand, strolled into

the room; Nick, as usual, was close behind. "What's the matter, Faggot?"

Kurt taunted. "Don't you want to play with us?"

Brad stared in momentary surprise, and then smiled and nodded to himself. He

looked over at Marshall. "Ah, I see. A setup." He showed no hint of fear or

anger, just a weary resignation, and a sense of disappointment. "It figures.

So, you boys feel threatened by little old me, is that it?"

Wayne twisted Brett's arm up behind his back. "Shut up, Queer!" he snarled.

His eyes shone with sadistic glee and his voice took on a mocking tone. "You

like to take it up the ass, don't you? Huh? That what you want? You wanna

take me up the ass?" He grinned maliciously. "I think so. How about we start with the bat to loosen you up first? Bet you'd like that!"

Nick giggled. "Bet he would!"

"Yeah, I'll bet he would." Kurt examined the bat idly as he spoke. "But we

don't want him enjoying himself too much." He took a step toward Brett,

slapping the bat into his palm a few times. Marshall stole a glance at

Brett's face, and was surprised to see a cool smile on his lips. Kurt saw it

too, and bared his teeth angrily. "Something funny, Faggot? You're looking

forward to getting the shit beat out of you?"

Brett chuckled softly. "No. Actually, I'm looking forward to you getting

what's coming to you." His gaze wandered casually from face to face. "All of

you." Something in his voice was very disconcerting.

There was a brief silence, as the four were momentarily taken aback. Nick

finally broke the silence. "Yeah, right! What're you gonna do, tell your

boyfriend on us?" He giggled again, an annoying sound, and looked up at Kurt

for approval. Kurt, however, was staring hard at Brett, infuriated that his

intended victim was taking this all so calmly.

"Hold him tight," he growled to Marshall and Wayne. "It's time to bash his

fucking little faggot brains out." He brandished the bat high. "Eat me, Fag-boy!"

Marshall would never be certain exactly what happened in the last second as

the bat whistled downward. The room shimmered briefly; he felt a painful

stabbing in his chest, and fire seemed to race through his body. Bright

flashes obscured his vision. He felt himself falling, falling endlessly, as

though a hole had opened up in the floor beneath him. Tumbling in space, his

body spasming uncontrollably, he quickly blacked out.

He awoke in darkness, and clutched instinctively at his chest, but the

knife-wound he'd expected to find was not there. He felt bare skin, though,

and realized as he felt his way along his body that his clothing had been

removed, leaving him naked. A chill shook him as he thought of what might

have took place while he was out. Squinting into the surrounding darkness,

he shook his head and blinked several times. Had he gone blind?

A moan from somewhere close by caught his attention. Reaching out, his

fingers encountered warm flesh -- bare, like his own. It quickly jerked

away. "Who's that?" It was Nick's voice, high-pitched and hoarse with fear.

"Easy, Nick. It's me."

"Marshall?" It was Wayne. "What the fuck...where are we?"

"I don't know. I can't see."

"Neither can I."

Nick suddenly clutched at Marshall's arm and whimpered. "Steady," Marshall

said. "We'll figure this out. Wayne, try to follow my voice. Let's all get

together, first off. Where's Kurt?"

"I'm here." The voice was strained. "God DAMN. I feel like I've been..." He gasped. "Hey...my clothes!"

"I know. Mine too."

"And mine." Wayne was right behind Marshall now. "Holy shit, what do you

think that fucking queer did to us?"

"Better've been nothing!" Kurt shouted, sounding almost panicked. "I'll kill him, I swear."

Marshall peered into the darkness. "OK...stay cool. Let's see if we can

figure out where we are. Find the walls, and see if there's a light switch." He tried to pry Nick's fingers from his arm, but to no avail. Sighing, he

guided the petrified youth through the darkness until his groping hand

touched a solid surface. "Got a wall here." It was smooth, perfectly so,

like glass. He felt along, sweeping his hand in broad, up-and-down motions,

hoping for a switch, a doorknob, anything.

It was some time before the four finished their explorations and concluded

that they were trapped. The room was small, roughly rectangular, and bare of

furnishings. Its four walls were polished smooth and stretched upward to a

ceiling that was beyond their reach, even when one stood on another's

shoulders. There were no light switches, and they had been unable to find

any doors.

Marshall could hear Nick sniffling in the darkness beside him as the other

two debated various escape plans. He was reaching out to rest a comforting

hand on Nick's shoulder when bright light abruptly flooded the room.

Momentarily blinded, Marshall threw up his hands to shield his eyes, and then slowly lowered them, gaping upward as his eyes adjusted to the sudden

illumination. He heard Nick scream and fall to the floor. Kurt and Wayne

gasped and clung to each other, while Marshall could only stare.

Glass walls surrounded them, like an aquarium, and beyond those was a room of

mammoth proportions. A door, a desk, shelves...a bed that rose like a cliff

above the transparent prison. And on either side, straddling the glass

walls, was a foot, a human foot the size of a station wagon, and above them

two powerful legs, like treetrunks. Marshall's head tilted back slowly, his

mouth hanging open, his gaze continuing up, up, until it fell upon a smiling,

familiar face.

Brett towered over them, hands on his hips, and gazed down the length of his

naked body at his tiny prisoners tar below. "I see you're awake," he said in

a booming voice. "You look a little less tough, somehow, without your

baseball bat."

Nick screamed again, but Kurt silenced him with a brutal kick. "Shut up!" He

looked up again. "Oh, man. This has gotta be a fucking nightmare. This

can't be happening!"

Brett chuckled and crouched down. His massive scrotum swayed ponderously

overhead as his backside settled on the edges of the aquarium, making the

walls creak and grit alarmingly. "Still a tough guy, I see." His hand

reached down between his legs, groping toward Kurt. "I'll let you be first."

Wayne and Marshall panicked and darted to the sides. Brett ignored them. His hand followed Kurt and herded him into the corner, where it pressed him

cruelly against the wall. Kurt howled in terror as the gigantic fingers

closed around his body and lifted him from the glass prison, and sputtered

incoherently when Brett held him up close to his face. "Oooo, such a strong

little man," Brett murmured, reaching down with his free hand to begin

fondling his lengthy penis. "Why so uptight? Relax. You look so unhappy."

He smiled thoughtfully, examining his captive while his enormous shaft began

to swell and grow hard, jutting out from his hips like the boom of a crane. "Ah, I'll bet I know what it is you want."

Marshall's legs gave way and he sank to his knees. He felt utterly helpless,

unable to do anything but watch as Brett lowered the hand holding Kurt to his

swollen cock. Kurt's screams grew louder as Brett pressed him against the

huge organ, which throbbed with the rhythm of his heartbeat. His hand closed

to a fist, and he began to stroke slowly. Kurt, trapped against the giant's

palm, fought hard as he was rubbed along the warm, pink flesh. "Jesus!" he

shrieked. "No! No! Let me go. You goddamn faggot, let me go!"

Brett moaned in pleasure, seeming to enjoy his captive's struggling. He

stroked harder, faster. "Shut up," he hissed as his breathing began to

deepen. "It feels way too good to let you go...ungh...just yet." His hand

gripped more tightly, crushing the breath from Kurt's lungs.

Far below, Wayne trembled in horror. "S-stop. STOP! You're killing him!"

Brett did not reply, nor did he break the rapid rhythm of his strokes, but

his grip relaxed just enough to allow Kurt a desperate gulp of air. Wayne

choked and turned, wide-eyed, to Marshall. "What can we do? We've got to do

something to stop him!"

Marshall did not reply. His eyes were locked on the spectacle above him.

Brett's balls swaying ponderously with the motion of his hand, Kurt's tiny

arms and legs flailing as he was dragged mercilessly up and down against the

mammoth organ... For what seemed an etemity he stood paralyzed, until he saw

Brett's scrotum tighten and the swinging globes draw upwards. Instinctively,

he took a step back.

Brett gasped and grunted loudly, and Kurt's panicked cries were drowned by a

flood of thick white cream, some of which fell with a loud splash onto the

floor of the aquarium. Brett pumped gallon after gallon of semen onto the

tiny man in his hand. His thighs quivered, tensing, and Marshall felt certain

that the walls of the aquarium would shatter. They held, though, and after an

agonizing moment Brett's orgasm finally subsided. He sat gasping astride the

glass prison, eyes closed, hand still clutching Kurt to his penis. Finally,

with a deep breath and a smile, he lifted the shivering Kurt up to his face. "Well, little man. Did you have a good time?"

Kurt was moaning softly, his body limp, but in a sudden explosion of rage he

began to pummel Brett's nose and lips with his fists, shouting a flood of

threats and epithets. Brett listened for a while, amused, and allowed Kurt a few ineffectual blows before lifting him to eye level. "I know I did. You

did a great job -- thanks! Now, the least I can do in return is grant you a request. Let's see...what was it you said to me, just before you swung the

bat?"

Kurt's outburst ceased abruptly. "Oh...oh, no."

"I remember now!" Brett opened his mouth wide. "Well, you asked for it; you

got it." He pushed Kurt's trembling, semen-drenched torso between his lips

and closed them tightly, and in a slow, deliberate motion, sucked his

victim's kicking legs inside. His jaws closed with a loud crunch which

drowned out Kurt's final cries; he chewed noisily, smiling as though savoring

a favorite snack, and then swallowed.

Marshall vaguely heard Wayne's long, dispairing wail. He snapped out of his

trance, and turned just in time to catch Wayne as he stumbled over Nick's

supine form. "Oh god...oh my god...Marshall...oh god, he ate him! He...did

you see?"

"Yes," Marshall said numbly. "I did."

Brett poked a finger into his mouth to pick a few shreds of meat from between

two molars. He stood up, and smiled down at his captives. "Awful stringy --

but then, he was a football player" He stretched and yawned. "It's getting

late; I think I'll turn in. You all can digest what you've seen -- no pun

intended -- while I think of what to do with you." With that, the light

winked out, plunging the room one more into darkness.

The shuddering of heavy footfalls woke Marshall from a fitful, restless

sleep. Once more the lights flicked on, and Brett was standing over them. He

straddled the aquarium and sat down as he had before, and regarded his

prisoners pensively for a long time. "Eeney...meeney..."

Nick whined and backed up against the wall.

"...miney..."

Marshall gasped. "Look out, Wayne!"

"...MO!" Brett's hand darted down and clamped tightly around Wayne, who stood so frozen in fear that he did not even try to dodge. Brett lifted him

to his face and opened his hand, allowing Wayne to sit up. He studied the

terrified youth in his palm for a short time. "Mmmm. So strong. Such a

nice, meaty little body. I'll bet you'd taste even better than your friend

did." He grinned as his comment brought a thin, terrified squeal from his

captive. "Oh, no, don't worry. You're too cute to eat. Besides, I've got

other plans for you."

Brett braced his free hand on the far wall of the aquarium and leaned

forward. As his heavy balls swung forward, the cleft between the great curves

of his rump came into view of the remaining prisoners below. Marshall could

see glistening moisture on the flesh, and remembering how Wayne had taunted

Brett before, he guessed what was about to happen. He backed toward Nick and

put an arm over his shoulders, his hand curving forward to cover the

petrified boy's eyes. "Don't look," he whispered, though he could not take

his own gaze away Wayne let out a long, rasping cry as the giant hand bore

him downward and back, then began to lift him up toward the waiting opening.

Frantically, he tried to brace his hands against Brett's buttocks, but the

slick coating of cream foiled his efforts. As his body came into contact with the puckered hole, he felt Brett shift a finger behind his head. "You

were right," the echoing voice rumbled. "It's just like you said. It was

what I wanted."

His captive began to babble vague pleas for mercy, but Brett ignored them. As Marshall looked on, Brett's massive finger pressed upward, shoving Wayne's

head into his anus and abruptly cutting off the cries. Brett sighed

contentedly and pushed harder, cramming Wayne's shoulders and then his torso

into the tight hole. He released him then, leaving the hapless youth's legs

thrashing frantically, and reached forward to begin masturbating once again,

his cock already firm from his victim's struggles. "Oh, yes," he breathed,

"gotta love it when they wiggle like that."

Marshall felt warmth flood his face; his arm dropped weakly from Nick's

shoulders, leaving Nick to join him in staring dumbly upward at the grim

punishment Wayne was suffering. Marshall's head swam; he saw Wayne's tiny

legs, flailing in growing desperation, through a white haze, as though he was seeing them in a dream. Everything slowed down -- the jerking of Brett's

testicles became like the serene swinging of church bells, the kicking of

Wayne's legs like a gentle dance in mid-air. There was a stirring in his

belly, and his flesh tingled; he gasped, feeling a series of contractions

that left his knees weak, and dark spots began to cloud his eyes as a moan

escaped his lips.

The sudden splash of warm liquid on his head roused him from his reverie and

he gasped, startled. The first spurt of Brett's orgasm had struck him dead

center; he sidestepped to avoid being hit by the remainder. Looking up, he

saw the ring of Brett's anus squeeze spasmodically around Wayne's waist.

There was a hollow crack, like a stick being broken underwater. Wayne's legs

stiffened, trembling, and then fell limp and lifeless.

Brett purred to himself and reached behind him once again, gripping Wayne's

body between thumb and forefinger and stuffing it fully inside his rectum.

Wordlessly he stood up and began to dress, throwing on shorts and a T- shirt,

and then strode unsteadily from the room.

Marshall stood for a long time, silent and unmoving, then numbly raised a

hand to brush the sticky fluid from his face and chest. "Well," he said

softly, his voice hollow, "at least we have light this time. We..." He looked over at Nick and frowned. "Nick? What is it?"

Nick's back was pressed against the glass wall, and he was staring at

Marshall with hatred and revulsion in his eyes. "Stay away," he snarled. "I saw you, you sick bastard...you stay away from me!"

"What? Nick, it's me, Marshall." He started toward him, but Nick howled and

edged away. Marshall stopped and stood helplessly. After several

unsuccessful attempts to convince Nick he was not a threat, he surrendered,

moved to the far wall, and sat down. Nick had obviously lost his mind, and

Marshall could hardly blame him. Dejectedly, he leaned against the glass and pondered his own fate. The words "if only" ran through his mind again and again. He'd never meant to hurt Brett; he'd never even wanted to be a

part of the cruel conspiracy, but it was too late now. He began to feel a

deep sense of resignation, and oddly, drew a strange comfort from it. If his

punishment was to die at the hands of this vindictive giant, then so be It.

In the hours that followed, neither prisoner spoke to one another. Nick had

moved to the wall closest to the door and had stood there, motionless,

seemingly oblivious to Marshall's presence. Marshall could not believe that

someone could sulk like that in their predicament. But then, what else could

he do? Nick was probably the luckiest of the group, having escaped into

madness.

Eventually Brett returned, smiling contentedly to himself. His gait was much

steadier, and Marshall guessed that he had gotten what use he could from

Wayne's body and had disposed of it. He watched silently as Brett shed his

clothes and approached the box. "Hello, boys. How's your day been?"

Nick perked up. "Brett! Hi!"

Marshall almost yelped in surprise. He stared at Nick as the smaller boy ran

over and pressed himself to the glass closest to Brett, who seemed equally

surprised. "What's this? A volunteer?"

Nick grinned broadly and pointed back at Marshall. "I wanna watch you do him!

I love your style. Please let me watch!"

Marshall felt as though he'd been punched. Just like Nick! Obsequious to the

very end, the little weasel.

Brett smiled and then reached into the cage, holding his hand flat, and Nick

eagerly climbed into his palm. He was lifted over the wall and set down on

the floor outside. "Is that so?," said Brett. "And then what about you?"

"I can help you!" Nick shouted gleefully. "I'll do anything you want. I can

tell you where all the 'phobes are. I'll jerk you off whenever you want.

Anything you say!"

Brett folded his arms across his chest and peered down at the little man

between his feet. "Anything at all?"

"Anything!"

"Uh-huh."

"I'll be your slave! You can use me for whatever you want. Just think, if you kill me, you'll be losing out on a big opportunity!"

Brett shook his head, frowning. "You're sickening," he grumbled. He lifted a

foot and swung it over Nick, who promptly sank to the floor in a dead faint.

"You aren't even worth toying with, you little shit. Sayonara." His foot

crashed down on Nick's motionless body. There was a wet popping noise, and

blood squirted outward.

Marshall sank to his knees, his gorge rising, and choked as Brett ground his

foot side to side, mashing what was left of Nick into a pitiful mess.

Obviously, begging for his life would only make things worse for him.

The giant leaned over and, grasping the rim of the aquarium, tipped it onto

its side. Marshall struggled to keep his footing as the floor tilted upward

beneath him. The wall became level, and with a weary sigh, he walked to its

upper rim and stepped out onto the floor. No use prolonging the agony.

Brett peered down at him. "Well, well," he said. "Only one left. What should I do with you?"

Marshall looked up at his towering captor. "Whatever. I'm ready." He felt

surprisingly calm. "Please, just make it quick."

For the first time, Brett hesitated. He stood up to his full height and

rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well, I'll be. It looks like at least one of

you has some shred of respectability." He regarded Marshall for a long

moment. "But, you were still the one who lured me into the trap in the first

place. That's why I left you for last."

"I know," Marshall said, not taking his eyes from Brett's. "I'm sorry. I

know it won't help me, but I am. I didn't want to do it, but Kurt and the

others roped me into it. I was afraid that if I didn't go along..."

"That you'd be next." Brett's voice was a little softer. "But you did go

along with it." "I know."

Brett hummed and took a step back, regarding Marshall critically. "You know,

there's no way I can let you go. It wouldn't do for my secret to get out; I

might not be able to catch any more gay-bashers, then." He chewed his lip a

moment. "Still, it would be a shame to kill you. I did, after all, have

something..." he chuckled, "...something of a crush on you."

Marshall shivered a little bit, and nodded.

"You know," Brett continued, furrowing his brow, "that snivelling little beggar just might have had an idea." He turned, looking as though he were

pondering something, and opened one of the huge drawers. Withdrawing a pair

of cotton briefs, he stepped into them and pulled them on. "You might be fun

to keep."

"K-keep? What?"

"Keep. You know, like a pet. I've always wanted one. The thing is, it would

have to be the right kind of pet. I'd need someone strong, someone sturdy,

who wouldn't break very easily." His voice dropped lower. "Someone who would obey me, but wouldn't be a whiner. Someone brave enough to serve me." He looked down at the red stain on the floor. "I really don't like cringing

little cowards."

A pet? Marshall's mind reeled. Spend the rest of his life serving this

sadistic giant? The idea itself was nauseating, but what real choice did he

have? He felt the color drain from his face.

"I don't think you're a coward, though. I'd be very disappointed if you were. Then l'd have to go and get a new pet." A mischievous gleam came to his eye, and Marshall had to fight the urge to flee. "I guess there's a quick way to find out!" Brett leapt forward, and planted an enormous foot next to Marshall's trembling form. The jarring impact rattled Marshall's

teeth, but he forced himself to remain rock-still, remembering the fate of

poor Nick. "Good...very good, little man,." said Brett. "I think you're

going to do just fine." He crouched, reaching, his hand blocking out the

light from the ceiling, and Marshall closed his eyes.

He felt pressure at his flanks as two fingers closed and hefted him quickly

into the air. His stomach left him; wind whistled past his ears, and when he

dared to open his eyes he found himself being held bare inches from his giant captor's lips. Brett's tongue emerged wetly from between them, and

pressed between his legs. Marshall supressed a scream as the tongue forced his legs apart and began to slide against his crotch, its slick surface

teasing his penis into erection. He started to squirm, shocked at the

reaction of his body...and horrified at the realization that it was not

purely physical.

Brett continued to lick tenderly at his little captive until he felt a warm,

salty trickle on his tonguetip. "Ahhh...you liked that?" Smiling, he hooked

a thumb in the front of his underpants and tugged the waistband forward. "Yes indeed -- I think I'm going to be very, very happy with you. Let's go

for a walk, my pet," he said, and with that, he dropped Marshall into his

briefs and let the waistband snap back against his belly.

Fishing through his bureau, Brett found a pair of loose-fitting jogging

shorts and tugged them carefully over the wriggling bulge in his crotch. He

shivered a bit at the stimulation, and opened the door. "That's it, little

one," he crooned as he strolled out into the warm afternoon sunlight, "squirm

for your master."