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Angel's Fall

(Mm) (cbt, nc) (humil)
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Angel knew it would happen sooner or later. He was just too fucking handsome. The other boys in the school had told him. They had teased him saying, “The coach will get you sooner or later. There is no way you can escape it.” And now it had happened. The coach had called him into his office.

Don’t get me wrong, all the boys in the school were terrified by the coach as they had heard stories and knew boys that just disappeared overnight from the Academy. The headmaster was just a figurehead, and everyone knew that the coach ran the school. Shit, the coach and many of the members of the Board of Trustees were a bunch of sicko perverts who loved to prey on teenage boys. But what could the boys do? Most of them came from wealthy, uncaring families, and since they were troubled youths with spotty past histories, the families were happy to ship them off to the private school where they couldn’t embarrass the family any further.

Angel was no different. He was intelligent and could have been a straight-A student, but he just fucked off too much. He was always hitting on some cute girl and getting into trouble. His Latino dad, a strict Catholic, who had crawled his way up from the slums to become a very wealthy, prominent real estate magnate and was now heading into politics, couldn’t stand his shiftless son, who seemed to have none of his old man’s work ethic or morality. So, Angel had been shipped to Lakeland Academy.

And believe me, the coach knew the first minute he saw the handsome sixteen-year-old that he would work his magic on the boy. He could not wait to beat the shit out of the kid and turn him into a crawling, crying pussy boy. However, the Coach had to move slowly as one boy had already “disappeared” this month, a darling fourteen-year-old who was now serving as the private twenty-four-hour toilet for one of the Board of Trustee members.

Oh, everyone had the chance to use the boy’s mouth and ass, both as a cunt and as a toilet, but when he was really broken and nothing more than a mumbling idiot, the coach had given the boy to Greg Hildebrant in return for his substantial donation to the school. Greg had a unique tiled bathroom in his house where there was no commode just fourteen-year-old Andy chained naked on the floor holding his mouth open.

The response of Andy’s dad when he was told that his boy had run away was, “I always knew that kid would come to no good. Well, good riddance!” So Andy had little hope of rescue and could look forward to being a shit and piss drain for a long time.

Anyway, the coach knew that another boy couldn’t disappear so soon as it would raise eyebrows among the police of the small community even though the chief’s palm was well-greased and who often participated in the activities with the boys.

But, there was no reason why the coach couldn’t get started with Angel. Break him slowly. Work him down. Humiliate and abuse him in small, subtle ways. See what the kid was made of and how easy it would be to destroy him. And shit, he was so fucking beautiful that the coach threw a boner just thinking about the sexy Latino student.

Now a trembling Angel knocked at the coach’s door. The coach made the boy wait for over a minute before he threw open the door and grabbed the scared boy by the scruff of his collar.

“Get your fucking useless ass in here, you goddamn greasy spic!” The coach screamed, dragging Angel up the stairs into his soundproofed private office. Angel whimpered and tried to twist out of the coach’s grasp.

“What did I do? I didn’t do anything. There must be some mistake, Coach!”

“There’s no fucking mistake, you fucking faggot whore! The boys have reported that you’re a fucking faggot and that you have been hitting on them in the showers. They reported that you brush up against their hard, smooth, young asses and let your hand “accidentally bump their fat flaccid dicks.”

“I’m not a faggot, Coach, honest. Ask anyone. I’ve fucked girls and everything. I’ve fucked lots of girls. You gotta believe me!”

Shit, how could you help but brush up against another boy in the shower? Four boys were required to shower together in one tiny shower stall. They were always rubbing up against each other and sometimes throwing boners.

The coach slapped the Mexican boy hard across his beautiful face.

“The boys say you get a fucking hard on every time you shower with them!”

“That’s not ‘cause I’m queer, Coach, honest. I can’t help it. I get hard all the time. I throw a boner a couple of dozen times a day. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just my hormones or something.”

“How often do you jerk off?”

“Uugh…jeez...three times a day or so.”

Shit, Angel forgot the school rules.

WHAP! The coach slapped him again.

“You know the school rules about boys committing self-abuse! We believe that boys who beat their meat are only increasing their sexual desire and need. Soon all you horny little fuckers think about is sex, and you can’t concentrate on your studies or athletic skills. I know how dirty little boys like you can be, especially if the boy is a fucking cocksucking faggot. How many boys in the school have you sucked off?”

The coach threw Angel to the floor and started to kick him. The man was a fucking monster. Angel wanted to call someone for help. However, whom could he call? His father didn’t give a damn about him, and his mother was too submissive to protest.

THWAP! The coach’s shoe landed in Angel’s gut.

“I haven’t done that. I’ve never done anything like that. Please, give me a lie detector test or something. I have never done anything with a guy!”

“Lie detectors aren’t always accurate. We have other ways to get the truth out of a boy!” The coach kicked him again. “Okay, mister stud, tell me how many girls have you fucked?”

Angel crawled into a kind of fetal position trying to protect his body from the kicks, but the foot then leaned on his ass and his back.

“What...huh? I don’t know...please, Coach!”

“A real stud knows how many cunts he’s rammed. He keeps score. A real stud chalks up his victories. You are fucking lying to me, you little homo pussy boy!”

“OKAY, OKAY! Twenty-two, I’ve fucked twenty-two different girls!”

“That’s all, and you’re sixteen? Shit, what a sissy boy. And how many of them did you get pregnant?”

“What?” Angel was totally confused and really freaking out.

“How many of them did you breed, knock up, belly bloat, fill with baby batter until they had a bun in the oven?”

“Ah, none...none that I know of—”

“Christ, what a fucking twerp, can’t even get a cunt pregnant. What are you shooting? Water or just blanks, no wonder you’re a faggot. Everybody knows high school boys compete with each other to see how many twats they can get pregnant, but you’re too busy looking at all the swinging dick in the locker room!”

Angel started to cry. He was not a sissy, and he was seldom brought to tears but the insanity of the accusations and his inability to defend himself just sort of got to him. The coach liked that. He liked to see a boy cry. It was one of his favorite things.

“Aw, spic boy is crying, is he? Does he want his daddy? Well, daddy doesn’t give a fuck about you! You belong to the school and to me! And I intend to find out how much of a fucking faggot you really are. Stand up and strip!”

“Oh, Jesus…what?”

Angel couldn’t believe his ears.

“You heard me, stand up and get your fucking clothes off. NOW!”

“Coach, please, why do you want me to strip, what for?”

Angel was hysterical. The coach kicked the boy again.

“Don’t ask fucking stupid questions, just fucking do it, asswipe!”

Angel crawled to his knees and then struggled to his feet. He looked a mess. He removed his school blazer and then started to undo his necktie.

“Come on, shitface, I haven’t got all day!” the coach sneered.

If anything, Angel’s already handsome face looked even more beautiful when he cried. His dark curly hair and his perfect features, what a young god he would have made under other circumstances, but here at Lakeland Academy he was about to be turned into a disgusting, whimpering boy cunt!

Angel opened his shirt and revealed his smooth muscular young chest, capped with two small but perfectly shaped nipples.

“Jesus, you got tits like a girl,” The coach said, laughing at the boy, who blushed.

He didn’t have tits like a girl. He didn’t. He had a well-developed masculine chest for a sixteen-year-old boy, but his small, tight nipples were sensitive, which only made him more sexual. The girls loved to finger his tits.

Angel stood there in his pants.

“Get the fucking shoes and socks and pants off too. I want to see you bare-assed naked. I want to know if you are a man or a fucking faggot!”

Angel had no idea how being forced to strip bare-assed would prove anything, but what could he do? He was not ashamed of his body by any means. It was true that Angel liked to stroll through the locker room bare-assed. He loved to show off his fat dick and giant balls. He was well built for a boy his age—for a male of any age, but to have to undress in front of an adult was torture. It was an abuse of the most humiliating kind. He knew that, but he was helpless to defend himself.

The trousers pooled around his ankles to reveal Angel’s blue and white jockey briefs. The coach was impressed at the way the boy’s prick bulge obscenely stretched the front of the underpants. He had seen the boy naked, of course. He had watched him in the shower through his one-way window-mirror. The coach had masturbated watching the teen jock washing his giant dick and fat fuck sack, but this was the first time he would be able to see it close up. This was the first time he would actually be able to play with it.

TO HURT IT!

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