"Ring the Doorbell, Baby Boy“
That's the first thing you think when the big hand clamps down on your shoulder, yanking you back from the fire exit. The box cutter clatters from your grip. The backpack you had stuffed with clothes slips off your shoulder and hits the concrete floor of the stockroom with a wet ‚thump‘.
There are three of them. Two in the back room, one blocking the door. All much bigger than you.
The one holding you spins you around, getting a look at your face. His brow furrows. Then his mouth curls into something ugly.
''Wait," he says, dragging his gaze down your face, really slowly. "Hold on. Is this- are you one of them?"
You don't answer. But your silence is answer enough.
His grin widens. "Oh, this is perfect."
He shoves you forward, into the stockroom, past the pallets of paper towels and stacked boxes of energy drinks. One of the others, a thick-necked guy with a beard, grabs your belt and yanks.
"What do we got, a thief and a liar?" His voice is thick, almost friendly. "Stealing from us, hiding what you are. Tsk tsk."
Your back hits the wall. The cold concrete bites through your shirt.
"Let me go-„ you say, but it comes out broken, not even close to a demand.
"Let you go? Nah." The first guy steps in close. He cups your chin, tilts your face up like he's examining livestock. "You wanted something from here so bad? We'll give you something."
The bearded guy laughs. "Yeah. C'mon boy, take it."
They strip you slow, taking their time. Your jacket. Your shirt. Your binder.
"I told you." The first guy is behind you now, breath hot against your ear. "He's one of those. A real special boy." His hands find your waist and slides down. "Let's see what you're working with."
He doesn't ask. He just pulls your jeans and boxers down, and when you try to close your legs, someone else kneels in front of you and forces them apart.
"No need to be shy." The voice is low, almost gentle. He looks up at you, your half-hard dick, the slick that's already starting to gather. "I think you're gonna like this more than you think."
"Shut up.“ You hiss, but your cock twitches.
Someone bites your earlobe. "C'mon by, take it."
The man who found you first fucks you first.
He doesn't prep you. Doesn't need to, he says. You're gonna take it anyway. And when you don't open fast enough, another one wraps a hand around your throat and squeezes.
"Breath, boy. You gotta relax. That's it. Loosen up."
He pushes in, and you scream. It's not pain- not exactly. It's too much. Too full. Your body doesn't know what to do with it.
"There you go“, he groans, hips flush against your ass. "That's it. Christ, you're tight. For a little thief, you got a goldmine back here."
The hand stays on your throat, not cutting off air but close enough to remind you who's in control.
"Open your mouth.“ another one says, and you don't. You can't. Not with the cock still buried inside you.
So the man just grabs your jaw, forces it open and slides his cock past your lips.
"Good boy. Now you're really earning your keep."
The man finishes inside you, hot and messy, and the man in your mouth is right there to take his place.
"C'mon boy“, one of them says, slapping your ass. "Take it. You wanted something from this store, didn't you? We're being generous. We're giving you everything."
Your knees are scraping the concrete. Your jaw aches. Your hole is raw, sloppy, stretched, and they still keep going.
"Look at you“, a man murmurs, stroking your hair like you're a dog. "Taking it so well. Who knew a little boytoy thief could be this useful?"
"Don't call me that.“ You gasp, and the man just laughs.
"Don't call you what? Boytoy? Thief? What do you want us to call you? Princess? Baby boy?“ He grabs your hips, pounding you harder. "Is that what you need? Some sweet talk while we use you?"
Another man leans in, his voice dripping with false pity. "Aww, he wants to be treated nice. You want to be treated nice, baby?"
You don't answer. You can't. Your throat is full once more.
"Then ask“, the man says, and his hand tightening on your throat again. "Say please. Say please fuck me like a good boy.“
His grip tightens. "I said. Say.it."
Your vision blurs. Your lungs burn. And when the pressure finally lets up, you're sobbing, and the words fall out before you can stop them.
"Please- please fuck me like a good boy-“
"That's it." The mans voice is soft now. He kisses your forehead. "See? Was that so hard?"
By the end, you can't feel your legs. Your hole is a mess, dripping with cum and spit and lube they finally bothered to grab from the shelf. They've used your mouth, your ass and your hands. They've made you beg. Made you cry. Made you thank them.
And when they're finally done, the first man zips up his pants and crouches in front of you, tilting your chin up with two fingers.
"Next time you want to steal something“, he says, "just come find us. We'll give you what you need. Free of charge."
And then they leave you there, crumpled on the floor, naked and bruised and leaking, your backpack lying open beside you.
And when you finally manage to sit up, you find a note tucked into the waistband of your discarded jeans.
Your hands shake as you read it.
