"Arriba! Arriba!" the boss shouted checking his watch.
Chad was loaded into the bed of a low rider pickup truck. A bunch of the bangers piled in to the truck bed, using their feet and legs to hold Chad in the center. The tailgate closed. The gang members spoke in Spanish and Chad regretted taking German, and that for only one year. Sure he knew a little Spanish, but these guys were speaking so fast, and saying words he hadn't heard. He couldn't manage more than a wheeze when he tried to speak. The truck lurched forward. It was getting dark.
Chad had sudden hope. Wherever they were taking him was along the road away from school, and that young jerk of a deputy was always working his speed trap on Fridays trying, and usually catching high schooler who were drinking or speeding. He had pulled Chad over a couple times. Surely, he'd pull these guys over for riding in the back of a pickup without seat belts. What was that deputy's name? Chad thought he should remember it.
The truck was racing along the rural road at sunset. There was the siren and the flashing lights.
"Hola, Cholo!" laughed the gang boss.
"Hola, Amigo, how's it hanging?" the deputy asked.
"Boss is having us reupholster his playroom," the gang boss said - er, he said his boss, so he was just a lieutenant in the gang, Chad wondered.
"Cool, well, I suppose I will let you off with a warning this time," laughed the deputy. He wasn't even coming back to look in the bed of the truck. Chad realized that he was in league with them and probably didn't want to know what they were up to. Wait he was going to be used to upholster a playroom? Like flooring and wallpaper or mounted on furniture? Who the fuck? Please look in the truckbed, he thought desperately, surely the deputy would do something.
"Hey, thanks, you deserve a bj. Got something in the back that'll do the job, come check it out," said the gang leader.
Wait, what? They're inviting the deputy to come back and use Chad for a BJ? No way!
The deputy's laughter ceased when he saw Chad rolled up with his head sticking out of the black rubber roll. He climbed up on the bumper and over the tailgate into the truck bed. Chad was smiling in relief, until he saw the deputy's crotch tent, and the smile on his face.
"Oh, yeah, I'll take that Free Blowjob," he laughed, as he unbuckled his gun belt, and handed it to the nearest gang member. His slacks were around his ankles, and he was wearing just a jockstrap. Chad stared the tent was while wearing a jockstrap. The deputy was huge. Here Chad thought he was such a big dick, because he probably had a tiny dick. But his dick was huge, bigger than Chad's. Chad thought sourfully, a gum wrapper was bigger than his dick now. But his dick had been over 9 inches, and Deputy Dickhead's penis had to be a foot long. He pulled his jockstrap down, and released the Kraken. His words not Chad's. Chad just stared. It was so huge, and the deputy just kept pushing it into Chad's mouth and down his throat. It wasn't a bj, it was a face fuck. He couldn't breathe. Chad blacked out.
When Chad came to the deputy was sharing a beer with the gang bangers, and Chad lay alone in the truck bed. His throat was so sore, and he could still taste Deputy Ramos' dirty cock and cum. Damn, Chad understood some of the comments the dick deputy had made when he pulled Chad over for a tail light, and then for - the dude had really wanted Chad to go down on him.
"Too bad he doesn't have an ass hole, I'd've loved to plow it," the deputy was saying.
"Here's his jockstrap, yours was looking a bit ratty, and his is practically new," the gang leader said.
My lucky jockstrap! thought Chad desperately. They couldn't.
"Gracias, mi hermano," said the deputy.
Wait did he just say "thanks, bro" ?
The gang boys piled in around Chad, and the truck raced down the now dark road. Chad knew they were within about a half hour of school, but he wasn't sure how fast they had driven and which roads they had turned off on. But the big stone posts with the iron gate that opened electronically looked familiar.
Chad didn't get to see the house, they drove around back, and carried him downstairs into the cellar of the darkened house. The first room was a normal basement. The next basement room had leather sofas, big screen, a bar. Chad was sure he'd been here, but he'd been drinking, and wasn't sure exactly. There'd been a lot of people, it was empty now. Maybe it wasn't the same room. The trophy case on the far wall swung open to reveal a smaller hidden room. It had thick soundproof walls with chains and shackles mounted to them. A leather sling hung from the ceiling. There were pillories, racks, whips, paddles, a rack filled with different sex toys, The gang bangers raced around carrying every piece of torture equipment out, except those mounted to the wall and ceiling. Chad saw eyerings bolted to the floor. They set him down in the now bare cement room, and then returned with what looked like paint rollers that were fitted with metal rollings instead of paint rollers.
"Okay, let's get the head on the wall, he wants it framed with this plaque," the boss said waving a wooden shield with a neck hole in it. He showed it to Chad. There was a brass plaque with Chad's first name engraved in two inch letters. Two rows of finer letters detailed his highest awards, Regional Football Championship, MVP, Games Won, Passes Completed,...Chad was a bit proud until he got to the last entry, "World's Greatest Cocksucker".
They dragged him over to an "X" on the wall three feet off the floor, there was nail there for the plaque. They began to unroll Chad. The boss ordered something about a Mexican Revolutionary from the early 20th Century. He said, "No Zapatos!" whatever that meant. The gang bangers all raced out of the room, and came back in barefoot or wearing socks on their feet. They unrolled Chad, and opened the plaque to fit securely around his neck, then the worked on his flattened chest and shoulders spreading it with the rollers against the cement wall as they hung the plaque back up. The tiny room looked huge, as Chad realized they were going to paint his body to the floor, and partway up the walls. Sick, he was dungeon upholstery in a windowless basement room. He was horrified to realize that the sunset while the deputy fucked his face was the last sunset he would probably ever see. He wanted to sob, but all he could do was stare. The muscled men had stripped off their shirts and were bareskinned or wearing A-shirts, as they worked vigorously spreading Chad out. He would be thin as paper, he thought. He found himself admiring they brown sweaty muscles was that a side effect of no longer having a muscled body, and being able to remember, and envy the movement and strength that these men still had. Who owned this place? Who owned him? He was long passed thinking this was a prank. It took hours, but at last they were done. The gang leader took photos with his camera phone. Then brought the furniture back in. More photos. Then they turned out the light, left and closed the door. Chad had never felt so alone in the darkened, windowless dungeon that he now upholstered.