XXX'd Box Set (books 1-4) (gay humiliation role-play BDSM erotica)

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of
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is purely coincidental.

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Text copyright © 2013 K.A. Merikan

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Kyle smiled at his phone and adjusted the
messenger bag on his arm. He liked how protective Dan was of him.

:*> He turned into an alleyway that led to the park he always took a
shortcut through. After a long day at his soul-sucking job at Donna’s Donuts,
it was always a relief to finish a shift and remove himself from that sugary
hell. The worst thing was that Donna allowed the staff to snack on one doughnut
per day and they had a discount. It was such a pain to work it off at the gym.
Dan certainly wouldn't love it if Kyle got some love handles on him. Tonight
being Halloween, at least he could count on returning to a sugar-free home. Dan
made it tradition to annually clear out their secret sweet stashes to the
delight of the neighborhood kids. All he wanted was to be back with his
boyfriend as soon as possible. Especially on a disgusting, soggy night like
this. On the upside, at least it wasn’t raining.

The park wasn’t cleaned very often, so the old,
wet leaves were a threat to the life of anyone not careful enough. Kyle liked a
bit of thrill in his life though, so he ran down the hill with a gleeful yell.
“Freeee!”

Kyle rarely saw anyone in the park so late, but
just in case, he always switched off his MP3 player and walked extra fast. The
thick fog dispersed the sparse glow of the old fashioned street lights. He
found it hard to avoid walking into water puddles, and by the time he reached a
small fountain in the middle of the park, his sneakers were already soaking
wet. Oh well. At least he’d have an excuse for Dan to give him a hot bath. Not that
they needed an excuse.

A large drop of water fell on Kyle’s head from the
tree above him, but what stopped him was a large piece of paper on one of the
lamp posts. Written in bold letters it stated:

“Be especially vigilant on Halloween and do not
underestimate people in costume.

Up till now, the killer has worn a clown mask. See
photo below.

BEWARE!”

Kyle looked down with furrowed eyebrows. “That’s
sure one fugly clown,” he muttered, looking at the picture of a masked man with
a big red nose and three patches of fuzzy hair in the same color, scattered
over his otherwise bald head. His eyebrows were a painted-on frown, contrasting
with a smiley mouth. “Seriously...” Kyle shook his head and quickly made his
way forward, but couldn't suppress the urge to look over his shoulder. Just in
case. No one wanted a fucked up clown to jump them in the middle of the night.
His stomach tightened when he spotted a chubby silhouette approaching from
amongst the shadow of trees. Through the milky veil of fog, the figure gave the
impression of something out of this world.

Deciding to suppress his anxiety, he walked a bit
faster. He shouldn’t have read that poster. Now he’d be freaking out all the
way home, because of something that was an obvious Halloween spoof.

Kyle managed to calm down, but as soon as he did,
a loud sound turned his body into goosebumpy jello. It was a chuckle, and he
had to force himself to keep looking forward instead of peeking over his
shoulder like a neurotic teenager because of some guy who was probably just
talking on a phone. That was what he tried to tell himself as he made the usual
turn around a thick, hedged bush, but then, his heart came to a halt. He saw a
man sitting on a bench right by a tall street lantern. With a red mohawk on his
head, dressed in a pair of polka dot patterned breeches and mismatched striped
stockings. It was a fucking clown!

Kyle’s eyes went wide and he made a quick turn in
the opposite direction, to circle the guy. So not funny. He couldn’t help but
look back at the clown, with his heartbeat rising. Only then, he saw that the
chubby man he’d noticed earlier coming down the path was a clown as well, and
Kyle’s stomach clenched tightly. This one hurried forward through the foggy
park, dressed in a pair of overly wide pants held up by suspenders. He waved at
Kyle, walking straight towards him.

“The fuck, man?” Kyle yelled back at him, not
stopping for a second. The clown on the bench cackled. He freaking cackled!
Kyle could already feel the chilling sweat beading under his puffy winter
jacket. With a firm decision to take the next turn and flee the creepy
pranksters, he picked up his pace to a point where he was almost trotting. His
breath hitched when he heard two loud discordant laughs behind his back.

“No.” He didn’t want to actually say that out
loud, but he did. Kyle was petrified to look back, but he couldn’t help
himself. He would rather know how far ahead he was. This had to be a stupid
prank!

Hanging onto that assumption, he ran into an old,
graveled playground. Ran? When did he even start running? He toyed with the
idea of calling the cops, but that would only take his focus off running, which
had the highest priority. The playground seemed bigger than usual, but then
he’d never tried to get through it so fast. The sight of the park gate brought
a smile to Kyle's lips. Just another turn along the fence and he’d be safe.

A creak came from the shadowed swing a few yards
from the exit. It got his blood to freeze and then boil again when he realized
someone was sitting on it. An adult. A third fucking clown. This one was
wearing an ill-fitting, blue checkered dress that revealed muscled arms and
calves. Combined with a pair of red platform boots, the outfit made Kyle think
of Dorothy from ‘The Wizard of Oz’. The clown, however, acted nothing like her.
The moment he saw Kyle, he smiled and casually stood up, the swing creaked and
and the clown moved in his direction.

“Fuck off, yeah? You want my stuff? Take it!” Kyle
threw his bag to the ground and took a nervous glance behind his shoulder to
see where the other two clowns were. He couldn’t lie to himself anymore. He was
pissing his pants. Both of his ways out were now blocked by three super-creepy
guys who circled him like a pack of hungry wolves. The eerie atmosphere of the children’s
playground on a foggy night didn’t help him make a coherent decision, because
if this were a prank --and it was Halloween after all-- he’d end up making an
ass out of himself if he ran. Shit, what did they even want?

The clown in drag picked up Kyle’s messenger bag
and hung it across his chest without even stopping. With no way out, Kyle took
a few steps back, towards the metal fence. With his stomach clenched as if
someone kicked him in the gut, he was panting in fear, his brain refusing to deliver
anything other than ‘run you stupid fuck’. Great. It looked like he’d end up
murdered by a bunch of clowns on Halloween. That would definitely make the
headlines, even if they didn’t mark his shallow grave with colorful balloons.

That image tore Kyle out of his stupor. He dashed
for the fence with his eyes focused on his goal, the empty street visible
between the bars. He’d never ran that fast in his life and in this haste, he
almost slipped on a pulp of wet leaves, but it only slowed him down for a split
second. With manic laughs becoming louder, Kyle grabbed the top bar of the
fence. His shoes kept slipping down the wet metal and just as panic hit the
breaking point, he finally managed to climb up. The lack of any spikes on top
got his hopes up that maybe, just maybe, if he pulled himself up fast enough,
he could be on the other side within seconds. At least he didn't risk stabbing
himself on sharp, pointy metal. If he did, it’d be the most ironic thing ever.
Dan's sarcasm wouldn't stand a chance.

Kyle's relief was short lived, as before he’d even
managed to scramble on top of the fence, two sets of hands yanked him back and
he heard the unmistakable sound of tearing fabric. He refused to let go of the
bars, trying to focus on the dark treetops above him, not cackling clowns. The
street disappeared from sight when one of them tugged at the collar of his
jacket.

“Let go, you crazy fucks!” He tried to hold on,
but eventually, his sweaty fingers gave up, and he fell into a broad, male
chest. Muscled arms closed around him like a vice and his mind filled with
images of those guys cutting him up into little pieces, of his eyeballs popping
between their face-paint stained teeth. That was what crazy clowns did, right?

A gloved hand gripped the lower part of Kyle's
face, muffling his cries. The sharp sound of duct tape was an unmistakable sign
that they didn’t intend to kill him here. Maybe they wanted to torture him,
tickle his feet with feathers until he pissed himself? Kyle knew Dan would be
out looking for him if he didn’t return home within fifteen minutes and didn’t
answer his phone. Maybe he’d be saved? But what if the clowns took them both?

He fought back, thrashing like a terrified animal
as they pulled him further away from the fence, but all his incoherent kicks
proved useless against three brutes who seemed to well know what they were
doing. Frighteningly well. The one who’d followed him from the beginning was
especially proficient at dodging hits while he secured Kyle's ankles together
with duct tape. Kyle imagined this one was some fucked up ex-soldier, sent back
home because of severe mental problems. His mask covered only the upper half of
his face, with the lower coated in a layer of face paint so thick it reminded
Kyle of a heavily glazed donut.

Once they got him down, onto the pavement, they
yanked his jacket off and he curled up from the wet, piercing cold. He didn’t
even fight when the clowns taped his wrists in front of his body just as tight
as the legs. Seconds later, he was on the ground, with a rough hand clinging to
his face like some kind of alien parasite. He couldn’t stop a violent shudder
when the freezing water soaked through his shirt.

He broke out in tears and, within seconds, could
barely breathe. From his position on the ground, he got a glimpse under the
dress of the guy in drag, and it only made him more sweaty. Dorothy wasn’t a
fan of underwear. Kyle could no longer suppress a sob that built up in his
chest and he squeezed his eyes shut, violent shudders going through his body as
he laid in the wet grass. Everything became oddly silent and then, a rough
finger traced his cheekbone.

Kyle cringed away from it, trying not to fall
apart at their feet. Would they cut off his cheeks? Lock him up somewhere? With
his mouth blocked, he tried to mumble something through the meaty hand clasped
over his face, but it was useless. He was trapped.

It took a while for him to realize that no one was
manhandling him anymore, the touch on his cheek, and even the hand that still
covered his mouth, were gentle. He opened his eyes, afraid that this unexpected
change of heart was merely the silence before the storm. The sinister
pranksters loomed over him, silent, as if waiting for a sign, their eyes on the
clown who cupped Kyle’s face. Trying to even out his hitching breath, Kyle
turned his attention to him as well, and was surprised to see the clown leader
holding his bare forearm up. As if he was trying to tell him something.

He didn’t register the small tattoo at first, but
when the assailant shifted his hand enough to get it illuminated by the street
lamp, Kyle recognized a tiny depiction of the Eiffel Tower. He knew only one
person with ink like that. The man with whom he wanted to travel to Paris one
day.

Dan. The fucker.

Kyle slumped into the grass, his muscles turning
to goo at the sudden realization that he was safe. He couldn’t believe his own
boyfriend would prank him like that. The bastard had caught him totally off
guard. He must have put up that poster to pre-freak him out. Once the reality
sunk in, Kyle was torn between anger and relief; between the urge to laugh and
cry. Despite the horror he'd just been through, he had to admit he appreciated
the effort. Getting a peek under the hem of Dorothy's dress had a different
connotation now that he knew no harm was coming his way.

Dan, who was the ‘chubby’ clown that followed him
from the start, showed Kyle a pair of plain briefs, which he then pressed
against his open mouth to replace Mohawk's hand. Forced inside with a piece of
bandage that Dan fastened behind Kyle’s head, they were an effective makeshift
gag.

Did that mean they had more in store for him? Kyle
felt his face flush in shame at the thought that he’d turned into a puddle of
sobbing jello in such a short time. But come on, it was clowns. Freaking creepy
clowns.

He tried to focus on their faces, but it was too
dark to see much. Feeling bold, he arched his neck to take another look under
Dorothy's skirt. The guy had such a raging hard on, he didn't need a petticoat
to lift the front of his dress and Kyle could envision that becoming a new
fashion. That was when it hit him. Maybe this wasn’t just a prank. He and Dan
had talked about Kyle's fantasies of doing a gangbang many times, but never
actually arranged anything beyond a threesome. Even if Kyle was getting the
wrong idea, this prank had sure got his adrenaline rushing.

The beefiest clown, the one with a mohawk, swung
Kyle over his shoulder, giving him a loud pat on the ass, which brought him
close to hyperventilating through his nose. Kyle closed his eyes for a second,
feeling his cock harden against the stranger's shoulder. The guy was even
bigger than Dan. His gut feeling couldn't lie. It was finally gonna happen.
Fear was still lingering all over his body like the cold sweat on his back, but
Kyle was slowly easing into the situation. The fact that he had absolutely no
idea who the other guys were had his adrenaline levels skyrocketing. And this
time, it was a good king of adrenaline rush. God, Dan knew him so well.

The clowns marched out of the park, straight
toward a van parked close to the entrance. It was average looking, with no side
or back windows. The streets were deserted, but the group still moved quickly.
Kyle sucked on the clean cloth in his mouth, enjoying the way he felt relaxed
and tense at the same time. The guy who carried him kept roaming his hand over
Kyle’s thighs and buttocks, teasing him, squeezing his flesh through the soaked
sweatpants. He had a nice ass himself and Kyle was enjoying the view, as the
guy was the only one wearing tight trousers. Kyle tensed his butt against the
rough fingers, getting that nervous tingle from being manhandled. He wanted to
purr.