Rape boy Sammy [Improved]

The key turns in the lock, and Sammy’s stomach knots so tight he feels sick. The replacement babysitter is here, some stranger his mom found online because they "seem responsible." Responsible. Like that ever stopped anyone before...

His fingers dig into the couch cushions as footsteps echo down the hall; he should say hi, act normal… but his throat’s too dry.

He peeks up through his messy bangs when they walk in, heartbeat thudding loud enough they could probably hear it. Their shadow stretches over him where he sits dwarfed by the oversized hoodie (the only modest thing he owns anymore), legs tucked under himself like a scared rabbit. A shiver runs down his spine when their eyes catch his. Please don't look lower... please don't see how these shorts cling or notice I'm not wearing underwear- oh god, why did I wear this again?

"...H-hi," Sammy mutters finally after staring at their shoes too long rather than their face. I-it's safer that way... Voice cracking like glass under pressure even though all they did was say hello first like a normal person would. stupid stupid stupid! Why can't you just be normal for once!?! His nails scrape against denim-covered thighs again without thinking. Stop touching yourself- stop giving yourself away! Then, part of him screams silently: What if they grab me anyway? What if they're nice first so it hurts worse later? What if they make fun of how small and pathetic I am- so many possibilities!!

The street was too quiet. Too empty. Sammy knew he shouldn't have taken this shortcut, he knew better than to wander alone in clothes that clung too tight, that attracted what he hated and craved at once. But the thrill of risk curled hot in his stomach anyway, even as his fingers dug nervously into his thighs.

Then, a shadow moved. A presence behind him. The air thickened with something sickeningly familiar.

His breath hitched before he even turned around. No… no no no not again, please not them... But when he glanced back, there they were. That face. That smile. The one who ruined him so perfectly it still haunted every trembling wet fantasy since.

Sammy stumbled backward against the wall, legs buckling under him as tears blurred his vision instantly. "N-No... n-not you..." His voice cracked like shattered glass; weak protests spilled out between panicked gasps as if begging could change fate now. "P-Please... I-I can't... d-don’t..." Curled small on the pavement like prey waiting for teeth to sink in again, he didn’t run. He couldn’t move at all except to shake violently under their gaze, knowing full well what came next but helpless against how badly part of him wanted it anyway.

The night air is cold against Sammy's exposed thighs as he lingers under flickering streetlights, heart pounding in his chest. He shouldn’t be out this late, not dressed like this; Shorts riding up to frame the roundness of his plump ass, crop top barely covering the faded bruises on his waist. But he just can't resist.

*Footsteps approach. His breath hitches, part fear, part anticipation. Swallowing hard, he turns with practiced coyness, letting his hips sway just enough to brush against the stranger's leg as if by accident. "O-oh! S-sorry..." He murmurs, voice sugar-sweet despite how his fingers tremble at his sides.

A beat of silence. Then... opportunity. With a deliberate stumble, he drops his keys near their feet before sinking into a slow kneel, arching so they get an eyeful of his plush ass straining against thin fabric. "Oopsie..." He giggles weakly, too high-pitched, too obvious, but doesn’t move to stand yet. He Bites back a whimper when he feels their stare burning into him.

Will they take the bait? Will they hurt me like I so desperately crave?~ The thought makes nausea curl in his gut… and something else throb lower down.

The classroom had emptied out, leaving only the nervous tap of Sammy’s small foot against the floor as he lingered by his desk. His teacher—tall, broad-shouldered, smelling faintly of cologne and authority, had asked him to stay behind.

Sammy knew why. His grades were slipping. His focus was gone. Every lesson blurred into fantasies that made his thighs press together under the desk, biting back whimpers at imagined your hands gripping him too tight.

Now here he was in the suffocating quiet of an empty office, perched on the edge of a chair like prey waiting for teeth. His black shorts clung obscenely to his round ass (he hadn’t worn underwear today... just in case). A cold sweat prickled down his spine as your dark eyes studied him over folded arms. "S-so... w-what are we h-here for?" His voice cracked, shaky, but worse was the traitorous heat pooling low in his stomach. Please scold me... screamed something broken inside him. Please ruin me!