Marshall had been suspicious about Brett for a while. It was odd, because Brett hardly fit the image of "one of them". He was lean and well- toned, a talented swimmer with an air of confidence around him, but Marshall had often noticed the way Brett eyed him so furtively in the locker room. Himself a fine swimmer, Marshall was probably the only other freshman who could be a match for Brett in the water, and at first he thought that this was why Brett seemed to gravitate toward him. It soon became apparent, however, that there was more to it than that. Marshall would glance over at Brett in the shower just as Brett was looking away, and now and then from the corner of his eye he would catch Brett's gaze lingering on him. It made him nervous and he began to avoid Brett's company as much as he could. Even if Brett had never made any overt moves Marshall wanted to keep it that way. Still, every time he went to the pool it seemed Brett was either already there or would arrive shortly after. It didn't surprise Marshall when his buddy Kurt, a hulking tight end on the varsity football team, caught up with him in the student union hall with a proposition for an evening's entertainment.

"Friday night," he grunted, grinning in anticipation. "It's about time someone rolled that fag."

"We figured you'd want to help, since he seems to have the hots for you." That was Nick, Kurt's sidekick, a slight fellow who clung to Kurt's coattails and helped him with his more difficult coursework. In return Kurt didn't let anyone kill him, which was a trying job at times. The comment made Marshall blush furiously and he took a step toward Nick, who responded by ducking behind Kurt and snickering. Typical.

"Hey, chill," said Kurt. "You gotta admit, he's got a hard-on for you. That's why we need you."

Marshall winced. "Me?" He wasn't sure he liked where this conversation was going.

"No, your mother, Dumbshit! Of course you! All you gotta do is get this guy to come back to your room with you, and we'll be waiting. It'll be easy -- just give him the invite. He'll probably come in his pants right then."

Nick tittered. "Yeah, we got Kurt, me, and Wayne Barenburg." He noticed Marshall's discomfort and frowned. "What's up? You got a problem?"

"Uh..." Marshall began.

"Hey, Kurt," Nick said in a conspiratorial tone, "I think maybe him and that Brett guy are butt-buddies." He leered tauntingly. "He doesn't wanna beat up on his boyfriend!"

Marshall aimed a kick at Nick, who dove once more into Kurt's monolithic shadow. He felt a pang inside. Yes, Brett was obviously gay, but...

But what? Something. What if Brett brought them up on assault charges? That wasn't likely to happen. Wayne Barenburg was an even bigger fag-basher than Kurt, and he usually did a thorough enough job that his victims didn't dare finger him. Worse, though -- what if these guys didn't show, and left him alone with Brett? What then?

"I'll do it," he muttered. "No sweat."

Kurt grinned broadly. "All you gotta do is get him to your room around nine. We'll give you a couple of minutes and then come rescue you. After all, we don't want to scare him off before we get a chance to beat his brains out."

"Right. Nine," Marshall said. Great.

For three days Marshall wrestled with the idea. He'd never taken part in any of the gay-bashing that Kurt and Wayne had done, even though he'd been vocally supportive of it. Had he not, he would have become a target himself. He tried to tell himself that this was the natural order of things, that homos deserved what they got; still, Brett had never done anything to him. Marshall worried about getting in trouble for it, but then, the others had always managed to come off clean, and he couldn't back out now. That wouldn't look so good.

By Friday Marshall had formulated his plan. He arrived early at the pool and swam idly, waiting, until Brett inevitably emerged from the locker room. Marshall watched Brett's chiseled, hairless form slide gracefully into the pool as though it was his natural element. Taking a deep breath, he waited for Brett to surface and then swam toward him. "Hey, Brett."

"Hi, Marshall. What's up?" "Not much." He tried to look nonchalant. "I've been meaning to ask you: what's your fastest time on the hundred?"

Brett cocked his head and smiled impishly. "Not as fast as it could be. Why?"

Marshall shrugged. "Just that mine's not too bad, itself. Care to race?"

Brett nodded eagerly, taking the bait just as Marshall knew he would. The two climbed from the pool and mounted the blocks. Marshall cringed inwardly as he bent over to take his mark, imagining what a picture this must present to Brett. "I'll let you call it."

"Gotcha." Brett bent forward. "Set...go!"

They hit the water simultaneously, torpedoing ahead and breaking the surface at quarter-length. Marshall swam with all the force he could but as he whipped his head aside to breathe he saw Brett slowly drawing ahead, his arms pumping almost effortlessly. He was a full body-length ahead at the turn, and his lead grew as they approached the blocks again. By the time Marshall slapped his palm on the edge Brett was already lounging back against the wall. He wasn't even breathing heavily. "I was watching you, you know," Brett said softly.

Marshall froze. "Huh? You were?"

"Yep. You've got to bend your knees more when you kick. You wouldn't believe how much power you lose when your knees are too stiff. Let them flex a bit, and you'll take off two whole seconds."

"Knees. Bend. Right!" Marshall started laughing in utter relief, unable to control himself, until he noticed the odd look Brett was giving him. He quickly fished for an excuse. "Er...your hair. It's standing up like two horns in front. Makes you look like the devil."

"Does it, now?" Brett said with a sly grin. "Devil this!" He lunged forward, bracing his hands on Marshall's shoulders and dunking him, then launched himself away. Marshall came up sputtering and took off in hot pursuit.

The next hour passed in good-natured horseplay, although Marshall was constantly nagged by the reminder of his mission. The more time he spent with Brett, the more he dreaded what was to come. He couldn't call off the plan, though, especially not now. Besides, nothing changed the fact that Brett was a queer, and like Kurt said, he had it coming to him.

After the pool had closed and they'd headed for the showers, Marshall gathered up his courage and made his move. First he chose a shower far in the corner and lingered there, waiting for the locker room to clear out. Brett remained, too, just as Marshall had expected he would. OK, stay cool, he told himself. He made certain no one remained in the locker room, and then allowed his gaze rest on Brett's lean body, like Brett had done so many times to him. When he was sure that Brett had noticed he looked away quickly and shut off his shower. "Sure builds up a thirst, doesn't it? Swimming, I mean."

"Yep."

"I, uh, I've got some Pepsi in the fridge back in my room. Wanna drop by?"

Brett considered. "Your roommate wouldn't mind?"

Here we go. "I've got a single."

Brett smiled and nodded, and Marshall felt a sinking sensation. "Sure thing. Lead on."

Marshall tried to control his anxiety as he led Brett back to his room. He worried that Brett noticed it but wasn't saying anything. It was a few minutes before nine when they arrived; Marshall half-hoped that the other conspirators would fail to show up -- but then, that might well be worse than what he knew was coming.

The soda cans in the refrigerator were pleasantly cold. Marshall noticed his hand shaking a bit as he handed one to his guest. "Have a seat," he said.

Brett settled himself on the bed, and when Marshall sat down, Brett nonchalantly shifted closer. Marshall felt a sudden surge of adrenalin and listened for telltale footsteps outside. "So...," he said, searching for some small-talk, "thanks for the advice on the kicking." He paused. "I wish I was as good a swimmer as you."

"You are. You just need practice." Brett downed his soda and set the can aside, then laid a hand on Marshall's leg and squeezed a bit. "You've got the build for it, after all."

Marshall felt his insides turn to ice and he shot another glance at the door. Did he see a shadow outside? His gaze returned to Brett, who smiled gently at him. "Nervous?" Brett whispered.

"No. Just..." Marshall glanced again at the door and swallowed. "Brett..." he began, but he was cut off by a loud crash as the door burst open. Wayne rushed in and pounced on the startled Brett, seizing his right arm and hauling him up off the bed. Marshall acted mechanically, supressing something inside that was trying to protest, and took Brett's other arm. They all looked up as Kurt, a wooden baseball bat in his hand, strolled into the room; Nick, as usual, was close behind. "What's the matter, Faggot?" Kurt taunted. "Don't you want to play with us?"

Brett stared in momentary surprise, and then smiled and nodded to himself. He glanced over at Marshall, who quickly looked away. "Ah, I see. A setup." He showed no hint of fear or anger, just a weary resignation and a deep disappointment. "It figures. So, you boys feel threatened by little old me, is that it?"

Wayne twisted Brett's arm up behind his back. "Shut up, Queer!" he snarled. His eyes shone with sadistic glee and his voice took on a mocking tone. "You like to take it up the ass, don't you? Huh? That what you want? You wanna take me up the ass?" He grinned maliciously. "I think so. How about we start with the bat to loosen you up first? Bet you'd like that!"

Nick giggled. "Bet he would!"

"Yeah, I'll bet he would." Kurt examined the bat idly as he spoke. "'course, we don't want him enjoying himself too much." He took a step toward Brett, slapping the bat into his palm a few times. Marshall stole a glance at Brett's face and was surprised to see no fear, but rather a cool smile on his lips. Kurt saw it too and bared his teeth angrily. "Something funny, Faggot? You're looking forward to getting the shit beat out of you?"

Brett chuckled softly. "No. Actually, I'm looking forward to you getting what's coming to you." His gaze wandered casually from face to face and lingered on Marshall's. "All of you." Something in his voice was very disconcerting.

There was a brief silence as the four struggled to understand why their target wasn't pleading for mercy. Nick finally broke the silence. "Yeah, right! What're you gonna do, tell your boyfriend on us?" He giggled again, an annoying sound, and looked up at Kurt for approval. Kurt, however, was staring hard at Brett, infuriated that his intended victim was taking this all so calmly.

"Hold him tight," he growled to Marshall and Wayne. "It's time to bash his fucking little faggot brains out." He brandished the bat high. "Eat me, Fag-boy!"

Marshall would never be certain exactly what happened in the last second as the bat whistled downward. The room shimmered briefly; he felt a painful stabbing in his chest and fire seemed to race through his body. Bright flashes obscured his vision. He felt himself falling, as though a hole had opened up in the floor beneath him. Tumbling in space, his body spasming uncontrollably, he quickly blacked out.

He awoke in darkness and clutched instinctively at his chest, but the knife-wound he'd expected to find was not there. He felt bare skin, though, and realized as he felt his way along his body that his clothing had been removed, leaving him naked. A chill shook him as he thought of what might have taken place while he was out. Squinting into the surrounding darkness, he shook his head and blinked several times. Had he gone blind?

A moan from somewhere close by drew his attention. Reaching out, his fingers encountered warm flesh -- bare, like his own. It quickly jerked away. "Who's that?" It was Nick's voice, high-pitched and hoarse with fear.

"Easy, Nick. It's me."

"Marshall?" Another voice, this time Wayne's. "What the fuck...where are we?"

"I don't know. I can't see."

"Neither can I."

Nick suddenly clutched at Marshall's arm and whimpered. "Steady," Marshall said. "We'll figure this out. Wayne, try to follow my voice. Let's all get together, first off. Where's Kurt?"

"I'm here." The voice was strained. "God DAMN. I feel like I've been..." He gasped. "Hey...my clothes!"

"I know. Mine too."

"And mine." Wayne was right behind Marshall now. "Holy shit, what do you think that fucking queer did to us?"

"Better've been nothing!" Kurt shouted, panic creeping into his angry tone. "I'll kill him, I swear!"

Marshall peered into the darkness. "OK...stay cool. Let's see if we can figure out where we are. Everyone find the walls, and we'll see if there's a light switch." He tried to pry Nick's fingers from his arm, but to no avail. Sighing, he guided the petrified youth through the darkness until his groping hand touched a solid surface. "Got a wall here." It was smooth, perfectly so, like a mirror. He felt along, sweeping his hand in broad, up-and-down motions, hoping for a switch, a doorknob, anything.

It was some time before the four finished their explorations and realized that they were indeed trapped. The room was small, roughly rectangular, and bare of furnishings. Its four walls were polished smooth and stretched upward to a ceiling that was beyond their reach, even when one stood on another's shoulders. There were no light switches, and they had been unable to find any doors.

Marshall could hear Nick sniffling in the darkness beside him as the other two debated various escape plans. He was reaching out to rest a comforting hand on Nick's shoulder when bright light abruptly flooded the room. Dazzled, Marshall threw his hands up to shield his eyes before slowly lowering them, gaping upward as his eyes adjusted to the sudden illumination. He heard Nick scream and fall to the floor. Kurt and Wayne gasped and clung to each other while Marshall could only stare in silence.

GThe walls that surrounded them were indeed glass, just like an aquarium, and beyond them stretched a room of mammoth proportions. A door, a desk, shelves, a bed that rose like a cliff above the transparent prison...and to either side, left and right, lay a human foot, each the size of a small truck. Above them, like treetrunks straddling the glass prison, rose two powerful legs. Marshall's head tilted back slowly, his mouth hanging open, his gaze continuing up, up, until it fell upon a smiling, familiar face.

Brett towered over them, his hands on his hips, gazing down the length of his naked body at his tiny prisoners far below. "I see you're awake," he said in a booming voice. "You seem a little less tough, somehow, without your baseball bat."

Nick screamed again but Kurt silenced him this time with a brutal kick. "Shut up!" He squinted upward. "Oh, man. This has gotta be a fucking nightmare. This can't be happening!"

Brett chuckled, the sound like thunder, and slowly crouched down. The captives shrieked and began to scramble about in panic as a massive scrotum, swaying ponderously, descended toward them. Brett's backside settled on the rim of the aquarium, making the walls creak and grit alarmingly. His penis hung down and glared at them like a great one-eyed monster. "Still the big tough guy, I see," Brett mused, and then reached down between his legs, his fingers groping toward Kurt. "I'll let you be first, then."

Wayne and Marshall darted away but Brett ignored them. His hand pursued Kurt into a corner where it pressed him cruelly against the glass. Kurt could only bellow in terror as the gigantic fingers closed around his body and lifted him from the aquarium. His voice fell to an incoherent babble when Brett held him up close to his face. "Oooo, such a strong little man," Brett murmured, reaching down with his free hand to begin fondling his mammoth penis. "Why so uptight, though? Relax. You look so unhappy." He smiled thoughtfully, examining his captive while his member began to swell and grow hard, jutting out from his hips and looming over the remaining captives like the boom of a crane. "I'll bet I know what it is that you want."

Marshall's legs gave way and he sank to his knees. He felt utterly helpless, unable to do anything but gawk as Brett lowered the hand holding Kurt to his swollen shaft. Kurt's screams grew more shrill as Brett pressed him against the huge organ, which visibly throbbed with the rhythm of his heartbeat. That hand closed to a fist and Brett began to stroke slowly, languidly. Kurt, trapped against the giant's palm, fought hard as he was dragged along the warm, pink flesh. "Jesus!" he shrieked. "No! No! Let me go. You goddamn faggot, let me go!"

Brett moaned in pleasure, obviously enjoying his captive's struggles. He stroked harder, faster. "Shut up," he hissed as his breaths grew deeper. "It feels way too good to let you go...ungh...just yet." His hand gripped tighter, crushing the breath from Kurt's lungs and silencing the pathetic screams.

Far below, Wayne trembled in horror. "S-stop. STOP! You're killing him!" he begged.

Brett did not reply nor did he slow the rapid rhythm of his strokes, although his grip did relax just enough to allow Kurt a desperate gulp of air. Wayne choked and turned, wide-eyed, to Marshall. "What can we do? We've got to do something to stop him!"

Marshall did not respond. His eyes were locked on the spectacle above him. Brett's testicles swayed heavily overhead with the motion of his hand; Kurt's tiny arms and legs jerked as he was scrubbed mercilessly against the mammoth orga. For what seemed an etemity Marshall stood paralyzed, until Brett's scrotum tightened and the swinging globes drew upwards and instinctively Marshall took a step backward.

Brett gasped and grunted loudly and drowned Kurt's panicked cries with a flood of thick white cream, some of which fell with a loud splash onto the floor of the aquarium. Gallon upon gallon of semen blasted over the tiny man in his hand. His thighs quivered, tensing, and Marshall felt certain that the walls of the aquarium would shatter beneath them. Mercifully they held together, and after an agonizing moment Brett's orgasm finally subsided. He sat gasping astride the glass prison, eyes closed, hand still clutching Kurt to his softening penis. Finally, with a deep breath and a smile, he lifted the shivering Kurt up to his face. "Well, little man. Did you have a good time?"

Kurt moaned softly, his body limp, but in a sudden explosion of rage he began to pummel Brett's nose and lips with his fists while shouting a flood of threats and epithets. Brett listened, amused, and allowed Kurt a few ineffective blows before lifting him to eye level. "I'll take that as a yes. I know I did. You did a great job -- thanks! Now, the least I can do in return is grant you a special favor. Let's see...what was it you said to me, just before you swung that bat?"

Kurt's outburst ceased abruptly. "Oh...oh, no...please..."

"I remember now!" Brett opened his mouth wide. "Well, you asked for it; you got it." He thrust Kurt's trembling, semen-drenched torso between his lips and closed them tightly, and then slowly and deliberately he sucked his victim's kicking legs inside. His jaw clenched with a sickening crunch that drowned out Kurt's final cries.

Brett chewed noisily, smiling as though savoring a favorite snack, and made quite a show of swallowing. Marshall vaguely heard Wayne's long, dispairing wail and snapped out of his trance, turning just in time to catch Wayne as he stumbled over Nick's supine form. "Oh god...oh my god...Marshall...oh god, he ate him! He...did you see? He ate him!"

"Yes," Marshall said numbly. "I saw."

Chuckling, Brett poked a finger into his mouth to pick a few shreds of meat from between two molars, thene stood up and smiled warmly down at his captives. "Awfully stringy -- but then, he was a football player" He yawned and stretched. "It's getting late; I think I'll turn in. We'll let the rest of you digest what you've seen -- no pun intended -- while I think of what to do with you." With that, the light winked out, plunging the room one more into darkness.

The shuddering of heavy footfalls woke Marshall from a fitful, restless sleep, and when the light returned Brett was standing over them. He straddled the aquarium and sat down on its rim as he had previously and studied his prisoners thoughtfully before at last he spoke. "Eeney...meeney..."

Nick whined and backed up against the wall.

"...miney..."

Marshall gasped. "Look out, Wayne!"

"...MO!" Brett's hand darted down and clamped tightly around Wayne, who stood so frozen in fear that he did not even try to dodge. Brett lifted him to his face and opened his hand, allowing Wayne to sit up, and peered thoughtfully at the terrified youth in his palm for a long time. "Mmmm. So strong. Such a nice, meaty little body. I'll bet you'd taste even better than your friend did." He grinned as his comment brought a thin, terrified squeal from his captive. "Oh, no, don't worry. You're too cute to eat. Besides, I've got other plans for you."

Brett spread his legs further and slid his thighs forward along the tops of the aquarium's walls until the cleft between the great curves of his rump came into view of the remaining prisoners below. Marshall could see an oily substance glistening between them, and remembering how Wayne had taunted Brett before, guessed what was about to happen. He backed toward Nick and clapped his hand over the petrified boy's eyes. "Don't look," he whispered, even though he could not take his own gaze away from the awful scene overhead. Wayne let out a long, rasping cry as the giant hand bore him downward and back, then began to lift him up toward the dark opening nestled in that cleft. Frantically he tried to brace his hands against Brett's buttocks, but the slick coating foiled his efforts. As the little body came into contact with the puckered hole Brett shifted a finger behind Wayne's head. "You were right," Brett's voice rumbled from on high. "It is what I wanted."

His captive began to babble incoherent pleas for mercy that Brett gleefully ignored. As Marshall looked on, Brett's finger pressed upward, shoving Wayne's head into his anus and abruptly cutting off the cries. Brett sighed contentedly and began cramming Wayne's shoulders and then his torso into the tight hole. He let go then, leaving the hapless youth's legs thrashing frantically, and reached forward to begin masturbating once again, his shaft already firming from his victim's struggles. "Oh, yes," he breathed, "gotta love it when they wiggle like that."

Marshall felt warmth flood his face; his arm dropped weakly from Nick's face, leaving Nick to join him in gaping upward at the grim punishment Wayne was suffering. Marshall's head swam; he watched Wayne's desperately flailing legs through a white haze, as though he was seeing them in a dream. Everything slowed down -- the jerking of Brett's testicles became like the serene swinging of church bells, the kicking of Wayne's legs like a gentle dance in mid-air. Marshall felt an odd tingling in his loins.