Trauma's Dark Corner: A Harrowing Tale

There may have been a sign on the restroom door, but Chris paid it no mind. He felt as if he might lose control over his bladder if he didn't find a toilet immediately. Although nearly eleven years old, and well out of diapers, his bladder seemed a bit weak at times, and he was desperate to avoid an accident. As he stood in front of the last urinal (he always chose the one furthest from the door, back then), fumbling with the button on his blue denim shorts, he heard the door open, then close, then the snap of the lock.
“No big deal,” Chris thought. He understood the need some people have for privacy. “I'd have locked it myself if I wasn't about to burst.” Later, when he was finally able to use public restrooms again, he would never forget the lock, never. He heard footsteps, hard-soled shoes clacking across the room on the tile floor, echoing in his direction. “Probably going to sit down in the stall behind me,” he thought. The footsteps stopped behind him.
“This toilet is out of order, can't you read?” a voice boomed, a voice that was much deeper than any Chris had expected to hear in the boys' room of an elementary school. Chris jumped a little, quite startled. He forgot all about the button on his shorts and froze like a statue with a warm wetness filling his underwear and running down his leg.
“Look what you did,” the voice boomed. “Now you've made a mess. You should learn to control yourself, filthy little....” His voice trailed off, and he seemed to be deep in thought. “I know,” he exclaimed, and grabbed Chris' shorts, pulling them roughly down to the floor. “You can clean it up with those.”
Chris was so scared he could barely speak. His bladder was finally empty, about half of its contents soaking his clothes, the other half in a puddle spreading across the bathroom floor. He couldn't keep a thought in his head, they all flew away before he could grab them, but he kept thinking he had heard that voice before. Whenever he tried to place it in his memory, a wave of fear would overtake him and he had to struggle to keep his knees from buckling.
“Are you going to clean up after yourself?” the voice asked, sounding almost amused. “You can't just leave it there. Do you like being a messy little boy? Do you like peeing all over yourself?”
“N-no,” Chris answered.
“I think you do, and I'll have to teach you to clean yourself up. Now, take off those messy shorts.”
Chris wanted to run, but he couldn't move. He wanted to scream but his throat would produce no sound. Slowly, his muscles began to work, but instead of running, he was bending down, reaching for his wet shorts. A hand grabbed the elastic waistband of his soaked underwear.
“No, boy, these, too.”
Chris stammered, “Y-you can't do this, I'm n-not...”
“Not what?” the voice boomed back. “You're dirty, I watched you make that mess, now you're going to clean it up.” The hand pulled down on the waistband, it stretched a few inches, then the underwear started sliding down to join the shorts on the floor, around Chris' ankles. “Now you've got me dirty, too,” the voice said while the hand wiped itself on Chris' shirt. “You're in a lot of trouble, boy.” Chris stood as still as he could, he didn't know what was happening but he didn't want to make it any worse. He was all but paralyzed with fear, the world seemed to be moving in slow-motion, but his mind finally began to put a face with that booming voice: a squished-looking, moustached, round, and chubby visage that belonged to the school's security guard.
“He's supposed to keep us safe, right?” Chris thought. “What's happening here?”
“You're going to do as I say,” the voice warned. His breath seemed to be getting quicker and deeper. “If you don't listen, you'll be in detention for the rest of the year.”
Chris thought, “But the year's only just started.” He still couldn't move his legs, or his arms, but he thought he could turn his head. As he began to turn and look behind himself, another hand (not the dirty one) settled on top of his head and firmly held it facing forward.
“You don't need to see, just listen, and do as I say,” The guard said. “It'll be better if we just get this over with.” As he was talking, Chris could hear the sound of the zipper on the guards pants. “Put your hands on the urinal, and keep them there. Keep your feet planted.” Chris did as he was told, placing his hands on the cold porcelain. He heard the buckle on the guard's belt hit the tile, and felt something stiff and warm against his backside.
“Are you gonna spank me?” Chris asked, his voice trembling.
“No, boy, I think you're a little big for that. I've got a better idea.” The guard's hands cradled Chris' butt cheeks, rubbed them a little, then pushed them apart. “You'll like this, all dirty boys do.” The guard then knelt down and began to lick Chris' anus. “That should clean you up a little.” He spat into his palm and rubbed it on himself, stood up, and parted Chris' cheeks again. “I can see your little dick getting hard. Told you you'd like it.” Chris realized with horror that what the guard said was true. His dick was stiffer than it had ever been, throbbing with each beat of his heart. The guard placed the tip of his penis, glistening with saliva, against Chris' anus. “Just relax and take it like a big boy. You want to be a big boy, don't you?” He put his hands on Chris' hips, holding him steady, and pushed his penis into Chris' anus.
“Aaahhooww,” Chris exclaimed.
“Just be quiet, you know you like it,” the guard said. He pushed his penis in as deep as it would go, then pulled it almost out. “Dirty. Little. Boy.” With each word he thrust his penis in, and Chris thought it would burst out of his belly if it got any deeper inside him. His own penis was still throbbing, and somehow the sensation of his butt being filled by this man's dick excited him and terrified him at the same time. The guard kept thrusting, each thrust brought one word out of him. “Dirty. Little. Boy. Dirty. Little. Boy.” Suddelny, his pace quickened, and he was panting too hard to speak his mantra. He gave one mighty final thrust, burying his dick deep in Chris' butt. Chris could feel it throbbing and pumping something hot inside him. Then, with his penis still inside Chris, he slid one hand off of Chris' hip and caressed Chris' penis. “You like it, you all like it,” He said breathlessly. He began rubbing up and down Chris' little penis, lightly pushing his own into Chris' butt. “And now I'm inside you forever. You belong to me.”
Chris felt dizzy, and his whole body was starting to tingle. Each time the guard pushed into him from behind, he became more dizzy. Each time the guard pulled him in front, he felt more tingly. The sensations became more intense until he felt his whole being trying to squeeze out of his penis. As it went, he felt something coming into him, a new self that relished the thought of the guard's words.
“I belong to him.” Chris thought. The guard released Chris' penis and pulled his own out of Chris' butt. Chris kept his hands on the urinal. He had never let them leave, and he was proud of that. “I'm his now.” He felt very empty without the man inside him, but he didn't dare speak.
“I guess you don't cum yet, boy, which means you only have to clean one of us up,” the guard said. Turn around and face me, boy.” Chris did as he was told, turning slowly and keeping his eyes on the floor. His butt felt slippery, and he liked it. “Down on your knees, boy.” Chris knelt in front of the guard, his face inches from the guard's still-hard dick. “Open your mouth.” Chris opened his mouth. “Keep your lips over your teeth.” He put his hand on the back of Chris' head and pulled it toward him. Chris could smell his butt on the man, and something else. “Suck all that cum off there, boy.” Chris thought his penis might be getting hard again, but he kept his eyes shut and concentrated on the dick in his mouth. He didn't want to make the guard unhappy by gagging or choking, and he wanted to taste every last drop of the man's cum as it slid down his throat. “So you like this, too,” The guard said, noticing Chris' penis. He pulled Chris' head back, saying “You'll be a good boy from now on, and do everything I say, won't you?” Chris finally opened his eyes, and stared at the guard's penis.
“Yes, sir,” he said to the penis. “I belong to you.”
“That's good, boy.”
Chris began to feel very light-headed, his vision losing focus. He fell onto his side, his face splashing in the puddle he had made in another life. Some time later, Chris awoke with the feel of cold, wet tile on his cheek. His head was foggy, but he could see the bathroom, and the man fastening his belt in front of the sink. As Chris began to get his senses back he felt wetness all over him, and a throbbing in his backside. “I must have fallen,” he thought, but this was different from a playground bruise. “Why am I all wet?” he thought, but aloud he said “I guess I didn't make it to the toilet in time.” He pushed himself up onto his elbows, and looked at the man.
“Looks like you passed out,” the man said. ”We'll have to do this again some time, so you can learn to follow the rules. You look a little pale, you should go to the office and call your parents, I bet your mom can bring you a fresh pair of shorts so you don't have to wear those smelly wet ones all day.” Then, an afterthought: “I'll be watching you.”
“Th-thank you, sir,” Chris replied. He stumbled over to the sink, and began splashing water on his face. “What a nice guy,” he thought. “He'll never tell anyone about my accident.”