Obligatory disclaimers: All characters are 18 or older.
Yes, I'm aware rape/coercion/etc is illegal, this is a fictional/fantasy story where such things can be explored without condoning them.
One of the characters is transgender.
This is a trans-positive piece of erotica
, so if you feel you can't handle that, go find something else to read. :)
*****
As I listened moodily to the rain lashing against the windows, I reflected on what a rotten birthday this was turning out to be. Your eighteenth is supposed to be a bit special, and what had I gotten? A missed alarm, a run for the bus, and six hours of classes on an empty stomach, and just as I was about to walk home, the heavens opened up and I'd had to duck quickly into the music block before I got soaked. After five minutes of standing around it was showing no signs of letting up, so I decided to use the time a bit more productively and headed for the music rooms.
The one at the far end of the corridor was my favourite. It was a little larger than the others, with room for both a piano and a drumkit, as well as a small table. Also, the door locked, which was handy when I was trying to evade the attentions of one Josh Schroeder, the class asshole who for whatever reason had it in for me. He'd been suspiciously quiet in the three classes we'd shared today, and hadn't even shoved me into the wall when he'd passed me in the corridor. Either he was having a crisis of conscience, or he was plotting something. I'd put money on the latter, so I appreciated the comfort the lock provided.
It was quiet in the music room, the shrieking of the wind muffled by the soundproofing. I dumped my bag by the piano stool and sat down, then worked through a couple of warmup exercises as I thought about what kind of piece would suit my current mood. Maybe the Bartok. It was technically difficult, discordant and stormy. It would fit with the weather as well.
I launched into it, letting the music pour through me. My hands danced over the keys with the ease of long practice, and I felt myself relaxing. Playing music always calmed me down, always made my day a little brighter.
Maybe the downpour would prove to be a good thing after all.
--------
I let the last chord of a Rachmaninov piece I'd always been fond of die away, and flexed my fingers meditatively. The rain was a little lighter now, pattering rather than hammering on the windows, and the odds were good I'd be able to walk home in less than an hour.
What time was it, anyway? I reached over to the small table where I'd left my phone, and froze. It wasn't there anymore.
"Do you do requests?" drawled a voice from behind me. I jumped up, my calm shattered, and spun to face its owner.
Josh Schroeder. In my music room. He was leaning insolently against the door, arms folded across his chest, my phone in his hand. My head whirled, and I looked around in a panic. There had to be another way out of here.
Schroeder noticed my fear, and grinned. Fuck, I hated that grin. It always showed up just before I had something horrible happen to me. It also made my heart lurch in my chest, just a little. Because, let's face it, Schroeder was unbelievably gorgeous. A year or so older than me, he was just over six feet of tanned, toned athleticism, wavy sun-bleached hair, and dark green eyes that had inspired a record quantity of bad poetry amongst his female admirers.
"I'm serious, you know. You're good with your hands." he said, in a conversational tone. He flipped my phone cover open and regarded the lock screen with an air of faint puzzlement.
I fought my voice steady, and glared at him.
"What the hell are you doing in here? I locked the door."
He ignored me pointedly, started tapping on the screen. "What's your code, Mikey-boy?"
My fists balled involuntarily. "Don't call me that, Schroeder. And go to hell, I'm not telling you anything." I wasn't going to win this, whatever this turned out to be, but I was damned if I was going down without a fight.
He shrugged. And then that asshole reached up and put my phone on top of the door jamb. I wasn't going to have any trouble getting it down, but it left him with two hands free and both my objectives behind him. I felt myself bracing, for what I wasn't sure, but Schroeder didn't move. He looked me up and down with that goddamned grin again, and I suddenly felt oddly hot. There was something different there...
"Look at you, all ready for a fight."
"Only 'cause you always seem to want to start one." I shot back. "I don't feel like playing games today. Either get on with it or go fuck yourself."
"Take it easy, Mikey-boy, I've decided to be nice today. You can leave any time you like. You just have to do one little thing for me."
There was going to be a catch, there was always a catch...
"Get on your knees." he said, and there was a strange hitch in his voice.
"Eh?" I managed, confused. This was out of left field.
Schroeder stepped away from the door, and I moved backwards to keep out of his reach. I wasn't fast enough, and he grabbed my shoulders, forcing me down.
"Knees. Now." he commanded. I tried to resist, but he'd always been stronger than me. As I collapsed to the ground, he seized a handful of my hair with one hand, and began to fumble with his belt buckle.
Jesus, he was hard! I could see the bulge in his jeans, inches from my face. I struggled, trying to push away, and he pulled my head back forcefully. I cried out at the sudden pain.
"You get to choose, Mikey. Do you want my cock in your mouth, or your ass? Because if you fight me, it's going to be your ass, and I won't be nice anymore."
