Part 3 - Sound of Betrayal

Story by Robert Addams on SoFurry

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#3 of Wanting Hammond


I figure I owed an explanation fo why Part III took so long getting out. My hard drive crashed and I had to rewrite this, but the fact that I was almost done really put me out of the mood to work on this story for a while. And I really feel guilty about that, because there are people out there who like to read what I have to say (at least, that's what I like to tell myself).


Hammond sat on the sofa in his bedroom playing Gears of War 2, as he usually did when we hung out casually. I signed up to be his Math tutor so we could spend more time together, and though I demanded improvement so that I could keep the position and keep us associated with each other, I was never unhappy to reward him when he did improve. Normally we sat next to each other on his sofa, both of us in nothing but jockstraps (since I didn't play sports, he bought a pair in my size pretending his good pair tore, and that he had mistakenly bought the wrong size since I was very much smaller than he). Hammond always wore his heavy-use jockstrap, and I would fondle and smell his large package as he played his Xbox 360, trying sometimes to make him fail the easy levels by playing with his bulge in my paw. I wouls also rub my footpaws along his, which I'm sure was a sight to see. His feet were US size 18, and mine were size 8.5.

Today, however, I sat on the floor between Hammond's legs, massaging his footpaws, fingering the spaces between his toes. Hammond sat right on the edge of his sofa, completely naked. I had my head back, my nose near his ass and his balls in my mouth. I played around with them throughout the entirety of the two hours Hammond spent on Gears of War 2. His mother's car pulled into the driveway, so he quickly pulled on a shirt and a pair of shorts and I began slowly explaining logarithms, both of us suffering some unresolved excitement.

* * *

A few days later that excitement remained unresolved. Hammond and I made eye contact briefly in the hall once in the those three days. In Math, I once firmly grabbed and massaged his crotch for multiple seconds when I was sure nobody had been looking, but he acted as if nothing had happened. His dick did not respond any more than he had to my touch. I passed him a note asking if something was wrong. The note was not returned.

The next day, he was, if anything, overly affectionate. In P.E., he signaled to me to wait behind when everyone went up into the weight room, and slipped me behind the lockers to shove his tongue down my throat for several minutes. He assured me that he loved me more than anything, and gave my rear a firm grab. After that incident, the next day and the weekend remained as desolate of interaction as had been the previous day.

On Monday I had convinced myself that he was adjusting to himself. He had some self-discovery to do, after all, having just discovered that he was not entirely straight as he had seen himself as his entire life. I had already gone through the stages of discovering for myself that I was bisexual. For years I had lived on the internet, and that being the pinnacle of sources for sexual excitement I had come to discover my tendencies and preferences on my own. This was all new to Hammond, I reasoned, for he hadn't ever been curious; he had never quesrtioned his straight self-image and only recently had I exposed to him the potential for a his own sex to arouse him. This, I reasoned, was causing the mood swings that were leading to my confusion and feelings of rejection. It seemed perfectly reasonable an explanation, and so I did not let my mind wander to the darker potentials. Part of me had feared that he had gone back to sleeping with girls, that what we have wasn't exclusive as I had wished, but I forced those thoughts from my mind. After all the time of desire and longing he was mine. He was my Hammond and I would actively reject the thought of there being another.

After P.E. on that same Monday, I went to my locker and began gathering the materials I'd need that night in order to get just enough homework done to survive the next day. No use doing what was due Wednesday until Tuesday night, after all. Having filled my backpack with nothing but a single folder and the narrow, paperback Spanish textbook, the thought occurred to me that I probably should have brought my gym clothes home with me to be washed, since I had room today and it had been almost an entire semester since their last laundering. Basketball practice was canceled, and in the gymnasium the coach was giving a post-season speech to the football team about how great the season had been. There was no reason for anyone else to be in the locker room, so there would be nobody to shout anything homophobic at me simply for being a non-athlete walking into the locker room after school.

I watched the coach exit to the parking lot on my way to the locker room. His speech must have been brief. I turned right and walked down the short set of stairs, into the thick musky scent that constantly linkered near the locker room door. Putting my paw on the handle, I swore I heard a muffled, angry shout from inside. Pausing only to hear nothing at all, I pushed the door open. The skqueak of the hinge and the door slamming shut behind me were muffled by the noise of another shout, this one most certainly not imagined.

"What the hell? Is this some sort of joke, 'cause I ain't laughin'!" I heard the cocky voice of my football-jock, cousin-by-marriage Wayt echo through the room.

"No," boomed Hammond's voice in return, "this ain't a joke, and I don't need you to laugh. I need you to drop it!"

My heart dropped into my stomach. As much as I didn't approve of Wayt, I had no reason to wish harm upon him. Whatever Hammond wanted him to shut up about, he'd better do it. At that thought my stomach turned again. What if Hammond had told Wayt about him and me? He probably told Wayt, and Wayt was probably making fun of him for it. I wasn't ready to be outed as bisexual yet, especially not by someone like Wayt. Wayt only understood gay and straight, with no in-between, and if he thought I way gay my whole family would before I got home. That was the last thing I wanted.

My wandering mind was brought back by the distinct sound of elastic snapping against skin, and my acute feline ears heard what sounded like a small piece of fabric hit the tile floor.

"There. Happy, you perv--what?!" Wayt exclaimed.

I crept closer to where the voices were coming from: the shower. I stood next to the urinal and peered around the corner to see Hammond's giant paw stroking Wayt's dick, clearly trying to get him hard. I was never too close to Wayt and so although I found the lean, yet very well-muscled lizard extremely attractive, I never was in any sort of position to have ever seen him nude. The fact of it being Hammond, my Hammond, clad only in his dirtiest jock strap being the one doing this to Wayt hadn't sunk in yet, so I was free to admire the beauty of Wayt's body. His musculature was nothing less than breathtaking, and though from my angle one foot was hidden by the jock strap he's dropped around his ankles, the other had stepped out and was at least a size 12. His dick, now semi-hard at Hammond's sensual touch, was likely about 7 inches.

"Knock it off, yeh faggot! Get offa me!" Wayt commanded, though he made no visible move to stop Hammond's pleasuring of him. Then, when Hammond turned around, it finally hit me that this really was my Hammond doing this with someone else, and I felt all words leave me. I wanted nothing more than to run, but inside I knew that if I didn't see what it led to I could never convince myself it would become more than a handjob, and I'd never have the strength to say anything to Hammond about it.

Rooted to the spot, I watched as Hammond pressed his anus, the beautiful tailhole I thought was mine alone to taste and to explore, over the head of Wayt's cock. Against the wall, Wayt could do nothing as Hammond let his entire weight fall onto Wayt, his ass enveloping the entire 7-inch cock in one motion. There was a mutual moan of pleasure, Hammond's of pure carnal satisfaction, Wayt's of a pleasure he wanted badly to reject from his teammate. I saw Hammond reach back and pin Wayt's arms to the wall with his enormous paws and thrust his ass against Wayt's crotch, thrusting and grinding until the moans reached a deafening volume. I wondered if the students still in the hall could hear.

As I watched Hammond climax into his ready-to-burst jockstrap, I began to wonder to myself why he would do this to me. I remembered when Hammond first asked me to fuck him, and immediately the fear I'd had since the beginning had been realized. My small cock wasn't enough for Hammond. Not nearly enough. Hammond craved to be a bottom now and then, and I just couldn't do it for him. He had to seek out and rape a teammate in the locker room to be satisfied. Tears welling in my eyes, I ran blindly for the exit of the locker room, the slamming of the door muffled by the sound of Wayt exploding into Hammond's ass.

* * *

On Tuesday, Hammond was affectionate again. It was because he'd been satisfied at long last, I told myself. Coldly I turned down his affection throughout the entire day, but did not confront him about what I saw.

That afternoon, I walked to my grandparents' house from school, since I was depressed and it was half the distance home. Before I could even turn on the TV, I heard the doorbell. Sullen, I went to answer it, and much to my disgust Wayt stood there.

"Oh," I said emotionlessly, "I fogot you lived next door." I began to regret not walking all the way home. "What did you want?"

"I saw yeh in da locker room yesterday after school," Wayt said, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. I noticed him turn the deadbolt.

"Did you?" I said, audibly irritated.

"Yeah, I saw yeh watch me, uh... get raped," Wayt said seriously. Slowly his scowl turned to a grin. "And I think yeh might have enjoyed da show, too."

"Hardly," I said honestly. As hot as it was I couldn't enjoy Hammond's involvement.

"Well, I'm pretty sure yeh did," Wayt said, cracking his knuckles, "and I'm gonna make sure da little faglet knows as far's he's concerned, it didn't happen."