Clay knows where you live - He and his buddies used to wait for you between your place and school every morning, to make sure you handed over your lunch money and anything else they wanted from you before getting to school.
Now that you're the hulking jock god's own personal pet, he's decided that he has a right to much more than just your lunch money.
Clay finds the key hidden by your porch and lets himself in. You're wishing like crazy that you hadn't let it slip at school that your parents were going to be away for a few days. Your brother probably won't bother coming home at all tonight, so Clay has free reign of the house for as long as he likes.
"Nice room, faggot." Clay spits in his macho voice, strutting into your bedroom. He hasn't bothered showering after his sweat-fest at the gym, so you're currently sucking on the stail-tasting flesh of his meaty palm as he squeezes you hard in his grip.
"Ya know, I never did get the chance to shower. Maybe I ought to clean myself up before I go pawing through your shit." You're thrown down on your bed, where you're forced to watch in humble silence as Clay picks up your pillow, reefs off the case and starts wiping his armpits vigorously with the cloth. His glistening biceps are soon dry as your pillow-slip soaks up all of Clay's filthy sweat. "Ahh, that's better." he says, throwing the rag on top of you and pulling a few drawers open.
You fight through the tent-sized slip which is now soaked in Clay's manly scent. You see the giant jock hulking over your dresser, which looks huge from this perspective, though is still dwarfed by Clay's athletic stature. "Who the fuck does this belong to, faggot? A little girl?" Clay pulls out one of your shirts and, to high-light his sheer bulk, tries to pull it over his head.
The shirt splits loudly, and he rips it off, laughing at how wimpy you were, even at regular size. "I think you ought to thank me for taking control of you, runt. Atleast you got an excuse to be a weak little faggot now - I mean, no-one stands a chance when this muscle-god sets his sights on them." Clay flexes his huge biceps over you, snarling fiercely, and you feel that familiar humiliation.
"Yeah, that's right, fear me, runt! And now you're gonna thank me for owning you by letting me help myself to whatever I want in your gay little room." He laughs obnoxiously at his cleverness and goes on pawing through your drawers..
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