CW: This story is a very over the top work of fantasy, and it contains extreme humiliation, blackmail, spit, food play, WS, some mild violence and unsafe sex practices. Thanks for all the hot feedback and encouragement. Enjoy!
After our encounter at the porno theater during my lunch break, Mel seemed to relish thinking up new, public places to use me and put me at risk of exposure. The sleazier the better, it seemed. He screwed me in a parking garage, in a public restroom, a subway platform. On a pier late at night. He would lead me around wordlessly, and at a place of his choosing he would simply grab my waist, tear open my belt and fly, rip my pants and underwear to my ankles, and bend me over a railing or press me up against the wall for an unceremonious but thorough rogering that left me feeling soiled and destroyed for the rest of the day.
Once he brought me to a crowded bar during happy hour, a drab old place near court, frequented by attorneys and court personnel. He found a table tucked in the corner for us, and after drinking several rounds of his piss from a pint glass, he sent me underneath the table to slowly, reverently fellate him. As he stroked my head and threaded his thick fingers through my hair, he carried on a conversation with Judge Wurstheimer, who was apparently none the wiser that the lawyer who had argued a motion in front of him just hours earlier was obediently and lovingly sucking his rival’s fat cock.
I tiptoed through my days with the feeling of a target radiating on my back, knowing that any moment he could appear like a boogeyman, or summon me via phone, and I would be his. Mel and his insistent prick could materialize at any moment to upend my reality. There would be no resisting him or the change that came over me in his imposing presence. Any ounce of spine, confidence or dignity I had immediately melted away. Instantly transformed from Peter the promising attorney and into Petey the butt-fucked, cocksucking pussyboy.
Mostly though, Mel chose to abuse me at the courthouse, taking special pleasure in forcing me into such ill-advised risky situations in my place of work. One Thursday Mel grabbed me in the hallway, clutching my arm and lighting rubbing his hand over my stomach, instantly getting me hard.
“Need some peach pie. Bare ass naked, not a stitch of clothing. 1606 at 2pm. I want you bent over the defendant’s table.” He asked, his voice calm but his eyes scanning my face for assent. I nodded and he released me, sending me on the way with a pat on my rear end that made a passerby chortle in surprise and derision.
As I headed away from him I felt panicked. What did the old bastard have in store for me this time? He was ordering me to go to a courtroom that was only open in the morning. I knew it would be empty at that time, but would it even be unlocked?
Nevertheless I obeyed, fighting off the gnawing dread and delivering myself to the quiet hallway a few minutes before 2. I looked around and heard only the soft whir of the HVAC, then tried the door handle, tentatively touching it like it would be superheated or carry a live current. My stomach flipped as it turned open for me, granting me access to the dark, empty courtroom.
I quietly stalked inside, checking into the back office and ensuring it was unoccupied, then looked at my watch. I had two minutes to comply with Mel’s orders. I hurriedly shucked off my jacket and dropped my pants, wincing as the belt buckle clattered noisily on the floor. I folded the clothes into a neat pile atop my shoes with my dress shirt and undershirt. Finally I took a deep breath and dropped my drawers, quickly stepping out of them and adding them to the pile.
I cringed as I realized how much I enjoyed this, being bare bottom naked in the most wildly inappropriate setting. My bare feet on the cold marble. I was as hard as I’d ever been, feeling the AC caress my naked skin. My erection, almost painfully firm, curled up over my shaven crotch to reach desperately toward my navel, falling several inches short.
To hide my shameful boner and follow Mel’s orders completely I lay myself face-down over the table. I felt my heart pounding wildly in my bare chest, the cold finish of the table making my nipples harden. I shifted my stance, planting my bare feet wider on the marble floor, knowing that my ass was upturned obscenely.
I shuddered at the sound of footsteps and a moment later I heard the door open. The man’s silhouette, illuminated only by light from the hallway, was unrecognizable. Too tall, the broad jughead a different shape – it wasn’t Mel. With each step toward me the thick duty belt rattled, his walkie talkie, handcuffs and firearm shaking noisily.
He took a few heavy steps toward me, and I saw that it was my least favorite security office, a man I knew only as Becker, a gum-chewing, jackbooted thug type in his 50s with a shaven head, a pock-marked face, and ice-cold blue eyes. He was a huge guy who sneered at everyone, but he had always seemed to kaçak iddaa take a particular dislike to me. For a moment I felt like I was having a heart attack, so physical and immense was my panic.
“Well well well. That’s a funny sight.” I heard this snap of his phone’s camera. I brought myself up from the table, futilely trying to cover my face. He snarled a cruel laugh and broadsided me across the cheek with the back of his hand, knocking me to the floor.
“Get the fuck down there you filthy faggot.” I crumpled at his feet, and he kicked one of his big gleaming boots out, bringing it to my face while leaning back against the table.
“Pucker up you pussy.” I cravenly put my lips on the toe of his huge black tactical boot. He ground it into my mouth, lifting it so that I had to kiss the underside too.
“Look up at me. Keep your eyes on me” He barked, photographing my face as I smooched the soles of his boot.
“Come on. Kiss kiss. Use your tongue. Make out with ’em. That’s it you little queer.” He goaded me, stomping into my mouth, twisting his hateful face in amused disgust.
“Look up at me. Open your mouth.” I remained on my hands and feet, craning my neck and parting my lips wide just in time to receive the thick glob of saliva he sent oozing down at me. I shuddered with shame at this almost automatic response – thanks to Mel’s conditioning, I was no stranger to letting men spit, hock loogies or even blow their nose into my mouth. Becker snorted loudly, and shuttled a thicker puck of snot into my open mouth.
“Swallow.” I forced the slick prize down my gullet, and he laughed in surprised disdain, shaking his head. His phone was pointed at me, recording a video. He lifted one of his feet and placed it atop my scalp, forcing me to look at the floor.
“That’s where all you little faggots belong. Under a real man’s boots.” He began to put his weight down on the foot on my head, increasing the pressure painfully. Becker was a hulking guy, at least 240 lbs.
Becker unhooked his duty belt and laid it on the table, then unzipped his fly and unsheathed his cock from his pants. It was a fat and nasty piece, and I could see thick blonde curls growing up its root.
“This is what you want, huh? This big old cock, this is what you want, fagboy?” He asked, sneering at me in the dark room, letting it swing in my face mockingly. He looked down and laughed, clearly enjoying the sight of a snot-nosed lawyer bowing before his penis, naked, on his knees, completely caught and powerless.
He had an objectively ugly penis, shorter than Mel’s but thick, and embossed with thick, ridged veins, gnarled like a tree root. Almost gray-pale with blue veins, what kind of man would willingly put that thing in his mouth? He took a step forward and pressed his flesh against my face, laying it on my nose and forehead. I smelled the sharp sweat of his long summer day’s labors.
“Huh?!” He demanded, slapping my face and the side of my head, briefly blinding me from the blow.
“Yes Sir.” I squeaked out. He chortled, and pressed his hose against my face once more.
“That’s right. Now suck this prick you deviant little pig.” He ordered, and at once I opened my mouth and took him inside.
As I fellated him I could hear him take photos with his camera, but I didn’t care. Somewhere along the way I had begun to truly enjoy blowing men. The challenge of it, using my mouth, tongue and throat like a single sex organ and pushing myself to give more, do more to make a man’s cock feel ever better. Physically, I enjoyed the obscene imposition of his manhood occupying oral cavity, its thick pulsing presence, the heat of his sweaty, rubber flesh.
The hated man looming above me, who for years had treated me with open contempt, hostile stares or muttered comments, smiled benevolently down at me and patted my head. He opened up his pants so that his big balls spilled out of his boxers, slapping against my chin. My tongue met the salted, furry skin of his nutsack, licking around as I deepthroated, a technique Mel had taught me.
Becker groaned in appreciation and grabbed the sides of my head, clamping his big rough hands over my ears and beginning to jackhammer down my larynx. For the next couple of minutes the big cruel goon raped my mouth, with no care for whether I could breath or not. He finally pulled out, pointed his spit-soaked boned-up dong at my face and shot several looping ropes of thick, white jizz all over my face, hair chest and neck. He hooted while he jerked himself onto me, yanking my hair to hold me in place and keep my face trapped as a target. It felt hot as it splashed against my skin as I kept my eyes shut. He chuckled at his work, painting me with his cum, and quickly captured a few more pictures, shaking the last droplets of semen into my face.
“Hold still, stay down there. Let me help wash that off for you.” His hand remained on his softening prick, and he took a few breaths. I watched his penis intently, and saw his urethra close once, like it was kaçak bahis winking at me.
Becker unleashed a stream of piss squarely at my face, right between my eyes. He soaked me from the top of my head to my toes, taking extra care to douse my hair, my chest, and my still-hard pecker. It pooled between my legs in a puddle that spread across the marble floor. I thought of all the times I’d seen him bring a coffee cup to his lips when I passed through the security checkpoint in the morning, the way his stubbled jaw and Adam’s apple bobbed with each gulping sip. I was being drenched with the end result.
He looked down at me with a wry smile, proud of his work. He then sniffed in disgust and snarled at me.
“The janitors shouldn’t have to clean up all that piss. Use your fucking clothes to wipe that up, faggot.” He kicked me in my bare stomach with his hard boot, and I collapsed face first into the piss puddle.
With resignation I took my socks, underwear and undershirt to wipe up Becker’s bladder full of urine, but when those items were sopping wet and a puddle remained he looked at my coldly and handed me my dress shirt and tie. I swallowed, knowing I was now ruining another $80 shirt to clean up the old son of a bitch’s piss and spooge. He watched me scrub the floor wordlessly.
“Good. Next time I might let you drink it. Catch ya around, cocksucker.” He crowed, the last word popping in his mouth lewdly, before zipping up and turning heel.
I stayed on my knees in the dark for the next few moments, naked as the day I was born. I realized that my heart had been pounding in my chest, and only with Becker out of sight did it begin to slow.
My phone buzzed, a text message from Mel. “Sorry I couldn’t make it [peach-emoji]. Glad you got to show an old friend a good time though. Rain check for today but I’ll meet you after work on Friday.”
I hurriedly put on my heavy clothes. They clung to my skin and made me shiver in revulsion as the brutish old security officer’s urine quickly cooled. As I quickly buttoned my shirt I shuddered, feeling it run down my chest, the soaked underwear spread into my pants, knowing full well that I reeked of piss.
I fled through the stairwell and rushed home, eyes planted on the sidewalk to avoid anyone’s gaze. Even averting their gaze I felt the scrutiny of men passing me on the street, heard their scoffing laughter. Once in my apartment I quickly showered and changed, leaving my suit in a heap to deal with later. I rushed to the office, realizing grimly I’d have to put in an extra hour or so to account for the unanticipated visit home and wardrobe change.
That evening, after working until 6:00pm, I delivered myself to the bachelor pad of Bob Huston, my colleague who had gotten wind of Mel and my “relationship” and mercilessly used the compromising information to his advantage . Formerly a loathed but impotent-seeming rival, he had appointed himself as my boss around the office, putting work on my plate and gleefully taking credit for it, as well as exploiting me in other ways. Case in point, I was now knocking on the door to his condo, where I knew I would spend the next hour or so cleaning the place for him, just as I had the last two weeks.
From behind the door I heard him shout that it was unlocked. I stepped through the threshold, closed it behind me, and as per his standing orders I immediately shucked my clothes, everything I was wearing. Under Mel’s perverse tutelage I had become quite skilled in hastily undressing. After folding and setting my clothes aside I stepped down his hallway bare ass naked and heard him chuckle from his recliner. He was in his boxers and an undershirt, his big bare feet on an ottoman, watching the game.
“Hey kid. You know the deal. Laundry’s in the bedroom, iron the shirts I left on the bed for you. And get me another beer.” He ordered with a belch.
I retrieved a beer from his kitchen and noticed that his usually empty fridge was filled with newly-purchased items.
“Here you are Boss.” He accepted it without thanks, rolling his eyes at the craven subservience he demanded of me.
“Once the laundry’s in the wash get started on dinner. Recipe’s printed out, even a moron like you shouldnt be able to fuck it up. But if you do…” Bob raised his hand and gestured at me with it, making to slap me with the back of his big broad paw. I knew he wasn’t kidding. The middle-aged brute liked to roughly swap me upside the head or cuff me on the ears.
“I want dinner on the table by 8pm. Get a move on.” I nodded, almost bowing, and got to work.
Cooking for him too. It was unspoken that Bob was having me take up the tasks his wife used to perform for him prior to their divorce. I quickly collected the laundry from his hamper and all the carelessly discarded items from his bedroom floor, then began the first load. I then zipped into the kitchen, began preheating the oven and washing the vegetables. I quickly reviewed the recipe and began cooking in earnest. A naked cook, a naked illegal bahis maid. I worked as efficiently as possible, knowing I only had a limited amount of time to get everything done. Once I put the main course in the oven I washed my hands, quickly pressed 10 of his dress shirts, and then went into the bathroom.
My heart sank when I saw the mess. It was in an even worse state than when I had cleaned for him last week. Bob’s hirsute body seemed to shed worse than a labrador, and I knew I was expected to collect every hair from the shower, sink and bathroom floor. The big man had boxed my ears when he found a stray pube the other week, and I flinched just thinking about it. I got to work, diligently scrubbing each surface until the whole room was immaculate. I paused every now and then to check on the meal in the kitchen, then it was back to the front in the war against Bob’s stray body hair.
Eventually he stomped over me, buck naked, his big penis swinging past my face and stepped into the shower, turning it on. I looked up at the lumbering giant with fascination. Though the fifty-something year old man had gone to seed there was still a mesmerizing power to his body – it was in his linebacker shoulders, his barrel chest, his hairy gut, his solid rump and of course it was in his pendulous prick and heavy balls, wreathed in a thick bush of graying pubes.
“Come in with me, boy.” He beckoned and I stood up and followed him into the large shower. He closed the sliding glass door and thrust a bar of soap in my hand.
“Wash me.” I tentatively touched the soap to his carpeted chest as he stood under the shower stream. He gestured impatiently at me to get on with it, and I soaped him up, rubbing my hands over his big, hefty body. Bob was a couple inches taller than me and far wider, a former hockey bruiser in his glory days. I could feel the muscles under the fat of his breasts, or his thick arms. He spun himself around as I lathered him up, getting me to apply the soap to his broad back and hairy shoulders. I squatted down to soap up the backs of his thighs, his knees.
“Don’t forget the ass, kid.” He grunted, and I rubbed soap over his big, wide butt cheeks.
“Get in there you needle-dick faggot.” He barked, swiping behind his back to hit the side of my head lightly. I soaped between his hairy mounds, then spread them to ensure the shower stream ran through the cleft. Face to face with Bob’s hairy hole.
When I stood up he turned around and had me clean his pits.
“Come on. You wait on me hand and foot. This is your job.” For the next couple minutes I was able to overcome my timidity and began to focus on the work of cleaning Bob’s body. I washed him carefully, squatting down to his feet, cleaning between the toes. I then ran up his legs, massaging his thick, hairy calves and thighs. I avoided his cock until he grabbed my wrists and brought my hands there. He looked me dead in the eye while he made me wash his thick manhood. I handled his equipment reverently.
“‘Sides, this must be a thrill for you. Getting to put your dirty hands all over a real man. Your little pecker’s hard, after all.” He said with a smirk, reaching over to flick my erection, snapping it painfully. He then surprised me by holding on to my narrow, stubby cockhead and laying his flaccid prick atop my boner. It unfurled over my erection, both thicker and longer, fully relaxed, like a heavyweight wrestler pinning a bantamweight. A darker color, almost crimson, compared to the delicate milky pink of my slender hard-on. He gave me a shit-eating grin and winked.
“Look at that. Soft I’m still bigger than your little peter at its hardest. A man and a boy, huh?” He chuckled, looking back and forth between our contrasting endowments and into my surely beet-red face.
“Yes Boss.” I agreed, my insides rolling over with shame and the thrill of the explicit comparison. I liked this humiliating attention to my genitals.
“You’re so big, Boss.” I volunteered gratuitously, and he laughed at me, shaking his head, then opened the sliding glass door.
“Alright now dry me off.” He motioned to a towel, and I stepped out of the shower to grab it. Bob had me dry him off with the big towel, then lifted his heavy arms over his head and pointed to a stick of deodorant in his open medicine cabinet. I realized the game he was playing. I was to truly be his manservant, to meet his every need no matter how personal. I opened the deodorant and applied it to each of his bushy armpits.
He led me to his bedroom and I helped dress him like a valet. Underwear, socks, trousers, I helped him step into each item so that he did the minimum amount of labor. I buttoned his dress shirt, looped his belt through his pants and buckled it for him, reaching around him like the most loyal and discreet of help. I kneeled at his feet and put his shoes on his feet, tying them for him. I helped him into a sports jacket. Clasped the designer watch around his wrist.
“Alright. Get dressed and get out. I got a date with my lady friend. No cock for you tonight, faggot.” With that he sent me on my way, not looking at me as he adjusted his hair in the mirror. I quickly put my sweaty clothes back on and left his place.