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!
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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 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 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 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.
Out in the heat of the summer evening I felt lightheaded and flush. I was desperately horny- generally when Mel used me he enjoyed making me cum. Sometimes he’d laugh at the comparative weakness of my load, but I still got to get off. But twice today I had been used and humiliated by hefty-cocked, domineering older men, the kind that Mel had twisted my mind around to lust after, and both had denied me sexual relief of any kind. I looked at my phone, went through my text messages, hoping for a summons from Mel.
With each step home I was aware of the aching erection in my pants. I had been dominated by two different men, one a virtual stranger and the other one of my newly self-appointed owners. Twice I had been entranced by their hefty cocks, their bountiful manhood. And twice they had left me blue-balled.
At home I stripped naked instantly, resisted the urge to indulge in porn or anything like that. I went to bed, naked atop the sheets, listening to the whir of the air conditioner. My miniature penis leaking all night long as I slept fitfully, dreaming of heavy hanging cocks and bearded bushes.
The next day was a blur. I had to force myself to concentrate at work, though Bob’s stern and disapproving glances when he caught me daydreaming helped keep me on task. At midday he pushed up against me while I bent over the copy machine. He pinned me to the piece of office equipment, and I felt the distinct pulse of his hard-on under his suit pants. Bob brought his stubbled jaw up against my ear.
“She liked the salmon last night. I raw dogged her, long and hard. Good job, cuck.” He said into my ear, slapping my trousered backside.
“Cuck, boss?” I asked respectfully. He grabbed my hips and spun me around but stayed close up against me, his face inches from mine.
“Yeah, cuckold. You’re my little cuck. You don’t know? Come on, you’re not that stupid. You do all the work and I get all the credit. Here at the office, in court, at home, wherever. I fuck and you get fucked.” He gloated, speaking in a low, lusty tone, pushing his groin into mine. He blew his warm coffee breath on my face, and I melted into him, into the embrace of his hands around my waist. If he had pantsed me, stripped me bare ass naked and taken me atop the copy machine right there I would have let him, I was so desperate to be used.
“And I know you like it, cuck. I can feel your little boy pecker popping a stiffy in your pants, cuck.” Each time he called me that he punctuated the word, emphasizing the hard “k” sound, spitting it out. He peered down at my tented-up crotch, then looked back at me smugly. He brought his left hand into my face and poked out his pinky daintily, in a mock recreation of my modest erection.
“Yes boss.” I said quietly, a restrained moan in my voice. I resisted the urge to bring my lips to his hair-speckled backhand and lick it. Whereas Mel would have applauded such depraved initiative, I knew Bob needed to be in complete control.
“Yeah, that’s my good little cuck.” He rapidly patted my cheek with enough force in it to jostle my head around. Bob then brought his hands to my neck, adjusting my collar and tie, tucked my shirt back into my waistband where it had loosened, and clapped his hands on my chest.
“Back to work. Get that memo on my desk by COD, we have the Walters trial next week.” I nodded, and he strutted off, leaving me flush-faced with my dick throbbing desperately in my pants. I had come into work early to get started on that very task, so thankfully completing my work was the least of my worries.
At 1:30pm sharp I presented myself on the gym floor, having quickly changed from my suit to just socks, shoes and a jockstrap, the obscene outfit my self-appointed trainer, Cliff, had me work out in. By now I was used to the grins, whistling and cooing comments of the regulars as I delivered myself to the stern, shaven-headed older man. We started with squats and I gave each rep all I could, pushing myself to make the most out of the exercise. I worked quickly through each station.
While I added weight to the bar, Cliff noted my zeal with a smirk.
“Damn, what’s gotten into you boy? You must really want to look good for your man, huh?” He slapped my exposed bottom, making me bounce on my feet.
“That’s right, Coach.” At one of our earlier sessions Cliff had decided I’d call him Coach early on, and even back then it had felt natural.
“Well you’ve made quite a bit of progress boy already in these last few weeks. Your arms and chest have gotten bigger but your legs have really taken off. Your glutes are much bigger and rounder than when we started, eh boy?” He squeezed both globes in his hand, seizing the muscle between his rough hands.
“I know Melvin must love that nice plump can of yours.” He grabbed my shoulders and turned me 90 degrees, pushed down to get me to flex my bare ass in front of the mirror. As I took myself in, Cliff beamed back at me in the mirror, smiling with pride at his hand in the creation.
“You’ve become the perfect little buttboy. Tight body, smooth as a woman, nice strong behind, and a tiny little pecker in front, no bigger than a clit.” Cliff reached around my waist and grabbed the meager contents of my mostly empty pouch and shook them with a laugh. Two men watching the spectacle joined him in long peals of hearty laughter.
Initially after that first meeting with Mel, when he had spanked, shaven and sodomized me, the sight of my naked body had made me cringe. For the first two weeks or so, I was shocked by my hairless chest, my bald crotch, my girl-smooth arms and legs, the barren canyon of my pits. Cliff was right though – I had gained muscle, definition, and this was highlighted by the lack of body hair. And he was right that I had most prominently gained muscle in my backside. I had always had what the women I used to date had dubbed a “nice ass” but now it was much bigger, the perky cheeks held high by muscle. It reminded me of the baseball or hockey players I had known in college, who had almost lewdly filled out their jeans or sweatpants.
I was constantly conscious of it, this heavier, wider, firmer mass behind me, carrying it around always, even while fully dressed. I felt the eyes of men and women on it, and shamefully it was now solely the attention of men that gratified and titillated me. Friends and colleagues had commented on my gains. Guys had openly complimented my bigger ass, and it felt like they were only half joking. I was not infrequently patted on my rear end – they figured if I had worked to build it out that I wouldn’t mind having it handled by them, that they had license to put their hands on it. Each time I felt an embarrassing little rush.
I had to take my suits into the tailor, an old guy who brought out my waist to accommodate what he happily described as my “bigger rump.” I had never been mindful of being checked out before, and now it happened all the time, staring, raised eyebrows, double-takes, even wolf-whistling. At a recent night out with a crowded bar with friends my ass was squeezed no less than four times.
In the elevator on the way back up to my office, I saw a man in the mirrored walls ogle my heinder and I wondered if this was how it felt for a woman with a big rack. A small but mortifying thrill coiled through my body as I stepped out of the car, feeling his eyes still on me.
Back at the office after the workout I couldn’t stop thinking about these changes. My whole lower body was tender from Cliff’s punishing leg and glute workout, and I sat upon that satisfying soreness. At 5:00pm my phone buzzed, notifying me that Mel would see me outside in half an hour.
He met me on the street, smilingly widely. He grabbed my arm as he walked, pulling me next to him. We were a common pair in the downtown neighborhood near the court, and I think people sizing us up concluded that we were colleagues, perhaps mentor/mentee given the age difference.
Mel talked my ear off about an upcoming case we had against each other, and I just followed along, trembling nervously as I followed at his side. It was almost 90 degrees out and we were both sweating heavily in our suits, but a chill went up my spine as I sensed the direction he was headed. It was apparent that he was leading me back to my own apartment.
My hands shook as I unlocked the door. Once opened Mel pushed right past me. He immediately began looking over everything, opening cabinets and drawers. Inspecting each and every thing I had in my modest one bedroom apartment. It was a swelteringly hot day.
“Strip” he commanded, sounding disinterested, not even looking at me. He lifted a framed photo of me and my brothers from a table, sneering at it. I hastily disrobed, my hands shaking. I hung up the suit and folded my other clothes, returning to stand before him meekly, trembling and but naked.. Seeing Mel in my living room in the same shabby suit he wore most days, leering at me, was jarring. It felt unreal having him here. Like something from a strange dream. My heart was racing.
Mel got two beers from my fridge and opened both. He took a long swig of one and let out a loud belch. He then drank a big gulp from the other beer, but gargled it like mouthwash. He made a show of swishing it around in his mouth, bulging his cheeks out, transferring it from one side to the other, all while looking me in the eye.
Then he grabbed my chin and forced open my mouth, spitting it all down my throat. It was warm and tasted a little bit like his cigars. He grabbed something else from the fridge and turned back to me.
Mel fished his big red cock out of his trousers and lowered my almond milk right below his dickhead. He grinned at me caddishly and let free a strong stream of piss. I just stood there stupidly, bare ass naked in my own kitchen letting him ruin my food.
“Feeling thirsty?” He asked, placing the carton in my hand. I looked at it grimly.
“Why don’t you finish it.” He ordered, and I meekly drank the rancid mixture, which was mostly his piss. He didn’t bother to put his pendulous flaccid cock back in his pants, and it hung out of his fly, asserting his dominance. It swung about heavily as he peered into my fridge.
I watched him open up a tupperware full of salad and stood there while launched snot rockets into my lunch. He chuckled at the demented act. Mel was in full schoolyard bully mode, and though I was nauseated I was also shamefully excited to be his victim, trapped in my own home with him.
From a cabinet he got a garbage bag, then stomped into my bedroom, where quickly found my underwear drawer. I watched powerlessly as he seized every pair of boxers and boxer briefs I had, dumping them all into the trash bag. From his briefcase he placed on the shelf about a dozen identical pairs of size 32 white fruit-of-the-loom undershorts. Old-fashioned, little boy briefs. I hadn’t worn anything like them since I was 12. Switching to boxers around the same time as my peers had been an assertion of my independence and more importantly my burgeoning manhood.
I looked at them all in my drawer, the rows of neatly folded white cotton. Fruit-of-the-looms. About as boyish as you could get. The kind of underwear that would make me look like a dweeb, a virgin. The type of tight drawers that would put my small package on full display, which along with my completely hairless body would be a kind of pitiful self-evident justification for why I was I belonged in such wimpy undies in the first place.
“Bout time I put you back in tighty-whities, eh boy?” I nodded along, permitting him to reorder my wardrobe. When he was done he clasped the small of my back, directing me to look into the drawer.
“You see Petey, when a boy has such a tiny little pecker like you, it needs to be kept safe and protected, nestled in clean white cotton. It doesn’t need to swing free, nothing to swing after all, right? From now on we’ll keep your little schmekel safe and sound in a good old-fashioned pair of tighty-whities.” He rubbed his hand over my bare stomach as he talked, looking back and forth from my face to my pulsing hard-on. I nodded, imagining putting on these underwear everyday, wearing them under my suit, knowing what it would mean.
Something caught Mel’s attention and he released me, bumping me with his hip. He beamed at me wildly as he grabbed a photo of my father and me from off the bureau.
“This is your faggot father, huh boy?” He rubbed our faces in the photo with his thumb.
“Yes Sir.” I felt queasy at Mel’s menacing interest in my personal life.
“Looks like he might like it up the ass, too. Think I should ask him?” He wagged his cock at me mockingly as he continued to hold the photo.
“Yeah I’d fuck him up the ass, then stomp his tiny nuts to tomato sauce so he can’t make any more faggot sons.” He threw the photo on the ground then barked.
“Petey, I’m the fucking guest of honor here. You’re going to show me a real good time, right boy?” He jabbed his finger into my chest, causing me to stumble. I steadied myself and clasped my arms behind my back obediently, making myself available to him.
“Yes Sir!” I said in a clear voice.
“If you don’t show me a good fucking time, I’m going to send a couple of really funny videos to your father. He can learn how much his baby boy loves my big fat cock.” He shook his cock back and forth at me.
“Please Sir, I’ll do anything.” I pleaded.
“You like being my bitch, don’t you Peter Joseph Meechum?” He asked wryly.
“Yes Sir! I love it!” My heart was racing.
He stripped his own suit and had me hang it up. I picked up his discarded boxers, socks and undershirt from my floor. The items were damp with his sweat. He patted my head, his naked waist jostling me as he walked past me. I then watched as he went around and closed all the windows in my apartment and unplugged the AC. He turned back to me, grinning, his ape-like body shiny with perspiration.
“Let’s enjoy the heat, boy.” I too was soon coated in sweat. We were in my bedroom, and I stood there as he walked opposite of the window, his naked, hairy pear-shaped form looming over my computer and desk.
“Get on your knees, play with your little schmekel.” I knelt down quickly, eager to pleasure myself. I rubbed the underside with the palm of my hand and fingertips, I was so horned up that I knew that just taking it in my hand might make me blast prematurely. Instead I gently toyed with myself while watching him investigate.
Mel rooted around in my desk, phone in his hand. The first two drawers had random odds and ends but then he found where I kept all my important documents, and he hauled everything out. He was taking pictures. My passport, bank records, social security card, tax records, birth certificate. I heard his camera snap photo after photo. He was getting it all, his big hard-on pressed atop my desk, rubbing over my vital records and staining them with pre-cum. His big boner sawed over my open passport, and I saw my photo getting smeared with his thick leaking seed.
Violating my privacy like this was making him hard as a rock and even had him leaking his juices. As he leaned against the desk his belly spilled over it, and I watched as the sweat ran down from his hairy gut and onto the surface. His sweat stained and smeared the ink of some of the documents as well. My stomach dropped as he greedily sucked up all of my information. He then carelessly swept all of my vital records off the desk and onto the floor, and then sat his wide naked ass down in my office chair.
“What’s your password, boy?” He demanded as I kneeled at his hairy feet, wanking off. I hesitated before answering, making him snicker. He unlocked my computer and went to work. I could see him examining my web history. Rooting through my files. He inserted a flash drive into the side. His big hairy hands typed quickly. For an older guy he moved quickly online, going from page to page. Bank and checking account 401k, social media, he accessed it all and downloaded it all onto the drive. He set up software too. He didn’t explain what he was doing but I recognized the programs as he quickly installed them, identified them as remote access programs so that he could invade my computer from wherever and whenever he pleased. Take control and wreak havoc.
He turned to me in my office chair, swiveling it towards me, grinning at me like a lunatic and chuckling. His stocky legs were spread open and his rampant hard-on was pointing straight up, oozing pre-jizz on the seat.
“You and me? Now we’re really linked together. I’ll be able to see everything you do, and I’ll be able to do whatever I want. Isn’t that nice, Peteyboy?” I nodded, unable to verbally affirm this brazen invasion of my finances, my future, my life.
After he ransacked my personal files, he sat up, leaving a puddle of sweat on the chair, and yanked my hair to drag me along on the floor. I bear crawled at his side, letting him dog-walk me down to the hall and into the living room.
He sat on my couch and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. Almost unconsciously I fell to my knees and put my face in his crotch. He laughed with delight as I, unbidden, began to reverently lick and suck on his large, hairy testicles. Paying homage to the center of his manhood.
“Atta boy, Petey!” He patted the top of my head roughly.
I then licked from his stomach up to his chest. Suckling his breasts, licking the nipples, nuzzling as if they would give me milk. Plunging my face into his dense, swirling gray chest hair. He lifted his arm and I eagerly thrust my face deep into his armpit.
“Oh yeah! That’s it slut. You love that hairy pit, don’t you pussyboy!” I nodded as I continued to lap at the swirling, sweat-soaked hair. I drank the salt-tinged sweat that was pouring into my mouth.
He grabbed my face and spit a mouthful of beer into my mouth. I forced it down my throat.
“Thank you, Sir.” I gurgled.
“Good boy, Petey.” He grabbed my jaw and poured the rest of his beer down my throat. Squeezing my cheeks, he belched loudly and blew it onto me. He then slapped my face and sent me to the kitchen to grab two more for us. Now I was truly a naked servant for him in my own home, walking back from the fridge with two beers, my little hard-on waggling in front.
He only let me drink beer, spit from his mouth to mine. He would take a long swig himself and drink it, then fill his mouth again with an equally large amount of beer. He’d swill it around in his mouth, gargling it like mouthwash, all while looking me dead in the eye. Then he’d pull my face to his and spit the warm beer into my mouth. He held both cold bottles up to my nipples to torment me.
“Lie on your back, sissy. Bring your knees up to your titties.” Mel waddled off to the kitchen and came back with two fresh beers. He popped the top off both with his thumbs, letting the caps fall to the floor. I watched him approach me as his thick tongue licked all around the mouth of one of the bottles. He crouched beside the couch and held up my folded legs in his left arm, then jammed the top of the open beer bottle into my exposed hole.
I gasped involuntarily, a sharp inhale, as he screwed a few inches of the glass into me and tipped the bottle back to let its frigid contents flood my guts. I screwed my eyes shut and felt this strange reverse flow of cold froth. Once it was empty he pulled it out, carelessly tossing it behind him. I heard it rattle on the floor as I focused on keeping my anus closed for my furniture’s sake. He grabbed my legs and wrenched them up so that my hips were lifted off the couch.
Shamefully, I was no stranger to enemas – Mel had subjected me to one at our first meeting, and taught me to clean myself each morning in case he decided he wanted me in the middle of day. I had even ordered a special stainless steel hose to attach to my shower to more easily perform this degrading ritual. But this rush of ice-cold beer into my insides felt like nothing I had ever experienced. I was flush, going cold all over despite the almost unbearable warmth of my humid apartment.
Mel leered down at me, laughing at the impact all this was having on me, then picked the second beer up from the floor. I groaned and closed my eyes again, feeling him again probe me with the bottle and empty it into me with a cruel laugh. Another 12 oz of freezing lager drenched my system, adding to the building pressure in my belly. I felt nauseatingly full, sickly and feverish from the icy invasion. I looked down and saw that my naked belly was as swollen as it had ever been. Mel slapped his big rough hand down on it, massaging it forcefully, kneading it.
“That’s it boy. Good and pregnant.” The big old bastard sat next to me on the couch, kicking his left leg behind me and keeping his right on the floor. He pulled me to him, scissoring my legs over his furry shoulders. He ran his callused hands all over my shaven-smooth, sweat-soaked body. He gave special, aggressive attention to my roiling, distended stomach, squeezing it, grinding his fist into it. He shushed me when I tried to speak up, intending to ask for the bathroom, so instead I lay there on my back, legs open and held up by his broad shoulders, as he absently toyed with me. Mel flicked through the TV channels, smoking a cigar, filling my apartment with the acrid smoke. I just lay there, quietly writhing in place as the beer churned inside my guts.
The feeling of Mel’s big, hairy body next to mine was intense, his prickling fur stimulating my smooth skin, his groping hands nearly sending me into hysterics. Every so often I would look at him, the big malicious polar bear, the man who had shaved me of every speck of body hair I had below my ears, and continued to do so on a near weekly basis. The hirsute man who had made me as smooth as a virgin. His big hand traced and rubbed around all those places on my body where he had gleefully taken my man hair, the hair that had marked me as a sexually mature adult man. He rubbed around the bare patch above my penis where my pubes once resided, then slid up the vanished path of my happy trail, pressing down on my beer enema-swollen belly like he was giving me a prenatal massage. He grabbed around my pectorals, now as hairless as a woman’s breasts, then stuck his hand into my armpits, feeling the unmanly emptiness there.
He puffed a cloud of cigar smoke at me and then smiled, fondling me. I took in his own hairiness, the manly coating of fur that contrasted so starkly from my still-shocking smoothness.The wiry bristle of the hair on his shoulders tickled my calves, and the black and gray bath mat of his chest scraped against my left thigh. His big wooly belly, which rose and fell with each breath as he puffed away on his stogie and molested me.
Mel chomped on his cigar, clutching it between his cheeks, turned his shoulders to face me, and began to focus on roughly rubbing and squeezing my bloated belly. An involuntary groan of pain escaped my lips- the pressure in my colon seemed to stab through my whole body. I looked down at myself miserably, watching his big hands torment my aching tummy. Not a man’s flat stomach, a woman’s pregnant tummy, a baby belly, soft and smooth, wet with sweat. My erection was long gone due to the cramps. It had shriveled into the ridiculous pink curl the size of a baby toe, a noodle, just a tiny head poking out from my agonized abdomen.
“Please Sir please let me use the bathroom.” I groveled as he drove his fist into my stomach, sucker-punching me in slow motion. Mel cackled and brought his body down on top of mine, seizing the sides of my waist and squeezing, determined to make his long, thick fingers touch over my stomach and around my back, constricting my inflated gut and increasing the pain of my cramps tenfold. Meanwhile his teeth lightly bit down on my right nipple, sucking and flicking it, his stubbled cheeks and chin rasped against my shaven bosom.
Mel kept me in his clutches for a few more minutes, heaping mind-melting pleasure on my chest while torturing my beer-swollen middle section. The net effect left me nearly convulsing with each new touch.
Finally he shoved me off the couch, and I landed on my ass on the floor. This was all the permission I needed, and I practically crawled to the toilet. I knew better than to try to close the bathroom door in front of him, and instead endured his mocking laughter and color commentary as I evacuated the two beers from inside of me, nearly crying with relief.
My body trembled and my limbs felt granite heavy- this degrading process always seemed to take away all my strength, made me feel as weak and dazed. As the bathroom around me seemed to spin a bit, I also realized he forced at least two beers down my throat since getting to the couch, and then had forced two more of them directly into my bloodstream. I thought of the news story about a college kid dying from a vodka enema, hazing gone wrong. I was quite buzzed but not in danger.
I quickly cleaned myself up in the shower and then presented myself to him. Mel was sprawled out on the couch. He had a beer, was still smoking a cigar while also eating a container of ice cream he had found in the fridge, plunging his bare hand in it to scoop it out and lick it from his fingers, which he then wiped upon the arm of the couch. I had forgotten I even had it. Mel was reveling in his slobbery – I noticed the collection of beer bottles around him, the cigar ash all over the couch and carpet, melted ice cream and of course the sweat he was leaking all over my furniture. Just having him in my home for an hour or so had turned everything upside down.
He beckoned me to him, spreading out on his back on the couch. He clawed out a handful of ice cream and then put the container on my coffee table, rattling alongside the empty beers. Leaning back against one of the couch arms, he placed the ice cream on the cleft between his hairy bosom, then pointed at it.
Knowing what he wanted, I crawled on top of him, my hairless, limbs straddling his wide, sweaty body. I lowered my head to his barrel chest and eagerly licked up the melting ice cream. The dessert was made salty with his sweat, and I lapped my tongue all around his furry chest as he groaned in pleasure. I sucked his chest hair clean of the sweets and nuts while he giggled at my slavish efforts.
Mel moved my head all round his chest, fingers clamping my hair. He pushed my face into his armpits where he forced me to slurp for several moments, drinking from the font of his sweat, then dragged me down his belly and onto his prick. He had me suck him to full hardness, and I eagerly fellated his fat prick. He then brought my face back to his chest and spun me around like a crocodile so that I was on my back. He kicked me thighs apart with his knees, grabbing me by the haunches and folding my legs over his shoulders. Mel applied lube to his bare cock then jammed his wide flared head into me. I cried out, having gone tight again from over a week without him inside me. I yelped again when he bumped his hips forward, forcing in a few more inches.
Mel peered down at me, eyes narrowed with the sort of bullish intensity he took on when entering me, the animal determination to achieve complete penetration. His big hands were clamped down on my hips, holding me in place and I felt myself trapped under his much heavier form. In that moment I knew if I tried to resist his efforts I would earn a swift backhanded slap across the face or worse. Of course I didn’t dream of disobedience, and instead gritted my teeth and forced myself to take deep breaths, exhaling to ease his entry.
My response was animalistic too, in its own way. Keeping myself still I acquiesced to the instinctual duty to accept his piercing sex organ into me despite the pain, to let him into me and submit to the often excruciating, always mortifying sexual congress that awaited me, so that my insides could be flooded by his fertile seed. Thinking of it in this way, inevitable, biological, it always helped take my head away from the burning intrusion of being stabbed by Mel’s sizable prong. Keeping my eyes shut like a kid hiding from a monster, I put my hands on his sweating, hairy rump to signal my acceptance, my embrace of my predicament. My gratitude that such a powerful male had chosen me as his mate.
I squeezed and cupped his broad butt cheeks, wanting to give him even more pleasure as he took all he could from me. I heard him chuckle above me at this signal of craven approval of the buggery. He plowed forward, and I felt him shift position atop me as he neared full penetration.
In no time at all the big man had bottomed out in me, all 8 ½ inches of his prick occupying my guts, his hefty balls gathered around my butt cheeks, his big belly sealed over mine. He smiled down at me beatifically, his rough face twisted with fiendish glee. He slowly rocked his wide hips to the left and right, raised them up and down. As always making a spacious new home for his cock in my rectum. He kept smiling at me, closely studying my face for the strange, involuntary reactions I always showed, flinching in confusion, gasping in shock, to his invader cock delving around inside of me, the thick ugly animal, the conquistador worm.
He brought his face down to mine and I parted my lips for his plunging tongue. Seal it with a kiss. He chewed my lips while his tongue burrowed around beneath my own. It wasn’t until Mel had taken me over that I learned that a kiss could be a degrading and defiling act, that it could be a powerfully unmanning ordeal. My kisses with women in the past had all been chaste and decent performances. With Mel by contrast it was always terribly immediate and obscenely intimate, the act of him impressing himself upon me, imposing himself entirely. Cock plunged up one end and his tongue lapping away inside me at the other. Accepting everything he had for me.
Mel began to hump into me with some speed while continuing to aggressively make out with me. Plunging his tongue in and out of my mouth, rasping it all around inside of me, forcing it as deep as it could go in me, as if he wished to inseminate my throat. It left me breathless, swooning. Comparing the experiences in my head, kissing with women and what Mel was now doing to my mouth with his, my lust-sick mind led me to a catastrophic conclusion. I never should have been wasting any girl’s time, trying to kiss them, sheepishly attempting seduction. No, I was always meant to be kissed, to be kissed by vile, powerful old men like Mel, to suck face with big fat men old enough to be my father.
I released his hairy cheeks and grabbed the back of his head, ensuring the oral assault would continue. Conveying that I wanted the intense tonsil-hockey to keep going. Caressing his head like a lover. He groaned in approval and redoubled his efforts, and the kiss continued unbroken, so long that he was now drooling copiously into my mouth and down my throat. I accepted it all without complaint and offered my weaker tongue back to him, letting it get whipped around by his, lashed and constricted. As he kissed me deeply he breathed into me, hot stinking breath, and I welcomed the air from his lungs into mine.
After several minutes of frenching he finally pulled back, lifting his shoulders up while I gasped for air. He grabbed his beer from the foot of the couch and took a long swig, swallowed, then filled his mouth with another gulp and slowly spit it down into mine. More of this foul communion, and I accepted it all, lapped it up, forced it down. As if to reward my subservience he lay his hands down on my chest, began thumbing my nipples and bucked into me, wobbling his hips around, cork-screwing into me, bludgeoning my prostate in new directions. I cried out in joy.
Long-dicking strokes, bottoming out and then drawing back to almost disengage but not fully, remaining hooked in me by his big plumb-shaped head, thankfully. Mel drilled into me, his face right on top of mine, his glasses fogged from the heat in the room, open-mouth panting like a Saint Bernard.
He wiggled his hips each time as he re-entered, pushing around in me, enjoying his slow, deep thrusting rhythm. My couch’s legs scraped against the floor, and the TV was still on. Mel moaned, pleased with my body, taking his pleasure from it, almost lackadaisically. He was in no rush. It was Friday, and Mel had all the time in the world with me.