The Upstanding Citizen
A huge "Thank you!!!" to Wolfhound_22 for painstakingly editing my story! I did a goofy thing where I wrote part of it in present tense and part of it in past tense, and he put in the time to make everything nice and consistent. Thanks again, Wolfhound -- you rock!
On that point, if you like kinky stories, go check out his new series, 'The Other Side of the Fence', when you get a chance!
I'd also like to give a shout out to Slothdog, who not only regularly edits my stories, but also helps me brainstorm some of my more fun ideas. :)
With that said, on with the show:
Unblinking, I stare ahead at the graffiti covered door to my stall for what feels like the longest few minutes of my life. I was supposed to wait... for something. I try to convince myself to do something productive, or at the very least, get my mind engaged enough to examine the situation I find myself in. Neither happens. My body feels like it's lined with lead. My head feels like it's filled with sand.
And so I wait. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes.
At last, my cell phone rings. Initially I reach for my pocket but find that the phone's already in my hand. When did it get there? Have I been holding it this entire time?
Insistently, the mobile device continues its shrill ring, reverberating around the stall's cramped acoustics in an eerie way. Something in me tells me I have to answer it. For a few more moments I resist the urge to pick up the phone so I can look at the screen first. 'Unknown Number'. That doesn't surprise me, for some reason. I answer the phone and bring it to my ear.
"... Hello?"
A gruff, deep (and oddly distorted?) voice responds on the other end. "Took you long enough. If it had gone to your voicemail and you made me call a second time, you'd have been in big trouble. Just because I'm calling you late doesn't mean you get to make me wait. That's not how this works."
The voice makes the fur on the back of my neck stand on end. I don't like it, and I don't like him, but I'm not going to hang up until I get a few answers.
"What do you mean 'how this works'? How did you get this number? Who are you?"
"There's no point in answering those last two questions, but your first question is the reason I'm calling. I don't mind explaining this all again. In fact, I kind of get a kick out of it. Look to your right. What do you see?"
I turn my head to the right. More of what you'd expect: Even uglier and more offensive graffiti, unexplained stains, the boring inoffensive expanse of the off-yellow sturdy plastic divider, going all the way down to the floor and all the way up to the ceiling. But one more thing... something that makes my stomach flutter in nervousness, for some reason.
"I see a circular hole."
"That's right. The same hole you see every week, around this time on Friday nights. Right after I call you."
My mind races at the implications, trying to connect the dots, but the sandstorm in my head rages on.
"What? You're not making any sense. We've never spoken before and I've never been here... I don't even know where 'here' is."
"See? That's the beauty of our little arrangement. You do what needs to be done, and then you get to go back to your regular life. Not that it's much of a life. I'm surprised you're not an alcoholic or a user, to be honest. But enough of that. It's almost time to get this show on the road. First, though, tell me, what is that hole is for?"
A series of lewd images play out before my mind's eye... are these... memories? What the fuck is going on here?"
"What?! No. Fuck this. I'm hanging up and I'm leaving."
"Don't you think that's going to be a bit tricky without any clothes on?"
For a moment, the tightness in my chest makes me worry that my heart has stopped. I force myself to look down. What I see makes me groan heavily into the phone. I'm nude... entirely naked. Not a single stitch of clothing on me. Not unless you count the... what is that? A chastity device?! The almost too small, pink colored bit of plastic hugs my sheath tightly, its garish color drawing my eyes to it instantly.
"You tell me what the fuck is going on here, right now, or I'm calling the cops."
"Now that I'd love to see. Just who do you think they're going to arrest? Me? I'm not even there. Maybe if you show the cop who comes to check things out a good time, he won't haul your ass off to the station for public indecency. And about you hanging up... well, if you had the power to do that, you wouldn't be here in the first place, would you?"
I feel my breathing quicken to the point of almost hyperventilating. This was wrong... this was all just... wrong.
"Just tell me what the hell you want?" I try to keep my voice firm and confident. I fail miserably on both counts.
"Well, first you can answer my question. Tell me what that hole is for."
"... Please don't make me say it."
"Say it, or I'll call the cops for you. I'll tell them there's a pervert over in the far stall of the park's men's restroom. Pretty sure there's still plenty of laws on the books against what you're trying to do right now."
"I'm not trying to DO anything! I just want to leave and go home! Please!"
"Answer the question or I call the cops. What's the hole for? Last chance."
"Cocks! It's for god-damn cocks... Fuck, man."
"See? We're making progress. And no one had to call the cops. Good thing too, because it's almost the top of the hour. That bathroom you're in is too out of the way for most people to bother with this time of night, but for those in the know... well, let's just say there'll likely be some repeat business for you tonight. Now, one last thing puppy, before I let ya get to it. I'm gonna hang up and send you a text with some pictures. Like always, if you don't do as you're told, every photo I have is going to everyone you know in an anonymous email. Your friends. Your family. Your investors. Your employees. Your customers. Everyone. You know what to do. Be a good boy, and show everyone who puts their meat through that hole a good time, just like you always do. Choice is yours."
I hear the line go dead, but can't stop myself from crying out into my phone anyway. "Wait! You can't do this! ... Hello?!"
Within moments, my phone beeps, indicating a new text message. Holding my phone carefully out in front of me as if it were a viper about to strike me, I open the text. No words... just an attachment. Several megabytes big.
Before I open the dreaded file, I look at the time. Five minutes until 9 PM. The stranger had said they'd be coming at the top of the hour... no time left. If I want to make a run for it I have to do it now . But I can't ignore the attachment. I have to look... just to make sure there's nothing damning in there.
Pressing a quick sequence of buttons on my smartphone, I bring up the first image. A bull. A male bull. Head up, eyes closed, face in ecstasy in a bathroom stall... fully clothed, with his hips pressed flush up against the stall's wall. The image was taken from the ceiling looking down, and while there was nothing too terribly explicit about the picture, in and of itself. However, I could easily imagine what was happening on the other side of the wall, given the image's context clues.
I flip to the next picture, and with goosebumps forming all over my body under my fur I realize that imagination on my part was not required.
I can't believe it... it's just not possible. Right? But there it is, in incredibly detailed high-definition on my phone's widescreen. Me, in the same stall I currently find myself in, knees on the ground, hands on the wall, both eyes open wide, a panicked look on my face... mouth full of bull cock.
My heart nearly gives out on me again. In a daze, I flip to the next picture. Same wolf... same cock... but just a few minutes into the future from the last picture. In this photo, my muzzle was stained white as rivulets of seed streamed out from between my lips and ooze down my chest. Even worse... in this picture, I was staring right at the camera... which means I was staring right into my own eyes, the past version of me seemingly begging the present version of me to do something -- anything! -- to help him. But all I can do is notice that I look even more desperate in this picture than I did in the last one.
Looking up, I scan the ceiling with as discerning an eye as I can. Eventually I spot a small discoloration, in the corner above me. That must be the camera... and I'm suddenly sure there's another in the other stall just like it. Should I destroy them? But I know that the damage is already done. If I destroy either camera now, the stranger might make good on his threat to punish me. In a hurry, I flip to the next picture.
This is easily the worst so far. The bull's cock is still there, but no longer in my mouth. Rather, it's just hanging there, mere inches from my face, bobbing in the air and covered in a frothy mix of saliva and cum. The reason for this is clear. My mouth is busy doing something else... showing off for the camera. Eyes still frantic and seemingly wide in disbelief at what I'm doing, I'm again looking into the camera in this photo, except this time my jaws are wide open, letting the device capture a perfect angle for the viewer to appreciate just how much sperm the bull unloaded into my mouth. A river of white floods out of the sides of my muzzle and down my chest and stomach, even reaching so far as to seep down my crotch and through the same pink chastity device I'm still wearing now. Unbelievable.
Why?! Why would I do this?! Why would I do ANY of this?! Why would I agree to this in the first place, and even more confusing, why can't I remember anything? Why can't I even remember how I got here in the first place? Who the fuck was that guy on the other end of the phone, and why is he doing this to me? HOW is he doing this to me?!
Realizing it's now three minutes past 9 PM, I speed through the task of looking at the rest of the pictures.
They all follow the same pattern as the original four photos: A picture taken from the other guy's stall, showing me his (usually) euphoric reaction and sex-fueled facial expression, a picture of me sucking his cock, oftentimes before the guy is all the way fully hard, a cumshot picture taken midway through their ejaculation -- sometimes with the guy pulling out to paint my face, me with my mouth held open to accept the wild spray. Then there is the final and most explicit image, not only because it depicts my utter degradation as I humiliate myself for the camera, mouth wide open and tongue covered in varying amounts of seed, but because this is also the 'best' picture for getting a good look at what had just moments before been plowing my mouth. In the other three photos the cock is usually obscured by the wall or my muzzle or hands, but that's not the case in the last photo for each set. Here, in this lewd, deeply troubling photo you can see not only the size and shape of the meat I had apparently just brought to climax, but the size and consistency of the load it delivered between my lips and onto my face.
The sheer number and variety of the cocks (and men they were attached to) was mind boggling: big cocks, petite cocks, modest cocks, herbivore cocks, predator cocks. There were muscular men, skinny men, flabby men, short men, tall men, middle aged men, young men (seriously, that one guy looked practically pre-pubescent... good lord! Did I give some random kid a blow job?! And worse, that guy has photographic evidence!).
The most frightening part was that there were way too many guys for these photos to have all been taken in one night. I've been here before, more than once. Maybe a lot more. This is just... too much. I have to get the fuck out of here. Naked or not, I need to leave. Now.
My phone chirped out at me for a second time. A new text.
"Do your best and remember to show off for the camera before you swallow. Every time you forget, I'm posting that particular picture set on some random porn site. Don't mess up. Remember: once something's posted on the internet, there's no taking it back."
At that moment, I hear what I can only assume is the bathroom door opening and then continuing on its slow, squeaky journey back to its typical closed state. Footsteps ring out and shoes strike the dilapidated tiles. I hear my own heartbeat in my ears as they draw closer and closer, until finally they stop by the stall next to me.
The stall door closed. I hear latch shut, and then cringe at the worst sound I've ever heard: The sound of pants being unzipped.
Looking through the hole into the other, now occupied stall, I think to myself about ducking down or holding my breath... to pretend as if I'm not even here. Even if I risk pissing that asshole off... I need more time to think. There has to be a way out of this! I'll just stay silent, he won't even know I'm here... right?
My phone chirps once more (to my ears, practically a deafening eagle scream) for the third time that night, sinking my last hope. There's no way in hell the other guy didn't hear that... he knows I'm here, without a doubt.
Putting my phone on vibrate too late to help myself, I look down at the text which had betrayed my silence.
"Keep your chin up, pup! This one seems like a fairly handsome fella, so you should be able to get some great cock-worship action going on." Same anonymous number as before. That son-of-a---
My train of thought is interrupted as a brutal, merciless reality presses its way into my stall: A semi-hard shaft poking towards my face from the hole in front of me.
For a while, I could only stare at it... examine it... burn the image into my memory. A canine's cock... judging by the fur color of the sheath, maybe a wolf like me? Who the hell is this guy, who so desperately needs to get off that he'd have some undiscriminating guy he has never met do it for him? A guy, that in all likelihood, he would never meet again. What type of guy goes out looking for that?
I was about to find out.
Only a few seconds pass but they feel like hours. I watch in shock as the veiny red-tinted flesh elongates and expands as I engage in my eternal struggle.
The dilemma was clear as day. If I give into my blackmailer, I'd just be digging the hole I found myself in deeper. If I resist, the hole I had previously dug would end up becoming my figurative grave -- my reputation in this community would be completely ruined. All my hard work at becoming my own man... running my own organic grocery store in the busiest part of town... the respect of my employees and peers, all of it would be gone. After those pictures go out, no one in this city would ever look at me the same again. I'd have to sell my business and move, start fresh somewhere else, and pray the pictures didn't follow me. Pray that the blackmailer got bored, having ruined me once, and decided not to keep tabs on me.
The worst part is, because of the pictures, I already know what choice I had landed on last time. And the time before that. And the time before that. Every single time I had previously found myself in this situation, confused, panicked and backed into a corner, I had decided to bite the bullet... or rather, suck the cock, in this case. Even as each perverted, humiliating blowjob only made my situation more dire, I had still decided to bring each and every one of those men to climax while performing for the camera and my blackmailer. I curse myself for being such a spineless coward.
Now I know why I was making that desperate expression in those photos while looking straight at the camera. That past version of me was begging the future me to find a way out of this mess. Those eyes silently begged "Don't rock the boat, but get me out of this! Find a way to escape!". But the fact that those desperate, needy eyes were looking out at me from a face stuffed with cock told me everything I needed to know.
If escape was ever possible, that time had long passed. The choices I made the first time I was here, no matter how reasonable or inescapable they seemed at the time, and no matter that I didn't even have the foggiest recollection of making them, have doomed me to repeat them again and again.
Apparently my blackmailer noticed that the random male on the other side of the divide was starting to get impatient. my phone vibrates with a new text, sent by my abuser.
"You have 10 seconds to fill your mouth with cock. Or else."
The horrible certainty of what I'm about to do going hits me as I scootch myself closer to the gloryhole (and the nearly fully erect dick protruding from it). I am going to suck this cock. There is no other option.
I have no fucking clue who this random horny guy is, but I'm going to allow him to use my face to get his rocks off. That gritty truth gnaws at me as a I lean in closer, the tip of the canine shaft mere inches from my muzzle. The musky smell which refuses to be ignored assaults my sensitive nose as I stick out my tongue, giving the shaft the most tentative on licks.
The overly-loud pleasured groan coming from the other stall nearly gives me a panic attack. For some reason, I assumed that both participants would want to stay as silent as the grave for an activity which was as illicit and kinky as a public restroom blowjob. Apparently not so, as far as my new 'partner in crime' was concerned.
I squirm nervously as his soft pants and moans grow louder. I fear they will certainly gain the attention of those outside the restroom, who would still be jogging and biking in this semi-secluded section of the park.
In a moment of clarity, I realize what I have to do. I have to get this guy off as quickly as possible, lest someone realize what's happening here and phone the police or park security. Throwing prudish hesitations aside, I practically dive onto the cock, taking it into my mouth as far as I can before I become uncomfortable.
Part of my brain screams at me in righteous indignation at how I am debasing myself, a bright blush coming to my cheeks as that shaft slips further into my maw. I work my lips, tongue, and throat as expertly as I know how, hoping that this unknown, unseen man has a hair trigger or suffers from premature ejaculation.
Losing track of time, I pour myself into the act, at first disallowing my mind to even begin focusing on the huge variety of stimuli confronting my senses. I try to ignore the distinct taste the canine's length was leaves in my mouth and on my tongue. I try to shut out the smell of arousal, the source of which is only inches from my nose. I try to turn a deaf ear to the grunts, moans, pants, and sighs of the dude I'm going down on.
For a couple minutes, I'm somewhat successful. But, as powerful a force as denial can be at times, eventually reality always sets in.
There is a somewhat large cock in my mouth. It is attached to a guy I have never seen, and who I can't see now. I know nothing about this man, other than the fact that he is horny, that he came into this restroom specifically to dump a load, and that in a few minutes he's going to expect me to swallow that load.
And why did he expect this of me? Because why else would I be here, on my knees, in some dirty bathroom stall, with my lips wrapped around his dick? This guy (and all of the guys before and after him) have no reason to believe that the man on otherside of the wall is being forced to get them off, forced to let all-takers come and use my face as a sex toy, forced to swallow their discharge... after showing it off for the ever-present camera.
All they know is that they're getting a free blowjob, no strings attached. They probably even figure I'm jerking myself off back here... maybe even assuming that I'll shoot my load onto the floor and stall wall whenever they unloaded between my lips. But the stranger had taken steps to make sure I'd stay focused on the task at hand. I try to keep my mind off of the petite, girlishly-colored chastity device right now. I must push that out of my head and focus on other things.
Unfortunately, the only other thing for me to really focus on is the mouthful of saliva-slick dick pistoning back and forth over my tongue. A profound mistake! The canine's arousal was also having a serious effect on me. My breathing rate spikes with my excitement.
Now there's no denying it. This is beginning to turn me on, in a big way.
Becoming frantic, I look around. There might just be something on hand to help me equalize this mental dilemma. I'm not sure what I'll find... a god damn magazine to read, to pass the time? Instead I look up, and find myself face to face with my tormentor's camera.
With my mouth full of some random dude's meat, staring straight up and into the camera, I find myself get more and more turned on... making my eyes open wide in panic.
Now that second picture with the bull made perfect sense. When I first saw the photo, I had missed an important subtlety. I interpreted my own facial expression to mean "Help! Get me out of here!". Now that I was experiencing what my past self was experiencing, I understood that there was a bit more to the story. The full meaning was:
"Help! Get me out of here! This is starting to turn me on, and there's nothing I can do about it!"
The fact that I was helping to manufacture even more photos wasn't lost on me either. Nor was the purpose of the chastity belt. The blackmailer's unstated message was blatantly obvious:
"Strangers get to use your mouth to get off for as long as they desire, but you only cum when I give you permission."
I think back over the past few weeks, trying to recall the instances where I had jerked off in front of my computer, or while I was laying in bed, or even while I was showering. Pathetically, I couldn't remember even one time in the recent past. The last time I could even vaguely recall was jerking off sometime before Christmas, to some holiday themed porn. That was over three months ago!
That's not actually possible... is it? If I had been wearing this plastic pink abomination for the last several months, there's no way I could have missed it. I'd of noticed it when I changed my clothes, or when I showered, or when I used a urinal --
Still continuing to service the canine on autopilot, I focus my mind to ponder that last point. Urinals... something about urinals brought something to my mental fore. I realize that I haven't actually used a urinal in quite some time. I only use the toilet stalls at work. Even when urinals are free, I skip over them in favor of a stall. And if all the stalls are in use, I've been simply waiting or I just came back later.
Why? Why had I done that?! Un-fucking-believable. It hadn't even occurred to me at the time that I was behaving oddly.
That explains it, then... the reason why this blowjob is pushing all of my buttons. I haven't gotten off in long while. Now that I think about it, my balls are throbbing with need, as I suck on a shaft so similar to my own. It doesn't take a psychology degree to figure out that I must be subconsciously trying to get off vicariously via another man's pecker, since my own is out of commision. Since this chastity device means I can't jerk off my own meat to completion, I guess I think that getting this fella off is the next best thing?
Oddly, knowing this doesn't make me less inclined to help the wolf (or dog?). Indeed, the opposite is true. Now I'm desperate to make this guy shoot, if only to scratch some mental itch of mine which had long been ignored. His cock is now the one concrete thing in my world now, and I'm desperate to get him his orgasm... to experience some small measure of mental relief from my own base needs through serving him.
I have to change tactics! Instead of trying to ignore the length pumping in and out from between my lips, I now devote myself to the 'cock worship' my blackmailer had originally recommended via text message.
I'm doing everything I can think of to make this the world's best blowjob for the wolf: Letting my tongue wrap around the full circumference of the shaft before gliding it back and forth, taking the cock all the way to the root (to the point of having to resist the urge to gag), then pulling back so that only the head remained trapped between my lips, before pushing my face towards the wall to begin the cycle again. The wolf's knot is now forming against my nose. I pay special attention to the firm ball of flesh, as only another male canine would know how to do. The resulting muffled whimpers coming from the other stall are like music to my sexually-frustrated ears. My own dick tries valiantly to make a belated appearance by filling out, but is easily thwarted by the pink device.
I continue for another ten or so minutes of this. I can tell that the wolf must be holding his climax back, trying to milk as much pleasure out of this experience as possible. Had the two of us been left undisturbed, this might have gone on for quite some time. As it happened, though, there was a firm knock from the outside of the stalls, then a voice called out rather loudly, "Hey, bro, hurry up will ya? I'm next and I want to get out of here before a line starts forming."
My face was flushing in shame at the realization that we had somewhat of an audience. But, there's also something about that voice... something very familiar. Before I had time to consider it further, however, I could tell that my current partner had taken the other man's hint, and had begun voicing a long groan.
I'm expecting it, but the first shot still catches me by surprise. By instinct I swallow twice before kicking myself. The guy on the phone had made himself very clear... I was to humble myself in front of the camera by showing off the product resulting from my service. For a moment, I worry that it's already too late -- that I've already downed the majority of the man's cream without thinking. As luck would have it, my online privacy was saved due to the prodigious volume the unseen man was producing. As his moans transform into a series of low grunts, he fills my muzzle up to past-capacity, resulting in globules of spunk pooling on the underside of my chin, before falling onto my furred chest and the floor.
I pull back as the unseen man finishes, allowing his well-satisfied meat to plop out of my muzzle and lay against the side of my face. Appreciating that I was about to provide the uncompromising stranger with even more blackmail material, I still knew there was other option left to me if I wanted to leave here with my reputation intact.
With worry, lust, and apprehension written all over my face, I look up at the camera... and finally open my maw as wide as I can. In my mind, I picture what the camera must be capturing in a digital form: A thirty-two year old grey wolf, fully nude except for the impossible to miss piece of pink plastic between his legs, with a mouthful of semen lewdly on display, and the damp cock that must have provided by the seed laying dormant against the top his shoulder, still fully hard.
I had worked hard for this mouthful of jizz in the hopes that I would find some relief alongside the guy... that his satisfaction would somehow translate to my release as well. I'm deeply troubled to observe that I'm now even more wound up than I had been before. As I continue to hold the pose for the camera, I allow my hands to descend to my crotch, where one hand automatically attempts to dismantle the hateful chastity device while the other hand cups and squeezes my nuts in an effort to soothe their dull ache.
Realizing that I had just shamed and humiliated myself for nothing more than a brief respite from the worst of my tormentor's threatened abuses, I feel like howling out my distress to alleviate some small bit of the mental tension that had been building up since I woke up in this dingy place. Of course, this isn't practical. One because my mouth was still full of some recently-satisfied man's output, and two because I still couldn't afford to bring anymore attention to myself. At least my noisy blowjob partner had settled on heavy panting instead of his earlier moaning.
I watch as the shrinking meat pulls back through the hole and into the other stall. I look over my right shoulder at the commode I had been sitting on earlier. I want to rebel against that anonymous fucker's instructions and spit the remaining seed into the toilet before flushing it down and walking out of here -- photos or no photos.
Yes! I'll do it! Burn the consequences, no one makes a puppet out of me. I just won't allow myself to think about it too much. It'd be over before I even had a chance to take it back. I'd take some tools to this ridiculous plastic toy trapping my cock in its mostly-soft state and jerk off on my bed, while doing my best not to spend any time fantasising about the cock I just spent the last ten or fifteen minutes worshiping.
But as I pull a knee up and put a paw on the ground, readying myself to stand up and get the hell out of here, I hear a voice that made my blood run cold through my veins.
"About fucking time, dude. I have to pick my girlfriend up from her shift in less than thirty minutes. Hey, tell me something. This cocksucker worth being late for?" A brief pause, then the same man continued on, "Good deal. Only reason I'm even here is because my girl thinks blowjobs are that thing you do for ten or fifteen seconds before sex."
That voice... there's no mistaking it.
It's one of my employees at the grocery store, and not just any employee. Jeffrey the fuck-up. Jeffrey who I was planning on firing in the next week or two. Jeffery the nineteen year old who was chronically late, who could never remember instructions, who was terrible with customers, and who had a sizeable attitude problem.
And now Jeffrey the badger was mere feet from me, divided only by a thin piece of cheap graffitied partition, and he was here for the sole purpose of having me perform a suck-job on him.
I struggle to make sense of this new information. Time continues to flow around me. I hear him shuffling around in the neighboring stall briefly, followed soon the sound of him relieving his bladder in the toilet.
Unable to stop myself, I lean over slightly so as to peer through the hole and into his stall. From this position I can see his lower body -- pants bundled around his ankles, his half-hard cock pissing a strong stream into the commode which was outside of my range of vision.
I know now that I'll have to make the hardest decision of my life. Run out of my stall, fully nude except for the pink device between my legs and try and hoof it back to my house, with no car, no keys, and no directions ...
Or spend the next fifteen minutes giving a blowjob to one of my employees: a chronic fuck-up who mostly likely would spend the rest of his life bagging groceries or flipping burgers, after getting his (most likely) teen girlfriend knocked-up.
The two equally-unthinkable scenarios wage brutal war in my mind, as the badger finishes voiding his bladder and shaking his cock a couple times (without, however, wiping off the end of his cock with toilet paper). Soon, he pushes his entire package, balls and all, towards me through the hole.
As if to prove his low-breeding and poor education, he follows this up by saying, "Come on, cocksucker. Isn't this what you're here for? You want some badger cock... well, you got it. No need to thank me. You can start with my balls."
With those demeaning words, I flatten my ears and feel myself deflate back down to my knees. There's no escaping this... the setup is too perfect, and the worse thing is I have no idea how they did it. I'm just a normal guy... a small business owner... an upstanding citizen... a pillar of my local community. And now, everything I was... everything I had built myself up to be was being used against me. The very success in life that empowered me to hire this punk in the first place now forces my hand to do something I would have never in a million years thought I'd do: lick the sweat off Jeffrey's ball sack.
I feel like I might cry. Worse, I feel like I might break out of this chastity cage through sheer arousal. While I would never, ever, ever voluntarily suck off this particular badger... somehow being forced to do it, against my will, is pushing buttons I didn't even know I had. He's a narcissistic teenager... a waste of carbon... but God help me, part of me will enjoy debasing myself just so this minimum wage high-school dropout can get his rocks off.
Humbled and outrageously horny, I swallow the muzzle full of spunk I'd been holding in my mouth and lean in close to the nineteen year old's nuts. For a moment, I hesitate. I can't bring myself to act on what I know I have no choice but to do, so my hot, moist breath merely washed over the sensitive flesh only inches away from my face.
"Stop being such a cock tease, lady. Your Craigslist post said you'd take on all comers. Well, I'm ready to cum, bitch, so get to work. Don't act like you don't want it... I saw the attached picture, you fingering your wet snatch."
With the intense smell of his arousal playing havoc with my libido, the youth's words get through to me. He thinks I'm a woman?! But that means... all those photos... all those guys. I've been getting off a bunch of straight dudes who got it in their head that there's some beautiful babe in here, who gets off on anonymous sex?
Every one of the pictures I had seen earlier were suddenly put in a different light. That bull with his head thrown back and a smile plastered on his face... he was fantasizing about some big tittied bimbo wrapping her lips around his pole. If he had figured out what was actually happening on this side of the wall... I'd have been lucky if he just beat me up and left me curled up in a fetal position on the bathroom floor. And the same goes for all the others.
Is it possible that my blackmailer knows my dirty secret? That I have an entire box dedicated to Straight Boy -- Gay for Pay DVDs and VHSs in my closet? It can't just be a coincidence. The stranger... he's forcing me to live out my kinkiest fantasy: the forbidden, unobtainable fruit of straight guy cock. But now, not only did I find myself at a buffet of "All You Can Eat, Straight Man Dick", but in truth its a much more sinister "All You MUST Eat".
This must be someone's revenge against me. There's no other explanation. Now I understand the reason for the pink chastity cage. Not only am I to be punished through intense sexual humiliation by being an unwilling participant in my kinkiest fantasy, but apparently he also wanted to make sure that I was desperately horny and sexually frustrated the entire time I was doing it, with zero chance for relief.
But piecing together a bit more of my situation wasn't going to help me any. There was only one thing I could do now... juggle Jeffrey's 100% straight, heterosexual balls on my tongue. And hate myself for enjoying every second of it.
Extending my wet tongue, I begin providing the badger's balls with long sweeping swipes from back to front, being sure that every square inch gets its fair share of attention. I know what I'm in for now and it makes all the difference. His plump sack tastes like the most flavorful panacea in the world, and since I'm stuck in this dangerous situation against my will, I suppose that I might as well make the best of it and get my fill.
His barely audible soft moans and heavy breathing make my brain release endorphins which rush through my system. That's right, straight boy... do the unthinkable and let some 'queer faggot' pull a nice sized load out of you. It's okay, you can just think of some dame while I'm working, but there's no denying reality. Your very-much-male boss is here, and he's taking charge of your rod. No need for you to jerk off, 'bro'. You'd probably just fuck it up like you do everything else. Let me handle this, Jeffrey. You just think of tits or snatches or whatever breeder's fantasize about while they stroke off in the shower. I'll handle the rest.
I had no idea if I'd decide to fire his ass next week. Would I even remember this happening? If those other pictures were anything to go on, most likely I'd yell at him again come Monday without the slightest inkling that I'd swallowed his spunk just days before. In that way, the two of us would be similarly ignorant.
But what if I did end up remembering? Would I still fire him? Or would I let him keep his job so that he could be a walking jerkoff fantasy for me, when I think back to today? Or would I consider turning around and using the pictures my blackmailer sends me to threaten his reputation.
'Get in my office, unzip your pants, and don't make a sound, or these pictures are getting mailed to your girlfriend... after I blur out of my face, that is.'
I use my paw to pull his upright fully-erect cock in horizontal alignment to my mouth, before taking over half of his full length into my muzzle. Continuing on with my mental fantasy, I imagine that he and I were in my office at the grocery store -- blinds shut, door locked, nothing separating us.
He'd be grumbling at me like a typical nineteen year old, arms crossed muttering about 'extortion' and 'sexual harassment'. But despite his half-hearted complaints, he'd still get hard in a hurry. After all, his girlfriend never does this for him. He'd prefer a hot girl over his thirty-two year old boss, sure... but boys will be boys and his cock would end up making the decision for him: any port in a storm.
Midway through me polishing his knob, he'd have second thoughts and threaten to quit. I'd counter offer, telling him I'd bring him on full time and give him health benefits. A raise, too. A couple more bucks an hour would be nice, right? And all the scruffy badger would have to do is provide me with hetero boy spunk on demand -- straight cum on tap, five days a week.
He'd hesitate, as if conflicted. Then he'd haggle. He gets weekends off... and he wants a four dollar raise. I'd tell him three dollars and that he'd have to work Sundays. 'Final offer', I'd say, before getting back to sucking his meat down my throat. Finally, he'd nod tersely, plainly very uncomfortable with the arrangement, before unconsciously beginning to thrust his hips back and forth.
My mind walks through the possibilities as I suck off the boy's pole like it was the last cock in the world, my hands gently cupping and squeezing his nuts. Jeffrey had worked for me long enough by this point that I knew that one day this meat of his was going to get him into trouble. Inevitably he'd get some girl pregnant, or have an affair with the wrong guy's wife, or make some other critical mistake. This dick was going to be the ruin of him sooner or later, because that is what testosterone fueled straight guys like him let their peckers do: get them into trouble. But that was all down the road for poor, idiotic Jeffrey. For the next ten minutes, there was only me, him, and his eight or so inches of throbbing boyhood.
Hormones and dopamine flooded parts of my brain as I still tried to analyse the situation and find a way out, but the months of enforced chastity were having an undeniable effect. The truth was, I was too far gone to care. I'd suck Jeffrey off, gargle his cum for the camera just like I was told, swallow it like a well-trained slut, and then I'd do the exact same thing for the next pole that poked its way into my stall.
Did this still bother me a great deal and wound my pride? Of course! But the fact that I've put up with this all for as long as I have proves that I really don't have much choice in the matter, do I? So, no matter who stepped up to be serviced next -- whether a middle-aged banker mouse or some college student horse or something else else altogether -- I was like a train stuck on a single track.
The future was a forgone conclusion: They'll get off, my blackmailer will continue to get his revenge, and I'll stay desperate and horny. And the entire process will be well documented -- again, and again, and again.
I let this terrible (and yet, oddly very arousing) realization sink into my skull as Jeffrey starts thrusting his hips firmly back forth, causing me to briefly gag as he uses his thigh and back muscles to push his cock firmly towards the back of my throat.
"Heh... sorry about that babe. You were just doing such a good job I figured you must also be a pro at deep throating. Don't let my size intimidate you, honey. Just open your throat and make a nice, warm home for me... come on, let papa in, sugar. Take me deep enough that I can feel your tongue on my balls... come on, there's a good girl. Take me in, now"
Man, how narcissistic can you get, asshole? You shouldn't be so cocky, Jeffrey. Your length and girth are the only two things you have going for you in this life, you broke ass punk. Still, I do my best to accommodate the badger, going past what was strictly comfortable so I can pamper him with some simultaneous tongue action.
"There! Oh, god, fuck yes. Right fucking there, babe. Lick my fucking balls. Come on, I own this mouth pussy. I. OWN. THIS. FUCKING. MOUTH. PUSSY."
As Jeffrey punctuates each word with a full back and forth thrust, it triggers another series of gags on my part as saliva that I am now unable to properly swallow begins to run out of my muzzle. Instinctively my right hand drops to my crotch, attempting to find my own erection so I could begin matching the badger stroke for stroke. Again I am disappointed to discover that nothing but hard plastic meets my probing fingers. My caged and denied arousal is building up towards a fevered pitch. Looking up to make eye contact with the camera, I intuit that this isn't an unintentional happy accident on the part of my tormenter. He wants me making decisions with my cock instead of looking for ways to get out of this mess with a clear head.
As for Jeffrey... I could pull back. I could make it easier on myself. But his crass words bore into my brain, making me want to bend over backwards to please him. Perhaps, because he's exactly the sort of guy a girl's mother warns her about -- the one who is least deserving of any kind of attention. I can't help but notice that this particular blowjob was eerily similar to one of my Straight But Gay For Pay pornos. In it, a high school coach (a german shepard) finds the star quarterback (a badger, believe it or not) naked, jerking off in his office on the 80's style couch.
Momentarily caught off guard, the coach quickly turns livid, telling the student to "Cut that shit out!" and ordering him to get the hell out of his office. The quarterback tells the coach he has a better idea. He'll let the coach finish him off with a blowjob, if the german shepherd gives him all the money in his wallet and let's him skip next practice, so that he can go on a date with his cheerleader girlfriend.
As you might imagine, the couch is incredulous at first, saying something along the lines of "You can't possibly be serious," but the badger assures him that the deal is on the level, while continuing to leisurely stroke himself off. For a fifteen seconds or so, all the coach can do is watch the boy jerk off, the conflict of indecision raging in his head written all over his face. The coach is eventually pushed over the edge when the quarterback says "If you don't want to pay up, you can just sit back there and watch quietly. But I don't want to hear you complaining later when I don't let you lap up my spunk, pup."
Looking around the office in a panic, as if just noticing that this was happening in his own office, the dog quickly locks the door and pulls out his wallet. Plucking out whatever cash he finds he hands the sum to the well-endowed badger, who takes it and gives it a quick count.
"Just sixty bucks on ya, huh? Guess they must pay you shit money. I don't blame 'em... you're shit at coaching football. Let's hope you're better at sucking cock, yeah? Now, get to work... I told my girl I'd meet up with her at my place in a bit."
For a moment, it looks like the mature shepard isn't going to put up with the verbal abuse. But the irritation fades from his face as he takes another look the boy's meaty pole. Leaning down in front of the couch, the man reaches out as if to grab the object of his desire, but the student stops him.
"No hands, queer. I'm not letting some guy feel me up. Get those paws behind your back. Mouth only."
From that point forward, the porn is fairly predictable. Lot's of close up cocksucking scenes with loud wet sucking noises. At one point the couch tries to whip his own dick out so he can self pleasure, but the pushy primadonna star quarterback isn't having any of it, and makes the older man put it away.
The cum scene wasn't too spectacular, as far as money shots go, but there was a few good seconds where the couch is forced to squint his eyes closed while getting his face painted. The scene ends when the badger gets dressed and tell the coach "You forgot to thank me, so next time it's going to be one hundred dollars if you want a piece of this." He walk out the room, leaving the office door wide open and the cum-soaked german shepherd still on his knees, clearly visible, with a dazed expression.
I remember jerking off to that video like crazy a few months back, wondering how that coach must have felt. As I kneel here, mouth full of teenager badger cock, I no longer have to wonder.
Drawing me back into the here-and-now, I hear Jeffrey's continued dirty talk tune me into the fact that he was on track to flood my muzzle with his fertile tadpoles.
"Oh... OH, OH FUCK, oh fucking FUCK. Here it comes, bitch! Don't stop... Don't you fucking dare stop, Oh YES! YES! OH FUCK YES!"
I prepare myself to try to contain my lazy employee's climax in my mouth, but unfortunately he has other ideas. Rather than opting to hold still and let me do the work of finishing him off, the badger brings his hip thrusting to the next level, meaning that many of his shots go off deep in my throat where I have no choice but to swallow, and he fires his other shots outside of my mouth, smearing my lips and chin with badger cream.
I try my best to catch as much of the spunk as I can, which I'm sure it makes me look like a complete slut on camera -- desperately hungry for a man's seed.
I'm half expecting additional kinky chatter on his part to follow, but now that he's gotten what he came for, he heads out of the bathroom before I even have a chance to get my bearings. I guess he was serious about being late to pick up his girlfriend. Bet she's going to be pissed.
As another person enters the now vacant stall (this time entirely anonymous, as expected), I perform my due diligence by letting the camera get a good look at what small amount of jizz I had managed to hold onto. There's little time to waste as I hear the guy in the other stall begin to remove to his clothes... what sounded like all them, actually. Getting completely nude in a public bathroom... really dude? Who does that? Only a few seconds later, I'm struck by the humiliating irony of my situation.
If any part of me was assuming that I'd be able to conclude this surreal night with just two or three blowjobs, I was going to be very much mistaken. For at least three more hours I was serving as Grand Marshal to a parade of cocks that poked and thrust with insistent repetition through the gloryhole into my side of the stall.
By now I was finally done, jaw aching and stomach full, I had served a myriad of species, including several of which that I've never encountered in any kind of sexual situation before -- these being a hippo, a wildebeest, and even a giraffe. I never knew what would pop through that hole next, and their proportions and characteristics varied wildly. One time I'd get the thorny length of a feline, and next up, following no apparent pattern, I'd get the smooth dork of a orca insisting that I pay it homage.
Some 'patrons' were noisy or mouthy, others were silent as the grave. One guy even tried to convince me to put my 'snatch' up against the hole so he could 'fuck me proper', but of course he had to settle for a blowjob like everyone else. A handful of guys even gave me a few breathless words of thanks, before tucking their dick away and heading off.
I wish I could say I hated it. And to a certain extent, that is partially true. A sizeable part of me did hate myself for giving in, like the puppy my blackmailer accused me of being. But another part of me relished the act, like a feral pig finally allowed to wallow in the mud. I try to assuage some of my guilt by telling myself 'It's not like you have much of a choice, right?' But with my pulse racing in my ears, my cock straining against a small plastic mold, and a random straight guy's dick in my mouth, it was hard to ignore the thrill I was experiencing. Plainly speaking, I had been getting off in a big way to my own degradation.
I'm an upstanding citizen, and here I am... humbling myself before any guy who got the itch to do something a bit wild and spontaneous on his Friday night. I'm sure none of them mean any harm by it. They're just a bunch of straight guys looking to ease their blue balls.
I'm surprised that I haven't been receiving a non-stop stream of abuse in the form of lewd or abusive texts or pictures from my blackmailer. Instead, he's left me in relative solitude to perform the role laid out for me. I know he's still there... watching me through the camera, but that thought makes my wolfhood strain even harder against its prison. That someone out there is observing my humiliation... judging my performance and acting as witness to my illicit activities... it thrills me more than I'm willing to admit even to myself.
Eventually I do hear back from the guy. Now at the end, after twenty minutes of waiting in my stall with nothing to do, I lean against the wall while catching my breath and stretching my jaw. Now that it's past midnight it's fairly clear that there would be no more takers for the deviant Craigslist offer.
My phone vibrates intensely, and somewhat noisily, on the floor, alerting me to the call. For a few moments I stare at it, warily. Then I picked up.
"...Hello?"
I hear the same deep, distorted voice as before respond back.
"I'm reviewing the tapes now puppy, but it looks you followed my instructions perfectly tonight. I'm pleased. Very pleased."
"So... I can go home now? You'll... leave me alone?"
"Certainly. You've earned a few days of recuperation. Until next Friday, when, needless to say, you'll be doing this again. Just like the Friday after that. And the one after that."
"No! Please! Just tell me what I need to do to make this stop. You win... okay? You win and I lose. What do you really want?"
"Interesting question, puppy. What makes you think this isn't exactly what I really want? To force you to experience your deepest, darkest fantasy, with no hope of actually getting off from it."
"I don't know that... maybe that's true. I'm just... offering... I don't know. I don't know what I'm offering. I'm completely lost here, okay? If you wanted something... something else, just just tell me. Please."
"Let's be clear on this point: Are you offering yourself to me, pup?"
"I... I'm just... Yes. Yes, I'm offering myself. I don't know how you're doing this, but you obviously have power over me. Looking back over my memories of the last few months, that's pretty undeniable. I just don't want to keep forgetting. Please... let me be me."
"So, your terms are, you'll agree to be mine -- my pet, my slave, my property -- as long as I stop tampering with your memories? You should know that if you voluntarily become my slave, you're very likely to be ordered back here next Friday, regardless. And that would just the beginning. Plus, there's no guarantee of when or even if I'll decide to give you a brief respite from your chastity cage. That will become a much harder burden to bear if you're allowed to dwell on it."
"... Yes. If that's what it takes. Somehow, without realising it myself, I already became a slave weeks ago. If I'm already trapped, I'd rather be conscious of it."
"Begrudging acceptance isn't going to be enough, pup. If you want me as your master, you'll have to beg me. And also, you'll need to thank me for the privilege of getting to serve real men. Make it good."
I realize that to have any chance at all of getting myself out of this mess, I'll have to keep my memories. Swallowing what remains of my pride, I try to imagine what a person like him must want to hear from a guy like me.
"Al-- alright. Yes, sir. Umm... please be my Master, sir, so that you can rule my life as you see fit. So that I can be of service to real men, like you and unlike myself. Thank you for allowing me the privilege of providing relief to the fine men of this great city, and for your wisdom in allowing them to indulge in their own personal fantasies while being unaware that they are being pleasured by a worthless faggot such as myself. I'm... uhh... not sure what else to say. Please, sir... Master... let me keep my memories. I'm begging you."
"Not bad, for a first attempt. You'll get much better at praising me and degrading yourself, with practice. Okay, come on home. I'll be there waiting for you. When you arrive, kneel in the living room and wait until I'm ready to address you. I'll be taking a shower upstairs."
"Yes sir. Thank you sir. But... Master...?"
"What is it, puppy?"
"How am I going to get home? I'm naked, and I don't have my keys."
"Look in the corner of the stall, slave. You'll find a duffel bag with your keys, wallet, and your clothes."
Sure enough, looking around I quickly located the bag. It had been less than three feet away from me this entire time. Unbelievable. How had I not noticed?
"Clean yourself up using the sink, get dressed, and drive home. Don't make any stops and don't make any calls. Don't answer your phone for anyone except for me. And finally, don't try to pull any stunts. Remember: you were already mine. Were just making it a bit more formal now. If you think things will get easier for you from this point out, you're going to be severely disappointed."
And with that, the line went dead. I sit for a couple minutes, trying to wrap my head around what just happened. What have I done to myself? What have I set into motion?
Taking in a deep breathe, I stand up, release the air out of my lungs slowly, open the stall door, and walk out.