"I'll" Thrust "Touch my cock" Thrust "And you'll pull down" Thrust "Your panties" Thrust "And I'm going to jam. My cock. In you. So hard. So fucking haaaaaauh uh uh"
His voice twisted, his hands pulled my head viciously forward, and suddenly jets of pulsing hot liquid were spurting into my throat, as he mercilessly jammed his cock in as deeply as he could, not seeming to care that I was struggling and couldn't breathe. I clutched desperately at his wrists, but he had closed his eyes and was making guttural moaning noises as he filled my mouth and throat. I was seeing stars by the time he let me go, and I collapsed into a coughing fit, tasting the unpleasant salty cum as it sprayed back out of my mouth. Some had gone into my nasal passage, and I'd definitely swallowed some. It took minutes before I could even roll over and sit up. Gary was sitting on the bed, watching me, and wiping his cock on the sheets.
"That was nice, John," he said. "I think you'll be very good at this sort of thing, don't you?"
I couldn't look at him. I didn't say anything. My cock had gone limp during the choking fit, and I must have looked a ridiculous sight, my panties wet with my cum, and my face half-covered with cum and spittle, which had also dripped onto my chest. I stared at the floor.
"Heh," he laughed. "Well I bet you're sorry this ever happened, by now. But don't worry too much - you know your secret is safe with me."
"I... I need to go," I said.
Gary waved a hand dismissively. "Off you go, John. Let me know when Sam gets back, won't you? Just in case I need to borrow some sugar, or something."
I nodded disconsolately. I slowly picked myself up, pulled on my pants and sweatshirt, and made my way home.
Ch. 02
- 1 -
The next day I woke to the sound of birds outside, and sun streaming through the windows. It was Sunday, and normally I'd have been up and about early with Sam. But with her still away, I'd slept in late. I lay in bed, unmoving, stunned by the previous day's bizarre events. I scarcely believed it had happened, and yet knew that it wasn't a bad dream. In the light of a new day, it didn't feel good at all - for all my years of secret fantasies, I'd never admitted them to anyone, let alone acted them out, and now I'd been caught cross-dressing, photographed posing in women's underwear, and then been forced to give a blow job to my neighbour.
Well... had I been forced? There was a guilty twinge in my groin as I remembered sinking to my knees in Gary's bedroom, and the shocking things we'd both said. And hadn't his ass felt kind of sexy in my hand?
Christ! I sat up and jumped out of bed, shaking my head. This was a nightmare, and come to think of it, I'd also cheated on my wife. What would I do when she got home? I couldn't lie to her, but I couldn't admit what had happened, either. I needed to think of a plan, desperately. But as I went round the house doing chores, and then headed out to read the paper, I couldn't think of a single thing I could do. I had no idea what Gary might do with the photos - they might be in a safe, or hidden anywhere in his house, or they might already be online somewhere. With those photos in his keeping, Gary had me in his power completely.
Anything and everything could be at risk - my safe job as an accountant in the city, my standing with friends, even my marriange. It seemed all I could do would be to confront him - yet I was scared to do it.
When I returned home for lunch, my heart jumped. There was an unmarked envelope on the doorstep, and I just knew who would have left it there. Glancing around nervously, I took it into the front hall and opened the letter. It simply said "Call me", and gave a mobile number. I sat at the kitchen table and stared at it for a long time, and then got my own mobile out and placed the call.
"Hi, this is Gary," he said after a couple of rings.
"It's John," I said.
"Thanks for calling John," he said, "I enjoyed having you over last night." It was shocking how confident he sounded; there was no preamble or skirting the topic, and I immediately felt unable to take control of the conversation.
"You looked nice in those clothes John," he said, "but I'm expecting a better effort for our next date."
"Next..? Uh, better effort?" I stuttered.
"Sure. I mean, you have some nice lingerie, but I'm not used to girls who are - how would you say - a little on the hairy side."
"Sorry?"
"Hairy. I'm going to expect you to work a bit harder on getting ready next time."
I swallowed nervously.
"So, first of all, I'm expecting you at my place tonight at 8pm. I expect you made up properly - I'm sure you have everything you need round there, right?"
I goggled as Gary proceeded to reel off very explicit instructions - I was expected to present myself at his house, dressed up in stockings, suspenders, high heels, bra and g-string, with my legs and body completely shaved of all hair; supposedly to be a more suitable "date" for Gary. And on top of this, he suggested I might need to work on some makeup. I thought all this might be possible, but then he really shocked me by adding: "Oh and John, I don't expect to see you turn up in those ugly tracksuit pants again. When you walk round here, I want you wearing what I just said. Do you understand?"
He hung up, leaving me sitting at the kitchen table, heart thumping.
- 2 -
I must have sat at the table for half an hour, wondering what I could do, with nothing springing to mind at all. Perhaps I should go along with his instructions tonight, just to buy some time? I certainly had the clothes I needed, tucked away out of sight in a couple of spots round the house. And Sam's part of the bathroom cupboard was brimming with lipsticks and other girly makeup. But the legs - What could I do?! I pulled up the leg of my jeans, and pondered the healthy layer of brown hair. Going at this with a razor would be an all-day job, not to mention I'd never done it before and was likely to cause all manner of nicks and cuts. How on earth does someone shave the back of their knees, for example?
I looked at the clock - it was already 1.30pm. It was time for a snap decision, and I decided that hair removal cream would have to do. I rushed out to the car and drove to the supermarket, nervously checking the aisles until I found what I was looking for - a squeeze back of foul-smelling cream that promised to remove all hair with the greatest ease. I threw a few of them into my basket just in case, and then grabbed some other random items in case other shoppers might wonder why a man would come all the way to the shops just to stock up on hair cream. At the counter, I studiously avoided making eye contact while a girl processed my items.