Power of the Nerd
Part 1 of 5
Kneeling there, naked, I couldn't believe that I'd gotten myself into this fucking predicament. There I was, a senior and president of my class, one of the most popular guys in school, humiliating myself in front of this brainiac Freshman nerd. As he held my head by the hair with one hand, I saw the other reaching for his fly and lowering his zipper. I shuddered as he reached in, and then I did a double take as I saw the long, thick cock he produced. Fuck, who the hell would have known that this scrawny geek could be hung like that? But then, who would have known yesterday that I'd be here on my knees in front of him, getting ready to suck his cock?
It all started Monday when that jackass Jason Martin told me about the mid-term. Jason was on my team, but he was a crappy student. We were both in Mrs. Sullivan's Intro to Calc class and Jason was scared shitless that he was going to fail it, and that if he did he wouldn't make the grades to graduate in the spring. I felt OK about it; I wasn't that bad in Calc. But when Jason told me about his foolproof plan to ace the exam, my ears perked up. I was looking at graduating with a 2.9 or so, but slamming this mid-term could bump that up to the mid-3's since the mid-terms counted for so much of the grade. And a solid B average would look better when I closed the deal on this soccer scholarship.
I mean, the plan sounded simple. Mrs. Sullivan was a new teacher, and she didn't lock her file cabinets. She figured that the lock on the classroom door would keep anyone from getting into her stuff, but Jason and I knew that you could use a credit card to get passed the door lock. All we had to do was wait until after everyone left for the day, head to her room, find the exams, and copy the questions.
So, we used the credit card to get into Sullivan's room. When we went through her file cabinet, we hit the jackpot! Not only were the exam questions in there, so was the answer key. Now, all we had to do was copy down the answers. So we did. On Wednesday morning, I wrote the answers in pencil inside my shirt sleeve. When the exam started that afternoon, I surreptitiously unbuttoned my cuff and I could see the answers by tilting my hand while I colored in those annoying little bubbles on the answer sheet. By the middle of the exam, I was flying high; I knew I was going to pull this off.
That was right about the time I looked up and saw him. Dexter, Mrs. Sullivan's little ass-kissing teacher's aide. He was some kind of math whiz, and he had brown-nosed his way into becoming her aide during his period study hall, probably to make himself feel important. He had been walking up and down the aisles, smirking and lording his superiority over the seniors struggling over an exam I guess he thought he could bang through in five minutes. Early on I'd kept an eye on him, just to make sure my looking at my sleeve didn't look obvious while he was in my aisle. I guess he'd changed his pattern of alternating aisles because I didn't even realize he was on mine – this time he headed down my aisle from the back of the classroom, not the front. I had just flicked my wrist when I caught the motion of movement at my side.
When I looked up, his gaze was on my cuff. He turned his green eyes to mine and mouthed silently, "Busted." My blood turned to ice. Instantly, my mind played through the scenario: being expelled for cheating, losing the scholarship, all of my college applications being rejected for an honors violation, my parents finding out, Coach learning of my betrayal of his trust. My heart was pounding as if I'd just finished a sprint, and by the time my brain returned to the present, I realized that Dexter hadn't broken stride. He'd kept walking; there he was turning around to walk down the next aisle. Had I imagined it? Then, I saw him as he turned his head to me, and I saw that wicked smile.
I knew what it meant. It meant he wasn't going to rat me out; he wanted something from me. I didn't know what it was, but I felt my pulse slowing to normal as I realized there was going to be a way out, that maybe I hadn't ruined my whole life just because of that bastard Jason Martin and his fucking ideas. After that, I buttoned my cuff. I don't know why, the damage was done, but I was too shaken to keep up the act now. I finished the last half of the exam on my own.
When Mrs. Sullivan announced that time was up, I noticed that Dexter was standing beside the door. No doubt he wanted everyone to see him there as they left, so he could smile condescendingly at them. I wondered why Dexter hadn't had the shit beaten out of him by anyone yet. I knew he'd want to tell me about his planned trade, so I made sure I was the last to turn in my answer sheet at the desk, and the last to head out the door. When I got to him, Dexter caught my wrist, the one with the cuff evidence, and guided me out the door. He looked around to make sure no one was within earshot.
"Do you have any more exams?" he asked.
"Not today. My last one is Government tomorrow."
"What are you doing now?"
"Going home to study for it," I answered.
"So you actually study for some of your exams, Jackson?" he asked sarcastically.
I felt like laying into him right there, but I knew it would be a mistake, considering he could still rat me out, and I was still wearing the evidence. "Yeah," I muttered, defeated.
"Mrs. Sullivan, I'll be back in a minute to help clean up. I've got to run to the restroom," he said, ducking his head back through the doorway. He released my wrist. "OK, let's go."
"To your locker. You need your stuff before you leave, right?"
I was a little confused. I thought we were just going to work out the trade, but apparently, he had more in mind. We went to my locker and I grabbed my last book, the Government text I'd use to study, and my jacket. He then walked with me until we got to the men's room, and directed me inside. He checked to make sure the stalls were empty, then turned back to me.
"Take it off," he said.
"What?" I asked, completely lost.
"The shirt. I want it. So you can't back out on me later."
"Come on, Dexter. I know you've got me by the balls, just tell me what you want and I'll do it. I don't want to get expelled one semester away from graduation."
"Then give me your shirt. I don't want you destroying the evidence before I get what I want."
There wasn't going to be any way out of this. I knew if Dexter went back now, he'd tell Mrs. Sullivan. Sure, I could run home and wash the pencil out of the shirt, but he'd tell her, and she'd look at my answers and the fact that I had the right answer to every question the first half of the exam would back him up. I mean, I'm an OK student, but I'm not a fucking nerd. We both knew, though, that later on, after the exams were graded, his position to accuse me would be weakened without proof. I didn't know what he wanted, but I figured it had to be fairly innocuous. He probably wanted me to be his friend or something the rest of the year, so he could tell people how cool he was that I liked him. Fuck, was I wrong?
Anyway, I unbuttoned my shirt and slipped it off my bare shoulders as I had no T-shirt on that day. I handed it over. I guess I didn't notice him staring at my chest while I took the shirt off, but he grabbed it from me and told me that was all for now. He'd call me Friday night, and I'd better not have any plans. He left the bathroom, and I put on my jacket, zipped it up and went home.
The phone rang at about 7 o'clock on Friday night. I knew it would be Dexter before I answered it.
"Hey, Jackson, got any plans tonight?" he asked needling me.
"No, I kept my social calendar clear just for you, Dexter."
"Listen, jock boy, you'd better make an attitude adjustment because I own your ass now, don't I?"
I shuddered. Great, a pompous nerd, and now he owned me. But he was right. "Yeah, I guess you do. So what do you want?"
"I want you to come over to my house. We'll talk about it when you get here." He gave me the address. My family is comfortably middle class, but Dexter's house was apparently nestled in the upscale part of town. I hopped into my Civic and drove over. When I got to Dexter's place, it was huge. Brick Victorian, three stories, manicured lawn, and hedges. I never pictured Dexter to have come from this kind of background, but thinking back I realized he was pretty preppy for a geek. A lot of the math-science-computer losers wore ratty jeans and T-shirts, but Dexter wore khakis and button-down oxfords like I did. He wore glasses, but they weren't thick, Coke-bottle glasses - just thin, steel-rimmed ones. Most nerds have long, kind of unkempt hair, but Dexter's blond hair was always neat, in a fashionable, average-length style.
As I parked in the empty driveway, I realized that if Dexter weren't such a pretentious, ass-kissing jerk, he wouldn't be that bad of a guy, probably. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad being his friend for the rest of the year; maybe it would mellow him out and do some good.
When I rang the bell, I almost expected a servant of some sort to answer, but when the door opened there was Dexter, beaming.
"Hey there, Jackson. Found the place OK?" he asked jovially.
"Um, yeah, nice place." He was being way too nice for some reason, and it caught me off guard.
"Come on in. Can I get you something to drink?"
"Nah, I'm OK. Let's just get down to business."
"All good things come to those who wait." After negotiating the maze of hallways, we entered a kitchen that looked like it belonged to the head chef of a five-star restaurant; it was an immaculate collection of tile and stainless steel. Dexter walked over to the refrigerator, selected a bottle of water, and twisted off the cap. He hoisted himself up onto the counter and started swinging his bare feet gleefully.
"Soccer's over for the year, isn't it?" he asked. I answered that it was.
"It must be a lot of work keeping up with classes and your busy social life when practice and games take up so much time," he commented nonchalantly, and then took a swig of water. His eyes never left me.
"I do OK," I replied.
I looked at him darkly. He was an asshole. "That was the only time I've ever cheated, and it wasn't even my idea," I retorted.
His eyes brightened as I realized my mistake. "Oh, really?" he asked rhetorically, a note of enthusiasm in his voice. "We can get to that later. I guess you're curious to know what the plan is, aren't you?"
"Yeah, I guess so. I just want to get this over with."
"Well, it's not going to be that simple." He hopped off the counter, leaving his water behind. He walked over until he stood less than a foot in front of me. "I think this is going to be a bit of a long-term proposition. You see, you're going to be my bitch from now on." As he said it, he took his eyes off mine and looked down at my crotch.
It only took a split-second for my right hand to pull back, but he backed away before I could punch him. "Don't be an idiot, Jackson. Like you said the other day in the restroom: I've got you by the balls. Think about it - expulsion. Humiliation. What are those colleges lining up at your door going to say then? What are your parents going to say? What are you going to do if you piss your life away because of a Calculus exam?"
Every word was true, and I'd known it the moment after he'd caught me Wednesday afternoon. "But I'm not gay," I said.
"I don't care," he retorted.
I looked him over. He was a couple inches shorter than my 6'2", and at least 30 pounds lighter. There was no way he weighed more than 140. "Why don't I just beat the crap out of you now? It's Friday, the earliest you could blow the whistle about the exam is Monday, and they'll be graded by then. And, it's going to look awfully strange that you didn't say anything about it Wednesday when you caught me, isn't it?"
"Because I've got the shirt, and you don't know where it is. It might not even be here, right? And if it were, could you look through the entire house to find it? Besides, I think going in all beaten up on Monday is going to be plenty of back up for my story. Face it, Jackson, you're screwed."
He was right. I was screwed. I was completely and utterly defeated. I looked at the floor, and when I did, he knew I was done. He walked back to me until his body nearly pressed into mine. He grabbed a fist full of my brown hair and turned my head so he could stare into my blue eyes. I felt his other hand slip between us and close around my crotch. I felt like I was going to throw up. I clenched my eyes shut.
"Open them," he commanded in a stern voice. I kept them closed as imagined scenes of gay sex whirled around in my head. I felt his grip tighten on my package as he repeated his order. "Open them."
I opened them, and his eyes left mine and moved to my lips. "Leave them open," he said, and then moved in. I felt his lips on mine. He pulled a millimeter away. "Kiss back, Jackson." I stared at a fixed point on the wall behind him as I felt his lips press against mine. I kissed him. I felt his tongue graze my mouth. He pushed his tongue like a pry bar, trying to get it between my lips. He pulled his head back again. “Open your mouth.” I did, and he released my hair as he kissed me and stuck his tongue in my mouth. But I just couldn’t reciprocate. Then I felt his hands on my back, pulling me into him. They slid slowly down my back to my ass, and he left them resting there. I wanted to break away, I wanted to run, but in my mind, I kept seeing myself in front of Mr. Higgins, the principal; my Mom crying in the background, Dad shaking his head in shame, Coach frowning, and college admissions doors slamming in my face.
He broke the kiss by stepping back. I looked at him and his face was flushed. I turned my gaze to the floor at his feet, and on the way down, I saw a prominent bulge in his crotch. "Do you want to go upstairs to my room, Jackson?" Still looking at the floor, I nodded. "Look at me, and tell me. Do you want to go up to my room?"
I looked up to him, and I heard my voice answer from somewhere in the room, "Yes, Dexter, let's go to your room." I just wanted this over, the sooner the better.
With that, he turned and we walked back down the corridor to the stairway. It was wide and covered in richly toned plush carpeting. I followed him up two flights of stairs, down another hallway, and into a large bedroom. One wall was mostly all windows, and the curtains and shades were open on that December night. The room was painted a subdued grayish blue, and where most guys his age would have posters of rock bands or pin-up girls (or guys, I guess, in his case), he had oil paintings, mostly landscapes. There was an antique bed in one corner made of some fancy wood, and a chest of drawers next to it. A bookshelf lined the other wall, and against the opposite wall from the windows was his desk. It was a prissy, yet elegant, room.
He turned to me and said, "You can get undressed here." I just looked at him. For some reason, I was surprised at his suggestion, and then it sunk in. Slowly I began fingering the buttons on my shirt. I removed it, my undershirt, and my khakis after slipping off my shoes, letting every item drop to the floor as I always do at home. When I stood in only my boxers and socks, he motioned me over to him. "This doesn't have to be bad, Jackson." He reached up and began to stroke my bare chest with his fingertips. His light touch and the chill made me break out in goosebumps; the hair stood up on the back of my neck.
I'd fucked a couple of girls before, but this made me feel like a virgin bride. He was being tender, but I knew the malice that lay behind the facade. "Do you want to undress me, Jackson?" I looked away. "Jackson? Look at me," he demanded. I looked at him. "Do you want to undress me?" I froze. “Here’s a little rule of mine that will help you behave as I want you to. Whatever I ask of you, give the answer you think I want to hear. Got that?”
“Even if I have to lie?”
“For now, lying is okay,” Dexter told me. "So, tell me, do you want to undress me?"
Again, I heard my voice from somewhere else in the room. "Dexter, can I take your clothes off?" He smiled and I lifted my hands to his collar. Was he really expecting me to follow this rule even if I found the act abhorrent, to do as I thought he wanted? Apparently, my own desires no longer mattered, I thought, as I undid each button slowly. I wanted to just do it quickly and be done with it, but I instinctively knew he’d want it done slowly. Then I pulled his shirttails out from the waist of his khakis. I slipped his outer shirt off his shoulders and slid it off, dropping it to the floor. Then he raised his arms over his head and I lifted off his T-shirt too. I was about to drop that as well when he interjected.
"Fold my clothes neatly and put them on the desk with yours." Mechanically, I picked up his shirt, folded it and laid it on his desk, putting the T-shirt on top. When I turned to walk back to him, his shirtless body registered with me for the first time. He was basically skin and bones, and I could see ribs below his small, pink nipples. His chest, like mine, was virtually hairless. "Stop! Take off your underwear while you're over there," he instructed.
I looked at him, and then I looked down at my almost naked self. I looked back at him and I saw that his bulge was still poking into his trousers; I wanted to beg not to have to go through with this. "Jackson?" I looked up at his face. "Take off your underwear," he said softly. With that, I hooked my thumbs under the elastic of my boxer shorts and slid them to the floor. I picked them up, folded them, and laid them on the desk with the other clothes. When I turned again, I saw him staring at my limp dick. "Come here," he whispered.
I returned to my place in front of him. He put his hands on my shoulders and gently pressed down. I knew what he wanted, so I bent my knees and kneeled. He moved one hand to my hair and began to muss it up. The other went to his fly, which he unzipped. He reached in and pulled out an 8" cock as thick around as a Kennedy half a dollar. I was stunned. He was rock hard, and a dribble of precum oozed from his slit.
"Jackson, I know this is going to be your first time sucking cock, so I'm going to go easy on you, but it's not going to be as bad as you think it is. Once you get used to the idea, it will be fine. You've had girls go down on you, right?" I nodded. "Then you know what to do."
I looked up at him. He smiled, not his usual asshole smile, but a friendly smile. I wondered whether he thought we were going to become lovers. “OH, GOD! Not that!” I screamed inside my head. He took a half-step closer and used his free hand to guide his cock to my face.
“Please?” I … I … can’t. Please don’t make me.”
I felt the slimy wetness as the cockhead made contact with my cheek. I could feel the heat of it, and I smelled its warmth. It smelled musky, like I guess all cocks do, the sort of smell you find in greater concentration in any locker room. But he was clean, and the smell was faint. He softly rubbed his cock over my face and then pointed it at my lips. "I'm ready now, Jackson, I want you to open your mouth."
I clenched my eyes shut. "Leave your eyes open. Take a minute to think about your options. Then, when you're ready, tell me."
Power of the Nerd
Part 2 of 5
I looked up at him; he stared down patiently. That was the thing: he wasn’t being mean or bossy in his manner or tone, but rather he was being kind and gentle as if he understood this was very challenging for me. I thought about that bastard Paul Bryant, and I thought about all kinds of other things. What I was desperately trying not to think about was that I was kneeling there, naked, in front of this … this … Freshman nerd, feeling his dick resting on my lips. I sighed, and the smell of his cock brought me back to reality. "I'm ready," I whispered.
"Ready for what?”
"I'm ready to suck your cock," I said, and with that, he began to slide it into my mouth. The taste was not what I expected. Even though his cock was hard as a steel pole, the head was moist and spongy as it rested on my tongue. I could taste the precum, and it was kind of smoky and bleachy and salty all at once. It took a couple of seconds for the shock of having a cock in my mouth to wear off, and then I remembered why it was there and what I was supposed to do. I figured that the sooner he got off, the sooner it would all be over with, so I began to suck on the head of his cock.
"Hey! Cover your teeth with your lips, dammit!" he yelled down at me. I'd had teeth on my cock before and I knew it didn't feel good, so I curled my lips up tightly against his shaft. I was remembering the things I liked in a blowjob, which I then tried to repeat them for Dexter. I started licking the head of his dick, as it was only passively projected into my mouth by an inch or so. Apparently, he liked that because I could feel more precum oozing from his slit. I looked up at his face and I saw him staring at me, me with his cock in my mouth. He started rocking his hips back and forth in a gentle rolling movement, sliding maybe two more inches between my lips.
It didn't take long before he closed his eyes and his head fell back. He started moaning and biting his bottom lip as I kept up the suction and swabbing action of my tongue back and forth under his shaft. I started to think about what I was going to do once the inevitable orgasm struck, but he solved that problem for me. "I'm getting close, Jackson. When I shoot, I want you to hold it in your mouth, but don't swallow it." With that, both hands clutched my head, and his knees began to shake a bit as he pumped the upper half of his cock in and out of my mouth more rapidly.
He was grunting, and I could see every muscle in his wimpy chest and abdomen spasming, and then I felt the soft thud of his first shot. It was thick like phlegm on my tongue, and it kept firing out, hitting the back of my throat and the sides of my cheeks, and my mouth became filled with his spunk. It tasted like his precum, but stronger, and I could feel it pulsing through his shaft between my lips. There were at least a half-dozen shots, and I didn't think I could hold any more without either swallowing or gagging. Finally, he stopped thrusting and left his cock head and an inch of shaft in my mouth. He looked down at me, and his whole upper body was pink, warm, and damp with perspiration.
He smiled at me while panting to catch his breath. He slowly pulled his cock from my mouth, and I kept my lips tight to keep from spilling his cum. When he was free, he let go of my head.
"Open your mouth and show me what you love," he ordered.
I tilted my head up and opened my lips, revealing my mouthful of cum. "You were really good. I shot a really big load, just for you." He was in a really good mood, but I usually was too, after a blowjob from a girlfriend. But then again, before tonight, I had always been on the receiving end. He then used his dick like a finger to poke into the deposit in my mouth until his dick was coated with his own cum. Then he used his dick like a paintbrush to smear it on my cheeks and nose. Then he dabbed it again into his cum and once again painted other parts of my face, including my forehead and eyebrows. I could feel it cooling and drying on my face. "You can swallow the rest now."
What the fuck! The idea was truly gross, but ... it had been in my mouth for a couple of minutes now, and his cock had been in there for a while, so I just opened my throat and let it slide down. "How was it for you?" he asked, and I couldn't tell if he was sarcastic or sincere.
"Uh, well, it was ... well ... ." I didn't know what to say.
He frowned, and for a minute I thought I'd hurt his feelings, but then the look was gone. "Clean my dick off," he said and plunged it back into my mouth. I sucked the residual spunk off of it and then he pulled it free. He began to unfasten his belt and khakis, and I realized he was still rock hard. "Well, now that the preview portion of our performance is behind us, are you ready for the feature attraction, Jackson?" And with that, he dropped his pants and briefs to the floor and smiled at me expectantly.
I knelt there, staring at his naked body. I could still taste cum from the blowjob I'd just given him, and when I saw that his cock was still hard, I had a pretty damned good idea of what was next on his agenda. "Dexter, I don't think I can do that."
"Do what, Jackson?"
"Uh, you know, um, fuck."
He smiled back at me. It was the evil smile again. "You didn't think an hour ago that you could suck dick, either, did you? You probably didn't think last week that you could cheat on an exam. You're learning a lot about yourself lately, aren't you?"
I remembered the time I'd had sex with a virgin. She was kind of scared about doing it, but she wanted to try it. And now here I was, scared like hell about getting fucked and not wanting to try it at all. I knew I was trapped. "Please? Dexter, please don't." I couldn't believe I was begging him not to fuck me. I was taller than he was, I was stronger than he was, and one stupid mistake had made all that irrelevant.
He took his glasses off and laid them on the wide, shelf-like headboard. "Come here," he said as he sat on the bed. His cock pressed against his flat abs, pointing up to his sternum. I stood and walked over to him, and when I stood between his knees, he took my hips in his hands and turned me to face away from him. His hands moved down and I felt his fingertips gently tracing the curves of my ass. I broke out in goosebumps again and the hair on the back of my neck rose. I felt one hand leave me, and I turned my head and looked down to see him reaching under the bed. His hand reappeared holding a bottle, and I recognized it as lube. ,
When I saw it, I knew exactly what happens to a deer when it gets caught in headlights. I stood there frozen in panic, and I desperately grasped for ways to get out of this. "Dexter, please don't make me do this, OK? I mean, I sucked you off like you wanted. I only made one fucking mistake, and I don't think I deserve this. Please?"
He wrapped one arm around my waist, resting his hand on my lower back. As he stared at me, his fingertips danced slowly down on my tailbone and then crawled further down to the crack of my ass. Then I felt a single finger sliding between my crack to find my hole. Then it was lightly tapping on my rosebud, knocking “Hello!” "Oh, God," I whimpered, and I felt myself starting to shake as I felt him rubbing small circles with his fingertip. Suddenly he stood up, and since I had been standing between his knees, his body immediately pressed into mine. His front felt so warm against my sweaty back, and I could feel his hard cock wedged vertically into my crack.
He wrapped his hands around my waist and I felt them slowly move over my abdomen and up to my pecs. My nipples were hard, probably from fear or something. He rested his hands on them, and I felt his breath on the back of my neck. Then I felt him lean in and start kissing me. "I want you to get on the bed, on your hands and knees, Jackson."
"Dexter ... " I was going to try to beg again, but he cut me off.
"No, I'm not going to stop. You can decide right now what's more important to you, doing this thing that no one else is ever going to know about, or ruining your life. I'm not strong enough to physically keep you from leaving, so you know you can leave. But you know what will happen if you do. You have until the count of three to get on your hands and knees on my fucking bed."
I heard him count in a measured rhythm. I did know what would happen. I wanted to run, but I couldn't: there was too much at stake. I got on the bed.
"Good, now look at me."
I turned my head over my shoulder to look at him, and when I did, I saw him open the bottle of lube and squeeze some onto the tip of his middle finger. He looked straight into my eyes as he laid his palm on my ass cheek. My eyes widened when I felt the cold wetness of the lube touch my hole, and I noticed the corners of his mouth turn slightly upward. He was repeating that slow, circular motion with his fingertip.
He put the lube down on the headboard and began stroking the small of my back with his free hand. Before I realized it, he had pressed his fingertip into the entrance of my asshole and I let out a small grunt. He was pressing against something just inside me now, like some sort of second entrance I hadn't even known about, and he was repeating those small, circular strokes against it. I took my eyes off him so I could watch his hand behind me. That was when I felt him press through that final entrance into my ass.
My mouth dropped open and I released a long groan. My eyes flew back to his face and I saw him smiling. It wasn't his asshole smile, but it wasn't completely friendly either. It was a cross between the two; it was a smile of lust. He kept sliding his finger gently into my ass, maybe one or two inches into me. It lasted a couple minutes before I felt him quickly press a second finger along with the first. I dropped my head and clenched my eyes shut.
I could feel him sliding his fingers inside me. I could never have guessed how this would feel, and I still can't describe it, that feeling of the friction of his digits rubbing into the lips of my asshole, the soft pressure of them inside me, the way he twisted his hand to find new angles, feeling him spread his fingers apart to test the elasticity of my internal tissue. I don't know how long it lasted before I felt the mattress below me give when he climbed on. He crawled up behind me, then knelt, and I felt him remove his fingers. Then he lowered his chest onto my back and slid his arms along my sides, parallel to my torso. He curled his wrists up and under my shoulders and clutched me over my collarbone. I was pretty much holding us both up now.
"Are you ready, Jackson?"
"No," I whimpered.
"Tell me that you're ready."
"Please don't," I pleaded.
My breath caught as I felt him use his grip on my shoulders to pull himself into me. The cold wetness at my hole told me he had lubed up his dick, but I still felt a burning friction as his cock head popped into me.
"Oh, God," I cried out, "Take it out, Dexter, Oh God! Please take it out!"
As he rested, relaxing on my back, I realized that the burn in my ass wasn't from the friction, but rather it was more like a cramp. It was as if my asshole was cramping. I tried to move forward to pull myself off his cock, but with his grip on my shoulders, he just moved with me. After one or two ‘steps’ on my hands and knees, I was in the corner, between the wall and the headboard.
"Hold still! Stop struggling and just relax!" he murmured into my ear.
"It fucking hurts!" I yelled.
"Did I fuck your face? Did I make you deep throat me? Did I ram your throat raw when I made you suck me off? No! I took it slow because I knew it was your first time. I could have just ripped your ass open, dry, no fingering first, deep-thrust, piston-fucking your ass. But am I? No. Now shut up and give it a minute."
The irony of it might have escaped him, but it sure as hell didn't escape me. What the hell difference does it make how handsome a rapist is when he's on top of you, forcibly pounding into you? I thought about throwing him off me. I pictured myself standing up and beating the arrogant fucker into a bloody pile. Fuck him, fuck the exam, fuck graduation, fuck everything! I was just about to rear up when he interrupted my thoughts.
"Does it still hurt?"
"Does it still hurt?" he repeated.
I stopped. It took me a second to think about my ass. There was still a dull ache, but the burning was gone. "It's just sore."
"Okay," he said softly, and I felt him pushing slowly in. It was a smooth, slow motion, and a short way through it, I felt him hit something inside me with the head of his cock. I dropped my head and exhaled hard. It felt like a ripple of electricity went through the length of my body, and its epicenter was some point between my asshole and the root of my cock.
"Oh, God," I muttered, not scared or in pain now, but surprised. I felt the rest of his length slide over that place inside me, and I thought my arms were going to give out. I closed my eyes and groaned. I felt him pull back until his cock head was just behind that spot, and then he pressed forward again. I thought my eyes were going to bulge out, and I could feel blood rushing into my dick. He kept rocking the head of his cock back and forth over that weird spot, and I began to pant while my own dick grew to full erection and stretched out parallel under us.
"Good, isn't it?" he asked, almost laughing.
"Huh?" I said, confused as I returned to the present, distracted by the overwhelming pleasure in my ass.
He reached down with one hand and found my hard cock. He gripped the shaft and started stroking. I threw my head back, and I felt my ass clamping around him as he began long, slow thrusts. I whimpered wordlessly, and I felt his mouth on my ear. "Yeah, it does feel good after all, doesn't it?" he whispered harshly as he started to nip my earlobe with his teeth. “Tell me the truth.”
"Oh, yes," I lied; he told me I could lie, so I lied. I'd never felt anything like this and it was unbelievable. My cock was throbbing in his hand, and I could feel the friction lessen from the precum my own cock was drooling and he was using. He was shifting his weight in subtle ways behind me, and it was changing the angle of his penetrations. I could feel the head of his cock, the length of his shaft, pressing into my gut on all sides, and I could feel the soft, wet friction of his cock shaft sliding between my ass lips. I couldn't believe it, but I felt my balls rising in my sack, and I knew I would cum soon.
"Oh, God, I think I'm going to cum!" I moaned. With that, Dexter's hand left my cock and returned to its place on my shoulder. He pulled his cock back until the head was barely inside me, and then rammed his whole length inside me in one in one reaming thrust. He pulled back and repeated this over and over as my spasms rippled down the length of my cock, and I thought my balls were going to disappear inside me. My fists clutched his sheets, my face turned red, and every vein stood out on my forearms as I begin to fire the hardest load I'd ever shot. My breath caught in my throat as I felt my own cum almost scalding its way up the inside of my cock and shoot out a powerful volley.
Dexter never skipped a beat, and I began to exhale in a low, raspy, ragged groan. Shot after shot poured from me, and when I thought I was done, he would hit that spot inside my ass and another shot would fire. I realized, mainly from this new throbbing sensation inside my hole, that Dexter was cumming too, and I felt his fingers squeezing my shoulders. At last, he stopped thrusting, and my cock stopped jerking and spewing. I became aware of how wet we both were from sweat as we began to cool down. My arms and legs were aching, and there was a dull pulsing in my ass around Dexter's cock as he lay limply over my back like a ragdoll.
"Lie down," he whispered. I gladly let my legs and arms give out and I settled into the warm puddle of my own spunk, which my face fell into. We just lay there, catching our breath, and I could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat through his chest. After a few minutes, when we'd both calmed down, he repeated his earlier question. "How was it for you?"
"Unbelievable," I lied again. But … was it true? I couldn't believe I'd done it, let alone that I had liked it. And I did. Feeling his cock shrinking inside me, feeling my own cock soaking in its puddle of slime, I knew I had liked it. I knew I wanted to do it again, too.
As if he had read my thoughts, he chuckled. "I don't think I'm going to be ready again for a while." He started kissing my neck, then up the side of my face which was turned sideways on the mattress. Without thinking, I lifted my head up, and we kissed. I felt his soft cock slip free of my ass while his tongue was in my mouth, and my eyes fluttered open. He broke the kiss and stared at me, our noses only inches apart. For the first time, I saw something in his eyes that I'd never suspected would be there.
He slid off my back onto his side. I turned too, and we slid our arms around each other, lying in my wet spots. The cum that clung to my front spread between our bodies as we embraced, and as we kissed, I could feel his cum oozing between my legs. At some point, exhausted, we fell asleep.
Someone was stroking my cheek. My eyelids fluttered open, and my eyes focused on Dexter looking at my face. My first thought was one of complete shock; it only took about a second for me to remember where I was and why. I felt the familiar feeling of dried cum on my body and also a completely new feeling, a dull throb, in my ass. I could still taste his cum, faintly. My face must have registered my alarm because his initial easy smile quickly clouded over.
"Yeah, it wasn't a nightmare, jock boy," he frowned.
"What time is it?"
"It's about 11," he answered. I looked at the window because the overhead lights were on and the room was bright. But it was still dark outside, so I hadn't been gone all night. “We will connect again very soon. As long as I have your cheater’s shirt, I own you.”
"I have to go home," I told him. My parents didn't bitch a lot about me being out, but they hadn't gotten home when I left and I hadn't left them a note about where I'd be or when I'd get back. It occurred to me that I hadn't seen Dexter's parents, or anyone else, and that he didn't seem to be worried about us being caught in bed together. Hell, he hadn't even told me to shut the bedroom door behind me when we came up from the kitchen.
His eyes searched mine and then scanned my face. "You liked getting it up the ass, Jackson. You don't want to admit it to yourself, but you did." He rolled away from me and sat up. His mood was completely different from just a few hours earlier: his arrogance was gone. I watched him put on his glasses and then slip his feet into his briefs and pull them up to his waist as he stood. He walked over to his desk and switched on the computer. He sat in his padded desk chair and never looked towards me. "There's a bathroom directly across the hall. You're going to want to shower because you're covered in my cum ... and yours."
I extracted myself from the crust that connected me to the bed sheet. Each move of my thighs deepened the ache in my asshole, and when I sat on the edge of the bed it felt like I had a ping-pong ball fixed just outside my opening. As I stood and walked to the bedroom doorway, I glanced over at Dexter to see if he was checking me out while I was naked, but his eyes never left the monitor. I crossed the hall, entered the bathroom, and was confronted by yet another elegantly designed room, the bathroom.
Like the bathroom of a New York penthouse, there was a walk-in shower in one corner and a whirlpool bath in another. Perpendicular to these on one wall was a long double vanity, the mirrors over which reflected the toilet and a bidet. I took a towel from the deeply varnished linen cabinet that stood between the shower and the whirlpool, stepped into the shower, and turned it on. The streams hit me on all sides as three shower heads began to spray warm water. The water felt wonderful, and I don't know how long I stood under it before I lathered up to rid myself of the coating of our orgasms.
After rinsing, I stayed under the water still longer, wondering how many times I would have to relive this night before Dexter decided I'd had enough and cut me loose. I thought for a moment that it might not be so bad; the orgasm I'd had tonight had definitely been OK. And with the sucking and fucking over, maybe that would be it and he’d let me free. I quickly shook that thought from my head, turned off the water, stepped out, and toweled off. Wrapping the towel around my waist, I walked back into Dexter's bedroom, but he wasn't there. I saw my clothes on the desk where I'd left them and got dressed.
When I'd finished, I walked over to Dexter's bookshelf and looked over the countless volumes that filled it. A lot of them were math and physics and computer science books: Imaginary Numbers, Stephen Hawking, UNIX. Some were classics, like Robert Louis Stevenson, and even a three-part collection of The Divine Comedy. I wondered just how many of the books Dexter had actually read and just how smart he really was. I went over to his windows and looked out. I put my face to the glass and shielded the overhead light out with my hands. There were no exterior lights on, so I couldn't see anything. From the orientation of the room against the stairs, and what I'd seen of the ground floor, I guessed his room overlooked the backyard.
I didn't know what I was supposed to do, but I didn't think I should go roaming the house to find Dexter. He'd seemed pretty dismissive about the evening being over and telling me to shower. I was lucky he didn't make me stay, or worse, kick me out to go home covered in dried cum. With nothing left to do, I turned, left his room, and made my way back downstairs. As I reached the foot of the stairway in the foyer, I went out the door and drove home.
The next morning, I woke up hard. Rock hard. I reached down into my boxers and fished out my cock, and as I began to slide my hand up and down my shaft, I couldn't help but remember what had occurred the night before. I tried to shake off the memory by thinking back to the cheerleader I had been seeing until we broke up at Thanksgiving. I focused on the feel of her breasts, and how my cock felt when I slid it inside her. Somehow, though, it just didn't work out. I couldn't keep the echoes of Dexter's cock plowing my ass from creeping in. Every time I thought of cumming in that cheerleader, I recalled the explosive orgasm I'd had while I had been fucked.
Frustrated, I got out of bed. I walked over to my desk in the corner where my computer was booted and ready. I signed onto my ISP and began to cruise some of my bookmarked porn sites. Hot girls, big tits, facials. I looked at some of the girls with cum on their faces, and I was again taken back to the previous night. How had I looked when, after I'd sucked him off, Dexter dipped his own cum from the huge deposit on my tongue and painted my whole face with it? My wood was subsiding a little, but my horniness wasn't.
Suddenly, I had a thought. I keyed the URL for my favorite search engine and looked for a reverse phone directory. Finding one, I used his name and address to find his number. I stared at the screen. I thought back to the waves of electricity that had surged through my entire body as Dexter had found the spot inside my ass over and over again. My dick throbbed.
I drummed my fingers on the desktop and bit my lip. I was indecisive: I couldn't call him, and even if I did, what would I say? I wasn't gay. I mean, I couldn't be. I'd fucked girls, I was a jock, I was popular, the class president. But the fact remained that being fucked up the ass was the hottest sexual experience I had ever had. I sure as hell wasn't going to admit that to anyone else, but Dexter knew it already.
"You liked getting it up the ass, Jackson. You don't want to admit it to yourself, but you did." His words burned into my brain. He was right.
I closed my eyes and closed my hand around my cock again. I slid my ass to the edge of the chair slightly and reached under my balls with my free hand. I began to poke my slightly sore asshole through my underwear with my middle fingertip while I beat off through my fly. What the hell was happening to me? I didn't know, and really, I didn't care. I let my mind wander freely back to being fucked, and how it had felt. I even thought back to sucking Dexter's cock, and the taste of his cum in my mouth, the feeling of his spunk drying on my face. At last, I blew a long, hard load up onto my chest. Hell, some of it almost hit my chin.
I looked down at the ropes of glimmering jizz. How did mine taste, compared to Dexter's? A couple of girls knew what mine tasted like from blowing me, but I didn't. For a minute it occurred to me that it might be sick to taste my own cum, but hell, I'd tasted another guy's, hadn't I? Not only that, but the memory of sucking and having cum shot into my mouth was partly responsible for the load I was now wearing.
I lifted my hand to my mouth and tentatively licked at the slime that covered my fingers. It was salty and bleachy like Dexter's, but something was missing; I didn't know what it was. Curiosity piqued, I deliberately sucked my hand dry like a child licking frosting off his fingers. I still couldn't figure out why my cum would taste different from his, or what the difference in the taste was exactly. Before I realized what I was doing, I had scooped up all the cum from my chest and fed it to myself. Fuck! I'd blown my load thinking about being a cocksucker and drinking semen, about taking cock and sperm up my ass, and now I'd finished eating that same load from my own body.
I felt disgusted with myself. I raised my eyes from my softened cock, my now relatively clean chest, and I saw Dexter's phone number on the monitor waiting for me, calling to me; I stared at it. In seconds, my disgust completely faded and was transformed into a new emotion, one equally powerful and definitely more dangerous: lust. I wanted Dexter to fuck me again. I didn't know why, and I didn't care how. I grabbed a pencil from the desk drawer and scrawled his number on a pad. I'd just jerked off, but as I stood up and headed to the bathroom to shower, I felt the blood flowing back into my dick.
I beat off again in the shower, and this time I let my cum wash down the drain. The second orgasm helped clear my mind, and I got dressed and went about my day, running to the mall to get some Christmas presents. By mid-afternoon I'd finished my shopping for the day, the horniness was back, and I could feel my cock stirring in my pants. I was in my bedroom, stashing my cache of family presents where they wouldn't be found by my mom when, for some reason, probably some subconscious suggestion, I noticed that I had left my computer on and Dexter’s phone number was still showing on it.
"Uh, I was just wondering. About last night ... " I started. It was a good effort, but I had no idea where I was going. I trailed off mid-sentence and there was silence from his end. And then I heard it, the change in his voice, and his new tone. Well, not his new tone, but the arrogant, commanding, condescending tone he'd last used while we were in his bedroom.
"You mean you were wondering about how I fucked you up the ass, Jackson?” Dexter said to me. “You were wondering about how you kneeled in front of me and sucked the cum from my cock? Is that what you mean?" My face turned red; I was so embarrassed to hear his words codifying my emotions that I almost slammed down the phone. "Are you wondering whether I'll fuck you again, Jackson? Is that what you were wondering?"
His words pierced me. Just hearing the question made my cock balloon into full erection. My throat went dry. How did he know? Did it matter? Was he guessing? Or did he know? He was right; that was exactly what I was wondering. "Yes," I whispered, as if my voice had a mind of its own, just like my cock.
"What was that? I didn't hear you."
"I said, `Yes.’” I repeated quietly.
"Yes what, Jackson? Tell me."
"Yes, I was wondering if … ah … ah … um … ," I stammered.
Power of the Nerd
Part 3 of 5
"You mean, you were wondering if I would fuck you again? You were wondering about how you kneeled in front of me and sucked the cum from my cock? Is that what you mean?" My face turned red; I was so embarrassed to hear his words codifying my emotions. Well, he had my shirt with the exam answers on it. He had all the power over me, so I had to appease him, but I almost slammed down the phone. "Are you wondering whether I'll fuck you again, Jackson? Is that what you were wondering?"
His words pierced me. Just hearing the question made my cock balloon into full erection. He was right; that was exactly what I was wondering. "Yes," I whispered, as if my voice had a mind of its own, just like my cock.
"What was that? I didn't hear you."
"I said, `Yes.'" I repeated quietly.
"Yes what, Jackson? Tell me."
"Yes, I was wondering if you'd fuck me again," I stammered.
I didn't understand why I was saying it. I mean, I was trying to please him - after all, he was blackmailing me. But did I have to be so blunt about it? How was he pulling this information from me, almost as if he'd taken possession of my thoughts? Was it the tone of his voice? Was it the mesmerizing way he kept repeating my name? I didn't know how, but he was definitely taking possession. I hadn't been able to get off without thinking about him, and just hearing him again filled me with lust. I was in a trance.
"Yeah, I might. I might fuck your ass for you again. But you're going to have to work for it."
"Work for it?" I was startled and it shook me back to consciousness. "Work for it how?"
"Well, we'll think of something once you get over here. I think you should come now."
My cock surged. "OK, I'll leave right now."
"Good boy. Oh, and make sure you've made arrangements to spend the night here."
"What?" I was definitely not prepared for that.
"As long as I have your cheater’s shirt, you’ll do things my way. After all, if you want my sweet cock up your ass, we want to be able to take our time, don't we … bitch? To make sure it's good for you. To make sure you're satisfied."
"There's a party at Michael Kennedy's tonight," I told him. "I'm supposed to go."
"Well, you're not going. But I bet that party will make a great excuse for you to be out all night tonight, won't it, Jackson?"
"Yeah, I guess so," I gave in. I was supposed to go to the party, and I had been looking forward to it. Michael gave awesome parties with lots of hot girls who loved jocks. I probably wouldn't score, but chances are I'd meet someone I could hook up with over next semester since the deal I had with the cheerleader had ended at Thanksgiving. But I wanted to try this ass fucking again, to make Dexter happy as well as for myself; I couldn't get it out my mind. It would be worth missing the party for this. He'd throw another one at New Year's or, if he didn't, one of my other friends would.
"Then get the fuck over here, cunt," he smirked and hung up the phone.
I listened to the dial tone. My cock raged, and when I reached down to adjust it, I could feel the wetness of precum that it had oozed. I hung up the phone, scribbled a note to my parents that I'd be staying over at Michael’s after the party, and got to my car.
When I pulled into Dexter's driveway, he was standing outside the front door. He walked over to the passenger side and got in. "We're going to run some errands." He eyed my bulging crotch. "Don't worry, I won't forget your ass tonight."
I proceeded under his direction to chauffeur him to a rundown section of downtown. I pulled alongside the curb and parked beside a really seedy hole in the wall. He plucked a small sheet of paper from his shirt pocket. "That's your shopping list. You'll find everything you need in that store. I know, I called ahead."
I took the paper from him and started to unfold it. "No, not here," he said. "Don't open it until you're inside." Well, that couldn't be good. I got out, leaving the motor running so the heat and radio would be on for Dexter. I rammed my fists into my pockets, trying in vain to conceal the tent in the crotch of my khakis. My cock hadn't subsided since Dexter had told me to come over.
I walked into the store and instantly had a fair guess about what would be on the list. It was a sex toy shop. I noticed the fat, old guy chewing on a cigar behind the counter adjacent to the door I'd entered. I took out Dexter's shopping list, and I turned deep red as I stood fixed to my spot.
Leather dog collar, with leash, (1)
Ass plug, 7x2", vibrating, (1)
AA batteries, (8)
Tit clamps, stainless steel, (1 set)
Handcuffs, steel, (1 pair)
Enema kit -- bag and nozzle, (1)
Rope, nylon, 100'
And the list went on. I willed my feet to move up and down the aisles, collecting each item on the list. My arms were full when I was done, and then I turned back to the old man. He had been watching me and had seen each item I'd selected. Now he was grinning obscenely at me.
"Aren't you Jackson Owens?" he asked when I arrived at the counter. My jaw dropped as I stared at him and then quickly looked at the floor. I couldn't even guess how embarrassed I looked at this very moment. "Yeah, I think I've seen you play before." He went on to tell me how his grandson played on the soccer team of one of the rival high schools as he began to ring up my purchase. "Yeah, you play some good game, kid. Fast on the field, great relationship with your team. I'm surprised they'd take plays from a queer. Soccer guys can be really tough on queers."
I looked up at him when he said "queer." My eyes were full of fear. "Yeah, my grandson is gonna be really surprised when I tell him you stopped by, and the sick shit you bought. And the hard on you had while you bought it," he said, gesturing to my crotch. "That’ll be $147.98, with tax.”
I didn't have that kind of cash. "Do you take VISA?" I asked. Since the guy knew my name already, I figured I didn't have anything to lose. Plus, I was glad to change the subject.
"Yeah, but I gotta charge you a merchant fee for it. You know, those credit card companies take a big bite out of our asses every time a customer uses their card."
"How much is the merchant fee?"
"Well, I’ll tell ya, Jackson, seein' as how you're a celebrity and all, I'll waive the fee. Just autograph something for my grandson for me." He produced a very explicit gay magazine called ‘Bondage Slave Hunks’. He flipped it open to the centerfold, a picture of a bound-up naked young man in a slave collar being plowed up the ass by a burly, hairy man about twice his age.
"Fuck! I can't sign that," I pleaded. "I mean, I'd rather no one even knew I was here, ok?"
He looked at me and grinned. "Yeah, I figured. Well, we got a merchant fee for that, too." He added $150 to the total, took my card and swiped it through the register. I started to argue, and when my mouth opened, I saw him cock an eyebrow and just dare me to say anything. I closed my mouth, took his pen, and signed the credit slip when he pushed it toward me. "Well, this autograph oughtta do it," he said and winked at me.
I grabbed the brown paper bag into which he'd put Dexter's new toys and almost ran out of the store. I heard him laughing at me all the way out the door. I hurriedly grabbed the car door handle and pulled it so that I could quickly toss the bag in the back seat, and then I got in behind the wheel. Dexter looked at my deep red color and laughed until I thought he would cry. "Yeah, I called the shop, all right. I told him what to say and do when he had a guy looking like you buy all the crap on that list. He must have done a damn good acting job," he chuckled mirthfully.
"Fuck you!" I shouted as I started to pull down the street. "I've had enough of this bullshit. I'm taking you home and that's it, you fucked up pervert!"
Dexter slid his hand over and began squeezing my hard cock. "Oh, stop whining you little bitch," he began in that special tone of voice he had. "You know you liked the humiliation. And you know that buying those toys and thinking about how they might be used on you turned you on. And you know that the idea of going back to my place and having your brains fucked out all night long turns you on most of all, doesn't it?"
God, my cock hurt as it strained in my pants. It was so hard it literally hurt, like the shaft would split open or the head would pop off. I thought about the truth of what he had said: it turned me on, and I couldn't understand why. All of it, the toys, the humiliation, and especially the idea of being fucked. I kept my eyes on the road, and I let out a soft sob. I couldn't believe the transition my life was undergoing; in less than a week I'd turned into a cheat and a liar, and that led to my being turned into some faggot bitch boy for an underclass nerd. And now, within the space of 24 hours, I had come to realize that I liked it.
"Doesn't it?" Dexter repeated impatiently and moved his hand down to clutch my balls.
"Yes," I muttered shamefully.
"Dammit, you bitch," he spat as he increased the pressure on my nuts until I had to clamp my thighs together around his hand in pain. "You don't give me one-word answers. You know that by know. Now fucking TELL ME!"
"Yeah, it turns me on to be humiliated," I lied again, knowing that is what he wanted to hear.
"And thinking about the toys, and what you're going to do with them. And being fucked by you."
"Good little slut," he smiled, letting go of my package. "I've decided that, in light of our new, special relationship, you'll call me `Sir' from now on. It doesn't matter where we are, or who's around, or whether you're horny or not. You may be a senior, but I'm smarter than you and, frankly, you bitch too much, bitch."
"But ... " I started to complain and then I remembered he had the shirt. That meant he was holding all the cards.
"But nothing," he cut me off. "You want cock up your ass, right? You came to me to get it, right? Why? Because I gave it to you so good last night." He drew out the words "so good," making an already lewd statement completely obscene. "That makes you my bitch-whore. So you'll call me `Sir.'"
My cock hurt so badly, and I was so torn up inside, my mind was tossing around the feelings of anger, shame, and disgust, like a dingy at sea in a hurricane. And then came a tsunami of lust, which made all the other waves pale. "Yes, Sir," I said vacantly, resigning.
We traveled the rest of the way to Dexter's house in silence. When we arrived, we got out of my car and walked to the front door. After he unlocked and opened it, Dexter took the paper bag I had carried with me. "Strip."
He looked at me with pure ice in his glare. "Strip. Come on, jock, you're dumb, but you know what strip means. Now take off your fucking clothes."
I looked around as we stood on his front porch. It was still light out, although barely. I looked back at Dexter, and he was unmoved. My hands trembled slightly, and I began to take off my clothes right there on his doorstep. In my hurry, I didn't bother folding them; I just left them where they fell, in a rumpled pile. When I stood there naked, Dexter smiled, moved out of the doorway, and let me in. He closed the door behind me, leaving my clothes outside.
"Don't worry, my precious cunt, no one will steal them. Or maybe someone will - no matter." With that, he began ascending the stairway. Like a puppy, I heeled two steps behind him until we got to the third floor, but instead of leading me to his bedroom, he turned into the bathroom I'd showered in the night before. "Grooming time!" he announced gleefully as he set the bag on the vanity. He then reached into the bag and pulled out some items, laying them on the vanity beside the bag. He picked up the handcuffs and opened their packaging. He then walked around me, pulled my wrists to the small of my back, and snapped the handcuffs into place. When he was done, he took the key out and held it in front of me.
"Now this, I suspect, is going to be very important to you. It is your responsibility, not mine, that it not get lost. As you can see, there is no duplicate. These handcuffs are real, just like police issue, except that this lock is different. This key has two tabs, not just one, so a standard handcuff key won't work. You had better guard this one because walking home shirtless if you can't get your shirt and coat on, and because you can't drive your car, would be unpleasant I'd bet. Now, where's a safe place for this?"
I stared at him blankly, overtaken by dismay and disbelief.
"I know! Open your mouth," he ordered. "This way you can keep the key safe and you'll keep your mouth shut until I'm ready." I held my mouth tightly closed and shook my head in futile defiance. He smiled and moved closer to me until his shirt grazed my bare chest. He used one arm around my waist to keep me from backing away and moved the other hand to my ass. He started slowly stroking a fingertip up and down my crack. "Come on, bitch," he purred in my ear, "You want something in that pussy, don't you? Be a good boy and open your mouth."
I whimpered and he pressed his fingertip firmly against my anus. "Do you want me to put something in there, to make you my whore?" I nodded. His eyes smoldered. "What?" he hissed.
"Yes, Sir, please put your di..." I tried, but when my mouth opened he pushed the key inside.
"Spit it out and I'll flush it down the toilet. Swallow it and you'll be cuffed like that until you crap it out or until you find someone with a really good hacksaw." With that, he turned to the vanity and picked up the nipple clamps. I knew what they were - these had rubber coated tips. He walked over and nonchalantly applied them to my nips, and when I felt the cold steel bite sharply into my flesh I shouted through my clenched teeth.
He then returned to the vanity and selected the enema kit. "Now, since you've been a good bitch, I'll put something in your ass for you," he smiled evilly. He took my shoulder and moved me in front of the toilet bowl, pushed me down, signaled for me to kneel, and I obeyed wordlessly. Using a hand on the back of my neck, he then bent me forward so that my chest rested on the cold porcelain floor. I was shaped roughly like a number 2: kneeling, knees around the base of the toilet, with my lower legs outstretched behind me, my torso leaning back with the outward curve of the bowl until my shoulders, neck, and head leaned over the water itself, parallel to the floor.
"If you say anything, the key will fall out and then all I have to do is flush." With that, he quickly and callously shoved the enema nozzle up my ass. I heard him fill the bag in the sink, return, and attach the bag to the nozzle. He released the clip holding the water in the bag, and I felt warm water filling my guts. I don't know how much water was in the bag, or how much water an enema is supposed to have, but he shut the clip to prevent any backflow and repeated the process after refilling the bag.
By the time the refill was half empty, my bowels were straining and I had to fight to keep the water inside. I was whimpering regularly and loudly, and I wanted to plead for release, but Dexter had other plans. "I'm going to slide the nozzle out. If you spill a drop, so help me, you'll lick it off the tile floor." With that, I felt the nozzle sliding out of my sphincter. Then he showed me the butt plug, not too big around, but kind of long; there was an odd wire attached to it. Just as I was trying to think what the wire was for, I felt him hold it against my hole.
It was incredibly awkward; I was trying to reconcile relaxing my hole to allow the plug to enter while simultaneously holding the water in. Somehow, between his determination and my struggle, the plug slid home and I felt my ass lock around the narrow width just under the mushroom haed. As the tip of the elongated plug connected with that spot in my ass, lightning shot up the length of my cock in the form of a dry spasm. My mouth almost flew open, but I caught myself just in time. Dexter took the plug's remote, dangling from its two-foot cord, and switched on the vibration. My eyes rolled back into my head as the latex hummed against my insides, and I felt the water inside me churning.
I heard Dexter walk over to the vanity, and I heard him whistling as cabinet doors and drawers opened and closed. While he calmly prepared my next torment, I moaned and writhed in agony. Ramming the plug into my clenched ass was a brutal trick, and my hole burned from it. My nipples ached from the clamps squeezing them flat, but they both seemed minor compared to the cramps in my abdomen as the water did its work. I could feel my abs spasm against the porcelain I was leaning on and, finally, after countless minutes of sheer agony, Dexter returned. He turned off the vibration and took hold of the base of the plug.
"You know I've got to get this out of you before you can expel the enema. The same rule applies; spill a drop, and you’ll lick the floor clean." I groaned helplessly, but I clenched my sphincter tight around the plug as Dexter used more strength than I had credited to his wimpy body to pry it free. At last, it was out and I could feel the dam trembling before the burst; my stretched hole wasn't going to be able to hold back the flood for long. Fortunately, Dexter was fast in helping me to my feet and allowing me to sit on the toilet. The dam burst not a second later, and I felt seemingly gallons of water pour from my body. I moaned constantly as the flow continued and then grunted as the dirty water poured out of me. At last, I felt like I was empty.
Dexter, watching my face the entire time, took the relief it registered as a sign of my being done. He flushed the toilet. "Now go and get over the bidet before any of that mess drips onto the tile floor," he ordered. I raised my ass and shook it slightly, then hopped across the tile as if it were a bed of hot coals. "Good boy," he smiled. He rinsed off my ass with the bidet’s trickle fountain and then he ordered me into the shower. He began taking off his own clothes and, once naked, joined me in the shower. He turned on the water, pushed me into the center of the streams, and began lathering me. He turned me around and pushed down on my shoulders to get me to bend. I did, and I felt the washcloth cleaning between my ass cheeks. He pushed my ass into the spray, and then I heard a hum. The metallic contact on my ass crack caught me off guard; I realized he was shaving me with a wet-dry electric razor.
I tried calling out between my closed lips, trying to protest, but he just held me still with one hand and worked the razor with the other. I felt him continue all over my ass, and then down the back of each leg. When he was done, he turned me around and started working up the front of my legs. As he closed in on my pubes he looked up at me wickedly, flipped out the sideburn trimmer, and sheared my pubes off; he then used the razor to make my entire crotch smooth. He couldn’t shave my armpits because my arms were still secured behind me, but he did shave the sparse hair on my chest. When he finished, I had no hair below my neck except on my armpits and arms from the elbows down.
He kept me in the center of the spray until the lather and my hair was completely rinsed, and then he turned the water off. He dried off with a towel, then dried me. The soft towel felt extremely odd on my groin, now completely bare. Done, he wrapped the towel around his waist. I was thankful that soccer season was over, and that maybe I could arrange it so that no one saw my shaved condition until my body hair grew back. He bent down, scooped up the mass of pubes now gathered in the shower drain, and dumped them into a ziplock bag on the vanity. "This way you can take your manhood home with you when you leave," he snickered.
Finally, he took the dog collar, fastened it around my neck, and attached the leash. "Come on, bitch," he smirked. Giving the leash an abbreviated tug, he led me, naked, down to the kitchen. He directed me to kneel, then fastened my leash to the doorknob of a cabinet. He then took some leftovers from the refrigerator, stuck them in the microwave, and began to warm them; the food's aroma made me remember I hadn't eaten since breakfast. My stomach growled loudly enough for Dexter to hear; he turned and said, "Your dinner will be served upstairs."
I looked at the kitchen clock: it was already quarter till 8. The drive downtown and back had taken a while, and so had my grooming. Michael’s party would be starting soon, I remembered, and I began to regret my decision to skip it. I looked down at my cock, pointing up from my now hairless groin, my hairless balls hanging tightly in their sac. My cock looked bigger without hair around it, but I knew it was about two inches short of Dexter's and smaller in circumference as well.
Dexter took his time eating, flaunting each bite in front of me. When at last he put his fork down on his empty plate, he untied my leash and led me back upstairs, this time into his bedroom. He pushed me onto the bed on my back and then tied the leash on one of the mattress rails. My handcuffed wrists were behind me, and the pressure of lying on my arms wasn't pleasant.
"Do you want me to fuck you, Jackson?"
"Yes, Sir, I want you to fuck me," I answered, knowing what reply he wanted before he'd give me the fuck I wanted.
"Good pussy," he beamed at me. He dropped his towel, knelt on the bed straddling my hips, and then crawled forward on his knees until his crotch was just over my face. "First, you're going to have to do some work for it, remember, bitch?"
"Open your mouth." I obeyed. He removed the handcuff key, saying “I’ll set this aside for the time being.” Using one hand to brace himself against the wall, he leaned over and used the other to scoop his hefty sac into my mouth. "I want you to suck on my balls until I'm good and hard and leaking." I began licking the bottom of his sack with my tongue while applying soft suction. I could feel the hard ovals of his balls on my tongue, and I traced each with its tip. "Keep your eyes open," he reminded me, as he stared down at me in bliss between nearly closed lids. I saw his rod beginning to swell above my nose, and I watched it as it filled and grew and stood to full erection.
"You've got a sweet mouth, bitch," he cooed as he pulled his sac from my lips. "Did you enjoy that load I let you suck from my cock last night? Or did you like the one I shot up your cunt better?"
"I preferred being fucked up the ass, Sir," I admitted. I mean, he was blackmailing me, so I had to make him believe I was at least partially enjoying this, right?
"But you still liked the taste of my cum, right? What I didn't smear all over your face after I blew my load from your blowjob?"
"Good bitch. Now get ready because I'm going to feed this to you fast."
With that, he began to slide in his cock. Unlike the night before when he'd used slow, short, and smooth thrusts, tonight he long-dicked me until I gagged. "Come on, you cock sucking fag - you can take my cock - do it right," he urged, as he pulled back and again sank in his full length. I couldn't take it; it wasn’t as if I had a lot of experience sucking cock; each time he got more than 4 or 5 inches in, I gagged. Yet he just kept feeding in all 8 inches, pulling back so that only the head remained on my tongue, and then feeding it in again.
"I like watching your throat bulge when my cock slides in, and your throat really feels hot; it's so warm and soft and wet inside. You're being such a good cunt bitch for me tonight, Jackson. I think I'm going to give you your supper and then fuck your ass like you asked me to do." With that, he stopped long-dicking me and returned to his short thrusts, the ones he'd used last night. I repeated my suction, and as my cheeks hollowed from the vacuum, I rapidly massaged the bottom of his head and shaft with the tip of my tongue as his cock slid in and out between my tightly clamped lips.
It didn't take much longer: he quickened his pace and I could see his upper body redden. He threw his head back and his flat abs rippled. "Fuck, yes! My senior jock bitch, sucking my cock, earning his ass fucking! Oh, fuck, I'm gonna blow!" he screamed, and I felt the first blast. The taste and texture were the same, and I was looking forward to more so I could try to figure out the difference between his cum and mine when he pulled out. He fired 4 or 5 more shots onto my face and into my hair. Globs of cum streaked over my cheeks and forehead, over my nose and chin. He was panting heavily, and when he finished firing, he slipped his cock back into my mouth.
He turned back down to me and was all smiles. "Mmmm, that was good, my mouth hole. You sure suck cock like a pro, Jackson. Clean me off a little now." I sucked and tongued the cum residue off his dick. "Go ahead and swallow my sperm now. That's your dinner tonight." He watched my Adam's apple bob as I swallowed. "Do you want me to fuck you now, bitch?"
"Yes, Sir, I want you to fuck me now." Well, I had to pretend.
"Ask me nicely," he scolded.
"Please, Sir, will you fuck me up the ass? I want to feel your cock inside me again."
“No, like you mean it. Like a fucked-up cunt whore, you bitch dog.”
“Please fuck your cunt’s ass! Please ram your masterful huge cock up my cunt hole! Let me be your fuck-up dog in heat!” I poured it all out as he wanted, to please him.
"Well, OK, since you want it so badly." He climbed off my chest and moved below my waist. He slipped his hands under my ankles and raised my legs until my ass was exposed; he slipped behind and aligned his cock with my entrance. He then leaned over me, pushing my knees until they rested on my chest and his face was inches from mine. "Suck my tongue," he commanded, sticking his tongue out. I raised my head slightly, took his tongue between my lips, and began to suck. He pulled back, laughing. "You're such a pig slut! You really are a fucking bitch in heat. Well, here I come to give your pussy its man meat." He rammed his full length into me, using only his precum and my spit for lubrication. I howled in pain.
Once buried inside my ass, he started rolling his hips in wide arcs, his cock deep inside me turning like a pestle in its mortar. I groaned in the mixture of pleasure and pain. "You like that, don't you, bitch boy?"
"Oh, yes, Sir, oh God that feels so good," I moaned.
"Yeah, that's my good little asshole whore, taking this cock up his cunt." My cock was vibrating like a tuning fork and precum was dribbling all over my tummy. He stopped his corkscrewing and began rapid, abbreviated thrusts so that his cock head kept pounding that erotic hot spot in my ass. My eyes rolled up into my head and all I could think about were the electric spasms rolling through my body. The pain from the intrusion was a thing of the past now, and I was lost in the moment. I wanted to grab my cock and fist it, but my hands were still cuffed behind me.
I guess Dexter sensed this because a few minutes later, as we both grew covered in sweat, he grabbed my stiff dick and began stroking it slowly. "Bet you're glad you didn't go to that party now, aren't you bitch?"
"Oh yeah," I sighed, lost in my lust.
"Who was gonna be there, anyway?"
"Lots of people," I continued, still in my sexually induced trance. "Most of the soccer team, a lot of my friends from school, probably some of the hot girls Michael always rounds up."
"But no one to feed your pussy a hot cock like mine, right?"
"Oh, no, Sir."
He began squeezing my cock hard and pulled the chain connecting the clamps on each of my tits, stretching them out. I whimpered as I felt my balls pull into my body and my orgasm quickly draw near.
"What if I told you I called Michael tonight while you were on your way over here? What if I told him what was going to happen here tonight, and what if, when he didn't believe me, I told him to set up his computer for the party and gave him the IP address to watch my bedroom via my webcam?>
Power of the Nerd
Part 4 of 5
My eyes flew open and I stared at his malicious expression. I turned my head and looked over at Dexter's desk, where I saw a small red light on his computer pointing toward us on his bed. "NO!" I screamed as I pictured myself lying there, cuffed, shaved, pinned, cum drying on my face from the blowjob I'd given him. Me taking his cock up my ass. My mind replayed every word of dialogue we'd had while in the bedroom: I'd admitted to servicing him last night. I HAD SPOKEN NO WORDS TO PROVE I WAS DOING THIS BECAUSE OF BLACKMAIL AND COERCION. I'd told him I wanted him to fuck me - hell, I'd begged him to do it. I'd sucked his sac and blown him off.
And still, I could feel my orgasm building at the root of my cock even now, even though I was horrified, disgusted even. Ashamed as I was that his cock was pounding my ass, my cock still felt like fire, my balls were grenades, his rhythm was so perfect, his hand so skilled. I gasped for breath and opened my mouth - some inhuman cry escaped my throat as I pictured dozens of people who knew me, who were my friends and teammates and schoolmates huddled around a computer monitor in Michael’s living room - watching me get fucked by this sadistic Freshman nerd. I felt lava erupt from my cock head and spew all over my chest and face as Dexter maintained his pounding of my ass and cock. The physical sensation, the mental and emotional shock, was overwhelming, and the last thing I heard was Dexter laughing at me as reality dissolved into complete blackness.
I came to with a start, my mind immediately filled with what had happened. Dexter had made me suck him and take his cock up my ass, and he'd manipulated me into doing it in front of my friends, my teammates, people I knew from school. The horror washed over me and I felt tears welling up. Instinctively I raised my hand to my eyes, and then I remembered that I had been handcuffed, but now I was unrestrained.
I sat up. Dried cum covered my upper body. Dexter was working at his desk, still naked and hard. Catching my movement out of the corner of his eye, he looked over at me and said, "Hey, welcome back." It was a tone he might use to greet a friend at an airport, slightly pleasant but not up to his usual asshole standards; it didn't affect my mood.
"WHY? WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME? I DID EVERYTHING YOU ASKED!” I demanded. Anger was quickly turning into grief over my lost dignity.
"Do what? Fuck you in front of a party full of your friends? I didn't. All I did was ask you what you'd think of it if I had, and I guess we both know the answer now, don't we? The thought of that humiliation and embarrassment got you so fucking hot you shot for almost two minutes and it made you pass out."
I was shocked. "What? You didn't film me? But I saw the light…”
"Oh, I did film you, but I didn't give your friend Michael the IP address to my webcam. The film is for me," he grinned smugly, "but the commentary was for you. It's like the guy in the porn shop - he didn't really know who you were, I just set it up so that you thought he did. That, by the way, was pretty much a test for the whole fuck scene. I wanted to see how this kind of extreme humiliation might turn you on."
"You fucking pervert!" I shouted. "The guy in the porn shop knows who the fuck I am now, doesn't he! And what the hell are you going to do with the film you made of me?"
His face soured. "Oh, grow up, Jackson. You don't think guys in porn shops know the people who buy from them, do you? He doesn't run a business based on blackmail, and he doesn't track down his customers and threaten to tell their mommies. And, as I told you, the film is for me. But by the way, you're acting, maybe I ought to pass it around."
I stared at him: there was no hope I'd ever figure out how his mind worked. The scary thing was, he was figuring out everything about me, my emotional buttons, my erotic zones, my desires, everything. It was as if he could just abuse me and then expected me to thank him for it; I thought about getting up and beating the crap out of him. As I stared at him he stared right back at me, and then I saw his hand move. I watched as his fingers wrapped around the hard cock poking up from his lap. He slowly began to stroke it, his eyes never leaving mine, my eyes never leaving his cock. I watched his hand move, and it was like the stereotypical pocket watch in the hands of a hypnotist. I felt my pulse quicken and my cock stir. I looked up at him and met his half-hooded eye gaze. There was something about the way his eyelids relaxed when he was horny that made his face seem completely raunchy; that look, combined with his arrogant smirk, crept across his face as he took in the signs of my growing lust. It was like an aphrodisiac.
"I came in your ass, but you had passed out, Jackson," he taunted. He lightly bit his lower lip between his teeth and started rocking his hips up and down on the desk chair while he rubbed his fingertips along the underside of his erect dick. "I could do it again now that you're awake if you want." I drew in a ragged breath as my eyes wandered from his face, down his scrawny torso, to his cock and back up again; I could feel my cock throbbing. "Come here," he invited. "Let me show you this movie. I'll even let you sit on my lap."
I stared at his cock and I realized my mouth was watering; I swallowed deliberately. I felt myself stand like a zombie or a sleepwalker and in seconds I was at his side. He maintained his observation of my facial reactions as I moved to him, and my attention never left his crotch. I could see the gleam of precum on the tip of his cockhead as he continued to caress himself lightly. Under my gaze, a pearl bubbled up from its hole and I subconsciously licked my lips.
"Do you want to taste it, Jackson?" I nodded; he smiled. "You want to taste my cum?" I nodded again. "What?" he coaxed.
"I want to taste your cum, Sir," I said mechanically.
He slid his arm around my waist and pulled me until I was facing the computer, my back to him. He guided me between his knees as he sat in the chair. He slipped two fingers into my hole and I sighed hoarsely. His fingers rotated around inside my ass; I felt them massaging just barely inside me. He slid them in and out about an inch and then spread them out, using his fingertips to probe every fold of my rectum. After a few minutes, I could feel precum oozing out of my own cock, and I felt him gently pull my hips back with the other hand.
He slipped his fingers free just as his cockhead lined up to my hole and then, using both hands, he guided me down onto it. The cum from his previous load, which he had smeared over my ass lips while he fingered me, helped lubricate his entry. I threw my head back and moaned, closing my eyes while he continued lowering me until I sat on his thighs with his cock buried deep inside me. I thought I might be too muscle-heavy to sit on this Master nerd’s lap, but apparently not. I shuddered, then felt his fingers at my mouth.
"Taste my cum, Jackson," he whispered softly as he inserted his cum-soaked fingers, coated from my own ass, in my mouth and playfully on my tongue. I closed my mouth and began to suck and lick his two fingers just as I had learned to suck his cock; I kept mouthing them even after the last trace of cum had been slurped down. With his other hand, Dexter clicked a few buttons on the computer's mouse and I heard the opening dialog of our return to his bedroom earlier that evening. "Do you want me to fuck you, Jackson?" the computer asked.
"Oh, God yes," I whispered over my recorded reply. I opened my eyes and looked at the monitor. Dexter withdrew his hand and placed one on each of my hips. He leaned over to watch the movie from behind me, and I found myself slowly rocking up and down on his cock without even being aware I was doing it. His cock withdrew to no more than the end two inches before I sat back down on his lap, repeatedly. I watched myself lying on Dexter's bed, shaved, cuffed, straddled, his balls in my mouth, the action of my suction and tongue work clear as my cheeks hollowed and jaw moved. The quality of the recording was impeccable; no one who saw it would have any doubt as to the identities of the players or the actions they were performing.
As the Dexter on-screen plucked his scrotum from my mouth, the Dexter behind me became obviously satisfied with the slow pace with which I was fucking myself up and down on his rod. His hands left my hips and began lightly stroking up my tummy to my abs, and up further over my pecs. As his on-screen image was fucking my face, the speakers replaying my gagging, the forefinger and thumb of each hand, in real time, clamped onto the tips of my nipples; I realized just then that the nipple clamps had been removed during my blackout. I cried out and began to really ride his cock, losing my relaxed rhythm. As a result, Dexter grunted like a rutting beast and started rocking his own hips under my squirming ass.
When the monitor displayed Dexter resuming his familiar short-strokes in my mouth, he released my nipples and, grabbing my shoulders, pulled me back tightly against his chest. His hips were thrusting hard now, and I was rocking up and plopping down a good four or five inches each time. Each trip down to his lap would rake his cock along that erotic spot in my ass, right behind the root of my cock.
"Oh, Jesus Christ," I whimpered. "What the hell is that?"
"It's your prostate," he gutturally replied, never losing his stroke.
"Oh, God, it feels so fucking good!" A short cry burst past my larynx each time his cock hit that spot. I quickened my pace and shortened my rise and fall so that his cock only slipped in and out an inch, so that each stroke rammed back and forth over my prostate exactly right. One of my hands was fisting my cock and the other tightly clutched my balls, as if I were afraid they'd fall off or disappear inside my abdomen forever. Dexter grabbed my wrists and, once again with a strength that would have surprised me if I'd cared to think about it, pulled my hands away. Holding my hands, he wrapped his own hands around my chest so that we both embraced my torso; he didn’t want me touching my dick.
Sweat poured from my brow and covered my chest and legs; my thighs and calves burned with the effort of continuously impaling my ass on his shaft. We watched him fuck me, and I heard him ask me those mind-fucking questions about Michael. " ... Watch my bedroom on my webcam?" the computer asked. I saw my panic, I heard my primitive scream, I watched in disbelief as my on-screen cock erupted with jet after jet of semen, shots hitting my face, my chest, and leaving a practically unbroken line of slime from my left eye to my navel.
I felt my balls boil; no one was touching them. I felt my cock spasm; no one was stroking it. As I watched myself lose consciousness on the monitor as Dexter's recorded laugh echoed, I began to shoot. I felt every muscle in my body clench, but somehow I forced myself to continue my fucking and to keep my eyes on the screen. Within seconds of my blackout, I saw Dexter's ass checks tighten on-screen and I heard him yell lustfully through a gaping mouth. His thrusting never stopped - not on camera, not under my ass. As I watched him fuck out an orgasm as long as my own, I felt his cum spurting into me. I began to orgasm while my asshole, in real-time, was still milking his cock as it clamped and quivered around his shaft; I continued fucking his knob against my prostate, his spunk oozing out between my ass lips.
I don't know how long we came, but it was long after the movie had stopped on the computer. I know that at some point my legs gave out and I collapsed onto Dexter's lap. He rested his head on my shoulder behind me, and I could tell by the wetness of his hair that he had been working as hard as I had. We were panting to catch our breath when I felt him kissing along the back of my neck and shoulders. I turned my head and, straining, our mouths met. His tongue passed between my lips, and this time I welcomed it.
When he broke the kiss and pulled back, he stared at my face, his eyes searching mine just as he had the previous night after our first fuck. I don't know what he saw there, but he smiled softly, void of any arrogance or condescension. It was a warm smile, and then he turned his head and rested his chin on my shoulder as we settled back into the chair, his softening cock still rooted in my ass, both our arms loosely wrapped around me. He kept his dick inside my ass as he frog-walked me to the bed and into immediate sleep.
Dreamily, I heard someone calling my name. I opened my eyes and the room was bright; sunlight shone through the windows that paneled one wall of Dexter's bedroom. I remembered foggily what had happened the night before, and the fog cleared when I felt Dexter shift under me.
"Jackson? Get up."
I rubbed my eyes and I could feel the somewhat sticky mess on my face from the loads Dexter and I had left there, loads which had mixed with sweat and then dried. Ugh. Dexter put his hands on me and shook me. “Jackson, wake up.” As I came too, I felt his dick slip free as we moved apart.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep. I've got to take a leak." He stood stiffly. My thighs were a little sore, either from the effort they'd exerted the previous night or from the awkward sleeping position, and my ass was burning. As Dexter went through the doorway to the bathroom, I reached behind myself and felt along my crack. My asshole felt hot, but rubbing my fingertips lightly across its lips was somewhat soothing.
I was so preoccupied that I didn't hear him finish pissing and flush the toilet, but I did hear him laugh. He was standing in the doorway when I looked up, watching me fingering my own hole. "I can't leave you alone for two minutes, can I? You really are a fucked-up faggot cunt, Jackson."
"Hey!" I protested, "my ass hurts!"
"That's what happens when you keep putting things inside it," he said as he approached. He kissed me, and I didn't resist when I felt his tongue enter my mouth. When he was finished, he suggested that we both shower, particularly since I was covered in cum. He had me wash him all over, and then took the washcloth and reversed the process. There was definitely some mild discomfort as he washed down my crack, and the cloth sent shivers up my spine as it passed over my hairless crotch in spite of the hot water streaming from the triple shower heads. He lathered my cock and balls a lot longer than necessary, but I didn't complain.
Once we were both clean and rinsed, we stood under the shower while he kissed me for a while longer. He kissed well, I thought, until I realized that he was kissing me like I had kissed girls, taking the dominant role and inserting his tongue into my mouth, not taking my tongue into his; somehow, it felt normal. When he was satisfied, we dried off. He quickly wrapped the towel around his waist and checked himself out in the mirror. I took the other towel and started to wrap my waist, but he pulled it off me. “You know the rules.” Then he ducked into his room and returned with the collar he'd had me wearing until I'd passed out.
"Put this back on now, Jackson."
"Oh, come on, Dex…”
"Sir," he interrupted to remind me. "Wherever, whenever, and no matter who is around." I stared at him: his features were soft, not arrogant, but I could tell he was serious.
"You've got to be joking!" I retorted. "I can't go around calling you `Sir' everywhere. I mean, what about at school?"
"Wherever, whenever," he repeated. "It's that simple, Jackson. You like having a cock up your ass - I know that and you know that. You like it so much you beg me to give it to you. You like it so much that when I've got a hard-on and I let you, you fuck yourself on my cock. We both know that you don't want anyone else to know about this little fetish of yours although, I think, we both learned last night that the idea of being humiliated like this turns you on. You have a choice: if you play by my rules, I'll give you my cock. If you don't play by my rules, then you can find someone else to give you his cock. But let’s not forget your cheater’s shirt: it could ruin you big time. If you think I’m not serious, you’d better think again. Now put on the collar."
I turned my eyes toward the floor as I felt the ache in my ass. There was the pain from the fucking, the pain from having his cock in my ass most of the night, but there was more; there was also a hunger to have cock inside me again. Dexter was right, and I couldn't imagine how he could have come to know me so well. So, I reached out and took the collar and buckled it around my neck.
"Let's go down and see what the choices are for breakfast."
At that moment I remembered my empty stomach; I hadn't eaten anything since lunch the previous day ... well, nothing but a mouthful of Dexter's cum. I followed him downstairs in silence, but then I said "Where are your parents, Dex … ah … Sir?"
"They're spending the holidays in Switzerland."
"And they left you here?"
Dexter looked at me coldly. "Obviously."
So now I was starting to get a clearer picture of Dexter's family life. Early on in school, he'd probably worked his ass off trying to impress inattentive parents, which explained his intelligence. When that was as unsuccessful as everything else, he gave up on his parents; his asshole attitude reflected both his bitterness and was his way of getting attention.
When we reached the foyer at the foot of the stairs, Dexter told me to get my clothes. I'd forgotten they'd been laying on his doorstep since he'd made me strip outside the night before. Without thinking I opened the front door as Dexter turned down the hall to the kitchen. There was some frost on the grass, and my breath was white as the cold air hit me. Just as I stepped out the door, a man walking his dog cleared the hedge marking the side boundary of Dexter's front yard: I froze. He glanced at me, then did a double take as I stood there, naked except for the leather collar on my neck, devoid of all body hair.
He stopped and his mouth dropped. In a flash, I grabbed my clothes into my arms, backed inside the door and slammed it shut. I stood there shivering, both from the shock and humiliation as well as from the cold. I turned down the hall, still carrying my clothes, and walked into the kitchen just as Dexter removed his head from deep inside the refrigerator.
"You can put them on the coun ... " he started. Then he saw my face. "What?"
"There was a guy outside walking his dog. He saw me. Outside. Naked. Shaved."
He looked at me for a second, then shrugged. "Don't worry about it. My parents know I'm gay. If he tells them there was a naked guy at my front door, they shouldn't be surprised."
"But no one thinks I'm gay!" I blurted out. “I mean, no one knows I have ‘experimented’.” I had to admit at least that much as I was afraid he’d make good on his promise to fuck up my chance to graduate by turning me in as a cheater. He held all the cards, so I played along. Dexter smiled wickedly, as we both realized what I had just said.
Power of the Nerd
Part 5 of 5
"You and I know, Jackson," he taunted. I looked back at him as I felt my body turn deep red. "Put your clothes on the counter by the sink, and tell me what you can cook for breakfast."
What could I cook? "Uh, I don't really know how to cook. I mean, I could make some toast or something, I guess."
He cocked an eyebrow. "I'll have an egg white omelet, tomatoes, ham, and Muenster. I like marmalade on my toast, no butter. Grapefruit juice. I'll be in the great room. After you serve me, you can make whatever you want for yourself." He walked passed me to the doorway. "And oh yeah, the great room is the one on the left, right before the foyer. Got that?"
"Yeah," I answered as he disappeared into the hall. He ducked his head back in.
"Good boy," he smiled and then disappeared again.
I stood in the kitchen, looking up at an overhead rack well-equipped with all kinds of cooking utensils and implements; I'd never cooked anything before. I walked over to the refrigerator and began to take out the items I'd need, laying them on the counter beside the island range. I selected a skillet from the rack and set it on the range. It took a few minutes to get the thing going, and by the time I had finished, the end product looked like a pretty disgusting mess - and so did I, with egg goo and tomato juice on my hands. I washed myself up and slid the attempt onto a plate, then I poured the juice while the toast cooked, spread marmalade when it was done, and added it to the plate.
I carried the juice in one hand and the plate in the other as I headed down the great room. When I arrived, Dexter was sitting on a long leather sofa watching a large-screen television. "That took long enough," he complained. I set the plate and the juice on the coffee table in front of him and he stared at it, and then up at me. "You've got to be kidding."
"I said I didn't know how to cook!" I protested.
"That looks pretty disgusting, Jackson. Are you sure that's the best you could do?"
I looked down at the lumps of fried egg swimming in tomato juice with bits of ham and a partially melted flotilla of white cheese. I nodded.
"Where's the silverware? Am I supposed to eat with my fingers?"
I looked at the floor. "I forgot the silverware, Sir."
Dexter shook his head. "OK, back to the kitchen and bring that crap with you." He stood and walked back to the kitchen with me. "What the fuck happened in here?" he demanded, seeing the mess I'd left behind. "You really are a dumb jock, aren't you? Can you do anything right? Haven’t you got any common sense?"
For some reason, although I knew that I didn't know how to cook, and I could never have pictured myself making him breakfast, I felt ashamed. Dexter threw all the equipment I'd dirtied into the sink, then he proceeded to gather around him an assortment of bowls and things and set about making his own omelet. He made it look easy as he diced and sliced and whisked and fried, and when he slid his creation onto a plate, it looked perfect. My mouth watered.
"You can eat that disgusting thing you made. And when you're done, I want this kitchen spotless." He loaded his breakfast onto a tray he took from the cupboard, added silverware, and walked back towards the great room. "Oh, and you can eat yours without silverware," he called back. I stared down at the mess on the plate: even the toast had gotten nasty because it had soaked up the tomato juice, and now it was cold. My stomach rumbled again. I wanted to cry - I couldn't believe this! – but I especially couldn't believe that I was about to cry. I didn't want the crappy, cold omelet, and I couldn't understand why I had to eat it. Nevertheless, something told me I had to.
I looked at my clothes on the counter and thought about leaving. Fuck Dexter, I thought. I can stop by MacDonald's and then just go home. Anger welled up as I remembered him eating dinner in front of me last night, and then how his idea of feeding me was to cum in my mouth. And hell, he even shot most of his load on my face! As soon as I thought about that, the irony hit me: Here I now was, whining about not having his cum to eat. I remembered the fucks he'd given me or, more accurately, the fuck he'd given me on the bed and the fuck I'd given myself on the chair as we watched our home movie. God, I didn't want to get aroused, but it was beyond my control.
I stood there staring at the sick excuse of a meal in front of me and I thought about how Dexter threatened to humiliate me by telling the school officials that I cheated if I didn't play by his rules. I thought about how I had basically subliminally admitted that I was gay, and about how Dexter taunted me. Slowly, I began to scoop at the blend of egg on the plate with a corner of the soggy toast. I lifted the glop into my mouth and began to eat. It was revolting, but I didn't stop until the plate was empty. I downed the juice in quick gulps, swishing it around to get rid of the taste of the omelet.
I looked around at the disaster area I'd made of the kitchen. Dexter had dirtied more stuff than I had as far as bowls and knives went, but I'd slopped stuff on the counter and onto the range, but at least I knew how to clean. I ran dishwater and washed the dishes, then cleaned all the food preparation surfaces. When I was done, I dried and put away all the equipment, returning it to the places I thought it belonged. I then went and reported to Dexter.
He was sitting on the sofa again. He'd finished eating, and his tray lay on the coffee table. "You’ve disappointed me, Jackson," he chided, never turning from the television. "You should have been better than that. I was going to fuck you this morning, but I don't think you deserve it."
My mind was spinning: I didn't deserve to be fucked? I should have been angry at his presumption, but inexplicably, I was sad instead. I stared at the floor.
"There are a few more rules besides calling me ‘Sir’. First, until my parents get back, you'll strip outside on the doorstep; you will not ring the bell or knock until you are naked, except for the collar. Second, you can let your hair grow back, except for your pubes and around your ass. If you can't shave your ass, I'll do it for you, but there will be a price. Third, you are not to ejaculate without my permission. Finally, you'll wear the dog collar whenever you are here and whenever you are coming here or leaving here. You can put it on in the car and drive over with it on. I'll be nice and not make you wear it all the time ... for now. But you will not take it off until you are out of my driveway.
He looked at me. "Do you understand, bitch?"
"Look at me and tell me!" he scolded.
My eyes met his. "I understand, Sir."
"Good. Now, come here and sit down." I sat beside him. He opened his towel and began to stroke his balls. When his cock grew, he wrapped his fist around it and began to pump. I couldn't take my eyes off his crotch, and he never stopped reading my face. After several minutes, I saw precum bubble from his cock slit. I licked my lips. "Would you like me to fuck you?"
"Oh yes, Sir," I whispered. My cock began to harden.
"Please let me sit on your cock, Sir. I want to feel it sliding inside me. I want to feel you fuck into my hole and ram my prostate, Sir."
He silently continued to stroke, my cock a throbbing rod as I watched. Eventually, he put one hand on the back of my neck and said, "Would you like me to fuck your mouth?"
"Oh fuck, Sir! Please let me suck the spunk from your cock!"
He said nothing, but as he continued to work his cock, he began to grunt and thrust his hips. I watched him, feeling a desperate panic as I recognized his orgasm was drawing near. My mouth was watering, and I felt an itch in my asshole, but my eyes widened when I saw his load spurt out over his abs. He lay there panting, milking his cock, wasting his seed. "Would you like to lick me clean, bitch?"
"Oh, yes," I sighed with relief. I leaned over him, tongue outstretched. His hand moved up from my neck to my hair, took hold, and stopped me. He tilted my face up to his.
"You should have done a better job with breakfast. No dessert for you," he smiled wickedly before his face grew stern.”
I cried out in angry disappointment when he disallowed me to eat up the cum on his lap. I stared at him, stunned, as my own cock drooled. “Please?” But no response. I wanted him to beat off my stiff drooling dick, but he put the kibosh on that, too, by turning back to the television dismissively. After a few seconds, I realized he was serious and that I had no other choice.
I realized I needed to address something he had told me, and I needed to get it out before I left. “Sir, about the rule of calling you ‘Sir’ all the time, even when we are in front of other people, even at school...”
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SAYING? ARE YOU TRYING TO UNDERMIND MY AUTHORITY? DO YOU REALLY WANT TO DISRESPECT ME?” This was the angriest I had ever seen Dexter get.
“Sir, I know you have my shirt and that you can turn it over to Mrs. Sullivan to prove I cheated on her exam, but please, Sir, please. I just can’t call you ‘Sir’ when we are with people I know or at school. You’ve got to understand I …”
I did it, I really did it: I pushed him to the breaking point. My choice was between being humiliated as a student who cheated on one exam, or being humiliated by calling him ‘Sir’ in front of student and teachers at school; either way, I knew I had just fucked myself. I was so fucked! I could see that Dexter was very aggravated, so I just waited for him to speak, which he finally did.
“Go to the kitchen and get dressed.”
And so I did, dressing slowly. Well, at least this whole ‘gay’ thing was over but I was beside myself, not knowing what to do. Finally dressed, I walked back into the great room where Dexter said “I’m done with you now. Get the fuck out of my house.” He wasn’t yelling - he, in fact, had calmed down, but still, I was told to leave. He continued to stare at the TV as I left the room and went down the hall to the front door.
And there I received a shock as what I saw really caught me off guard. On the inside front door handle was my shirt, the one Dexter had been holding over my head as blackmail, the one on which I had written the answers to Mrs. Sullivan’s exam; he must have placed it there when I was in the kitchen getting dressed. I grabbed it quickly and left before he could change his mind.
I got into my car and started my drive home, happy about getting my shirt back. Now there could be no blackmail and I could graduate with honors, as planned. I smiled to myself: no more threats, no more fag stuff, no more humiliation or embarrassment. Yes, I was going to be just fine. Then I looked into the review mirror and saw myself. Whoa! I still had the black leather slave collar on! I wanted to take it off, but I also wanted to leave it on. I kept fingering it as I drove, my dick in my pants getting harder and harder. I figured I could beat off when I got home - no more rules, either!
When I got home I saw that my folks had already left for work, so I just went up to my room. I immediately tore off my clothes and looked at myself in my floor-to-ceiling mirror, and oh my God! I saw a shaved body, a shaved slave body, wearing a black leather slave collar. My dick got so hard it jerked and twitched, and all the while I was thinking about Dexter, about his big dick fucking my throat, fucking my ass. I had my hand on my dick, pumping it, when I suddenly thought about his rule not to climax without his permission; I ripped my hand away as if my dick were a hot stove. “What am I doing?” I thought. “I am so fucked up.” I started to softly cry to myself. “I am so fucked-up,” I said out loud again. My nicely built athletic body was so smooth, but it was smooth for Dexter; the black leather collar secured around my neck was also Dexter’s. My ass was sore from Dexter’s big dick, and my hard dick was calling for my hand, but … was it calling for Dexter’s masterful attention instead? I was so fucked-up.
Or is it? Is Jackson now free? He does have his shirt back. That was the only bit of evidence that he cheated, and now, Dexter had no evidence at all. Does he want to be free? And what about Dexter? Does he really care for Jackson, or is he more into power? But he did willingly surrender the shirt. I mean, being a skinny nerd and controlling a muscled sports star, well … that’s got to be one fucking wild trip. So why give up the shirt? Who’s using who? Or are they really equal? Be sure to read the sequel in two days.
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