236 Power of the Nerd: The Sequel
Part 1 of 6
From the original story: Jackson Owens is one of the more popular seniors in high school - he’s even Class President. But, and this is a big ‘but’, he cheated on a mid-term exam in Mrs. Sullivan’s calculus class by writing the answers on the arm of his long sleeve shirt. Unfortunately for him, his fellow classmate Dexter McPhee, Mrs. Sullivan's little ass-kissing teacher's aide, caught him. Dexter was some kind of math whiz who had brown-nosed his way into becoming the aide during his period study hall. Jackson had been watching out for him as he walked up and down the aisles, smirking and lording his superiority over the seniors struggling over an exam, but apparently, he hadn’t watched well enough.
Dexter is the school’s nerdiest student; he’s a skinny, scrawny freshman, but he is also very smart and aces all of his exams. Other interesting facts about him are that his family is very wealthy and lives in a mansion, and he is also out as a gay person. Yes, he gets all the faggot shit thrown at him, but he deals with it just fine - he knows who he is and he has a lot of self-confidence.
Well, right after that class, Dexter met Jackson at the door and told him to get to his locker and to get his stuff; when they got there, Jackson got his text for the next class and his jacket. The two boys then walked to the men's room where Dexter told Jackson to get inside. He checked to make sure the stalls were empty, then turned back to Jackson.
"Take it off," Dexter said: he wanted Jackson’s shirt. He told Jackson that if he didn’t want to be turned in he would need a favor in return, and he then said he needed the shirt to make sure Jackson wouldn’t renege on whatever deal they made. Jackson understood that and was thankful Dexter wasn’t going to fuck up his ability to graduate, or to thwart his effort to get the scholarship he was in line to get. Jackson took off his shirt and handed it to Dexter, who just stared at Jackson’s bare chest, smiling. Jackson then put his jacket on and went to his last class.
The very next day, and while his wealthy parents were conveniently in Switzerland, Dexter used the blackmail leverage of Jackson’s shirt to make him go to his mansion. Then, for the next two days, Dexter had his way with Jackson, meaning he fucked him and made him suck his dick. Many times during Jackson’s subsequent visits there, Dexter would ask Jackson how he felt about all the heavy sex stuff he was forcing the senior to do, and he told Jackson he could lie about it. So, on those occasions, Jackson told him he loved it. Dexter even made Jackson beg for more. He had the shirt, the evidence of the cheating, so Jackson had no choice but to beg. Dexter held all the cards, so Jackson did and said whatever Dexter wanted. Sure, Jackson got a big hard erection, and he moaned at times with pleasure, and he a shot the biggest loads of his life and, OK, he started to get confused because he had no idea why Dexter seemed to be able to control his body and make it crave that fagotty stuff. After all, Jackson knew he was straight – he either had girlfriends or he could get them easily enough. No way was Jackson gay!
And all those fucking rules, all just to humiliate Jackson. Rules such as Jackson had to stay naked when he was there, and he had to wear a slave collar, too. And Jackson agreed - he had too, because Jackson had the shirt that could ruin him. But then Dexter created this rule where Jackson had to call him ‘Sir’. Even that was fine, but then Dexter told Jackson he had to do that in front of others as well, even when he was at school or in front of his friends and teachers. Hell no! That was an ask too far! So Dexter kicked Jackson out!
But what truly shocked Jackson was that Dexter gave back the shirt; he released the one piece of evidence that would prove Jackson had cheated. He just gave it back! Jackson was free! No more slave collar, no more rules, no more doing and saying humiliating, faggoty things - he was fucking free! All the sexual and demeaning things he had put Jackson through were now all over, thank God!
Continuing: So I drove home, finally rid of that nerd Dexter and all his faggot stuff. I stood there and looked in my full-length mirror, and there I saw it: a nicely built body, all shaved as Dexter had required, and still wearing a black leather slave collar. My big dick got so hard, so hard that it ached as I thought about what he had done to me and for me. How he had fucked me up by fucking me and making me suck his beautiful dick. I started to beat off, but then I remembered one of Dexter’s rules: NO BEATING OFF WITHOUT MY PERMISSION, so I let go of my dick. Why? I don’t know. I was confused. But my dick was not going down, so I left the house and drove around, thinking. My dick was hard and dripping and it made wet spots on my pants.
In the next few days I couldn’t think of anyone else; I couldn’t concentrate on anything else. I tried to get Dexter McPhee out of my head and out of my pants, but it was a futile task. On the fourth day after he had kicked me out of his house because I refused one of his rules, I felt I had to resolve this. The least I could do was to end whatever we had going on a friendly note. So, I called him that afternoon.
No answer. I called again that night.
I didn’t know what to say - I hung up. But a few minutes later, I called again.
And yet again I just couldn’t speak.
“Jackson, I see your name on my caller ID. What do you want?”
“I just wanted to talk to you, Sir.” I have no idea why I added the “Sir.” Maybe force of habit?
“You have your shirt back and I have no evidence to hold over your head, so I can’t bother you anymore. There is no purpose to calling me.” Dexter said calmly but with a little sadness in his voice.
“Sir, I just wanted to so say I am sorry. And that I feel bad.”
“You feel bad about what?”
“I don’t know exactly. I just feel odd.”
“No, I want to know why you called and what you want from me. Spell it out or I’ll hang up.” He wasn’t yelling, but his tone was definitive.
“I … I … well, I’ve been thinking that I ... I mean maybe you…”
“You want me to fuck you?” He said it so bluntly!
“No, say it. Tell me what you want,” he demanded. Dexter was never on to mince words.
“Yes, Sir. I want you to fuck me.” It was sheepish, but I said it.
“You have the shirt back, so there is no reason why you have to kowtow to my wishes. You’re free of me; I can’t hurt you in any way. So, if you want to get fucked, it’s not that I am forcing you to do it. So tell me why you want me to fuck you up your asshole.”
“What can I say? You were right and I was wrong. I was wrong to refuse you and to refuse to obey you and to refuse to please you.”
“That’s all fine, but there is still the issue of my rules.”
“I am not going to bend my rules for a fucking cunt whore bitch like you.” As soon as he said that my dick got really hard. Why? I haven’t the slightest clue.
“Yes Sir, I’ll comply. I am so sorry, Sir. I will comply with whatever you want from me.”
“OK, then tell me what rule you are talking about, and how you will now comply.”
But why couldn’t I just say I would comply with all of the rules and let it go at that? Why did he have to dissect everything and make me admit what I really didn’t want to admit? He was so smart - everyone called him a brainiac - so why couldn’t he just figure it out?
“I will call your ‘Sir’ whenever you want me to.”
“Like when? Under what conditions?”
“Like when we are at your place and when other people are around. I’ll call you ‘Sir.’”
“Specifically?” He was really pushing me. Pushing me over the edge.
“Like when there my friends are around and when teachers are around and in every situation at school or anywhere else, Sir.”
There, I said it. But I didn’t know if I could actually do it, so I had to be brutally honest by adding “However, Sir, I can only try. I will need your help to fully obey this rule.” Finally: I had gotten it all off my chest.
“Jackson, that’s fair. Trying in earnest is fine with me, and when you succeed, I will reward you. But when you don’t, I will punish you.”
“Yes Sir, thank you, Sir.” I was so pleased with myself! For the first time since we got together four days ago, I felt a huge weight lifted off my shoulders; I was putting my life in his hands, literally. I had just surrendered - I had given him the ability and the power to ruin me in front of my friends, family, teachers, even though I could become the laughing stock of the school. I didn’t know where this was going or, better put, where Dexter would take me; it was as if Dexter was in the driver’s seat and I had a blindfold on. I didn’t know if I would survive this, but yet, it felt right.
"Jackson? You really think you deserve to be fucked? I sent you home a few days ago because your insubordination was offensive and disrespectful; I couldn't stand the sight of you anymore. You had a simple rule to obey and you said no."
His criticism burned into me; I had never known how to submit without question. I’m not arrogant, not as a rule, though I do take pride that I could have any girl I wanted, and my popularity was unmatched in school; you can’t be elected Class President otherwise.
"I'm sorry, Sir," I mumbled quietly under his rebuke. I was starting to feel like a puppy who had messed the carpet.
"You're fucking right you're sorry. You don't deserve my cock tonight, cunt boy."
"But Sir! I'm so fucking hot," I whined. "I haven't gotten off since the last time I was there. I'm so fucking hard I can't think straight. May I at least jerk off? Please?"
Silence. I took it as a moment of deliberation on his part and an opportunity to beg, to persuade him in his indecisiveness. "Please, Sir. I’ve been good! I haven’t touched myself for four long, excruciating days. I wore your collar all the way home. I promise never to jerk off and not tell you, or to get off without permission. Please, Sir? Please let me jerk my cock?"
I ought to have known, even after only a few days, that Dexter was never indecisive. "So, you're really, really hot?"
"And you need to get off because you can't think straight?"
"The Mall," he said.
I was confused. "Huh?"
"The Mall. The fountain where the four main branches of stores converge at the center. There is a bench seat that wraps around the entire fountain. If you need to get off, you will go to the Mall. You will call me from there and you will jerk off on that bench."
I froze. I was silent. Jerk off in public? At the Mall? The week before Christmas? It would be fucking packed! And even if it weren't the week before Christmas, it was the fucking Mall, not some bathroom stall! The fountain bench in the exact middle of the Mall?
"What?" I shouted.
"This time, it's not an order; you can decide whether you really need to get off or not. If you decide you do, I expect to hear a lot of background noise and Christmas music the next time I hear your voice." His tone was perfectly calm and matter-of-fact. I was dumbfounded. "And Jackson? If you go, wear your collar and wear it in a way that it can be seen."
My cock, which had never gone below half-mast since we started talking, was now flaccid - his request made me that nervous. I was scared. The phone went dead in my hand. He couldn't really expect me to do that, could he? I mean fuck! It would be against the law! Gross indecency in a shopping mall? Fuck Dexter. At least my horniness had passed for the time being; I still needed to get off, but now I could go help my parents put up the Christmas lights.
Later, as I sat in my room and idly surfed porn on my computer, one of my favorite sites showed girls sucking cock and having cum sprayed on their faces. I used to love looking at those pics while sitting back, jerking off, thinking about blowing my load on some cheerleader's face. In reality, however, I had never dared to humiliate any girl I had ever dated like that. But then I realized that I had had Dexter's cum on my face just a few nights before. I had sucked him, then he fucked me, with me thinking all the while that it was being broadcast over his webcam. I looked at the porn on my monitor and imagined for a moment that the girl was me; it was me on my knees in front of some faceless guy's cock, not her. My tongue was hanging from my mouth, dripping with cum, not hers. Cum was on my cheeks, up my forehead, in my hair, not hers.
I closed my eyes and remembered the smell of Dexter's cock. I could remember the way his cockhead felt and tasted the first time it had touched my lips and tongue. I could almost smell it, almost feel it, almost taste it. I could see him through my closed eyelids, standing over me, starting to slide his hips back and forth. Without thinking, I licked my lips. I was writhing slightly in my chair when I realized I had taken hold of my cock through my jeans.
Fuck Dexter! He’d never know if I whacked myself off right now. And fuck the Mall, too. I was horny and I wanted to cum! I opened my fly and took out my dick. I looked at it, how hard it was, how wet the head was from the precum that had leaked into my boxers. I traced the rim of the head with my fingertip, then down the thick tube on the underside, the cum tube. God, it felt good! I watched my hand caressing my meat, but something was missing. The feeling was great; the slow tease I was giving myself felt amazing, and I had earned this. I’d eaten the vilest, most revolting collection of goo Dexter had produced, I told myself, so fuck Dexter – I'd gone four days now without one so I deserved an orgasm!
But suddenly I realized what was missing: it came to me just like when a light bulb pops up over some cartoon character’s head. I quickly unfastened my jeans and pushed them and my boxers to the floor, pausing for a second when I saw the bright, white patch of skin laid bare after Dexter shaved my pubes off that night. I lifted my feet to the edge of the desk and wrapped my arm around my thighs. I closed my eyes again as I took hold of my cock with one hand and let the fingers of the other attend to my asshole. God, that felt good! I pulled my hand back and scooped up my own precum on two fingertips and pushed them into my hole. I rubbed the slime in, and then pushed with one finger. My eyelids flickered and a moan escaped my throat as my finger parted the lips of my ass and entered me. So good! I stuck the rest of my finger inside, all the way to the knuckle. I rotated my hand, twisting my finger as I stroked my cock.
I remembered Dexter fucking me. I remembered how long and thick his cock was, and I realized how inadequate my finger was in comparison. It felt awesome, sure, but I felt like a fool for having missed out on this sensation during all those jerk-off sessions I had had since I hit puberty. But a finger was no cock, and the image in my head was of Dexter's cock, a cock I had come to know pretty well. I could see that pinkish shaft, the red, spongy head, the veins that stood out when it was hard. I swallowed.
Suddenly, I sat up: he’ll call me tomorrow. He wants to get off too, and he expects me to cum from getting fucked. Sure, I have no problem cumming, but he’d be able to tell that the load was too small or something for it to have been my first in all this time. He would know. And he said that if I broke his rules, I lose his cock. I wanted his cock. I needed his cock.
I looked down at my throbbing cock. It was so fucking hard. Precum bubbled out of it as I watched. I dropped my head to my chest and sobbed. FUCK! Last week, before Dexter, I was a happy, cunt chasing, soccer captain, and high school senior. Now I was a Freshman’s bitch! I couldn't even jack myself off! It was unbelievable. It was pathetic. It was inescapably true. I pulled my finger from my ass and pulled my boxers back on. I turned out the lights and flung myself on the bed in disgust. I stared up at the ceiling as the Christmas lights outside cast their colored glow through the gap in my curtains. My cock poked through the fly of my boxers. I reached down and pushed it back inside and, after a second, slid my fingers down and stroked my sack. I closed my eyes. It took a concerted, conscious effort to pull my hand out of my underwear.
After at least an hour of tossing and turning, humping my crotch against my mattress and punching my pillow in frustration, I fell asleep.
I awoke hard. I groaned as consciousness washed over me. With a sense of resignation, I opened my eyes to see the low, pale light of the winter morning just after dawn. I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling as my cock throbbed and lay bobbing on my belly with its pulses. I couldn't remember ever being so hard or ever wanting to get off so badly. I think that not being able to get off made me want to all the more, not just because of the lack of release but from the sheer psychological burden of knowing that I was not allowed to do it. It was a circle: every time I thought about getting fucked by Dexter, I wanted to jerk off; every time I wanted to jerk off, I remembered Dexter and knew I couldn't. If I could have just get the horniness out of my system with a quick orgasm, I’d be able to let my brain move onto other topics.
I don't know how long I lay there because the CD player never stopped and I didn't look at the clock. I was only brought back to reality when a sharp knock at my door reminded me that my parents were up. My mother asked me down to breakfast; I was out of school, but they still had work to go to. The wait was excruciating as I listened to their bustling preparations, culminating in the firm slam of the door as my father left the now empty house. I looked down at my cock jutting out from between the fly of my boxers - it had to be late enough to call by now. I couldn't wait anymore.
"Hello?" Dexter asked sleepily. It had taken a half-dozen rings to get him to answer, but I didn't care.
"Sir? I have got to come see you, please! My cock is going to fucking explode, and I am so fucking horny! Please, I can't go to the Mall because I can't jerk off in public! I mean, I'll get arrested! Please! I'll do anything else," I begged.
"You won't do anything, you fucking slut, because you won't do what I told you to do. If you really need to get off but you can't persuade yourself to go jerk off in the center of the Mall, then you don't need to get off that badly."
"God damn it, Dexter!" I shouted. "I'll fucking get arrested! I almost fucking blew my load last night because I couldn't stand it! I want to obey your rules, but I can't if you make them impossible. You have to give me something real. This is fucking insane."
"Jackson, you've already broken one of the rules." It hit me that I called him by name. "The only way you're getting off with my permission is at the Mall. If you don't do it there, then don't ever call me again. If you need some other way to satisfy your cunt, call someone else. If you call me again, and I don't hear the fucking Christmas music in the background, if I don't hear milling crowds of happy fucking holiday shoppers, I'm going to email our DVD of you sucking my dick and begging me to fuck you to the soccer team.
"I'm not ordering you to jerk off," he repeated from last night. "I'm just telling you that if you're really to the point that you have to do it, you'll do it where I tell you to. Otherwise, you're just whining. If you never call me again, fine. I'll always know you're a faggot cunt pussy but I won't tell anyone. Your secret will be safe with me. But if you get off and ever ask me for my cock again, you're toast." Then I heard the phone go to a dial tone. I wanted to scream or cry or both.
Suddenly, I had an idea. I went to my closet, and deep in the back, I found the trench coat my grandmother had given me for my birthday a couple of years before. I don't think I ever wore it, except once over my suit to a cousin's wedding.
I took the coat out and slipped it on. It was a little tighter in the shoulders, but it still hung loosely and down to mid-calf. I felt like an exhibitionist, one of those dirty old men who wear a long coat outside schools waiting to flash the kids. I took the coat off and pulled on my jeans and a sweatshirt. I slipped the coat back on and stuck my hands in my pockets. I realized I could rub my fingers over the lump of my cock through the thin lining of the coat, the jeans, and my underwear. I could feel it, but not well enough. Without taking the coat off, I dropped my jeans and replaced them with khakis. Better, but still not good enough.
I dropped my khakis and stepped out of them, thinking I could replace them with a lighter weight material pants. But then I thought, my boxers look like shorts. Well, too thin and minimal for tennis shorts, but if anyone saw them, they would think that in a quick look. Besides, my trench coat was long enough to cover my lower body. So, as far as other might notice, I was wearing a shirt, tennis shorts, white socks and tennis shoes under my long coat.
So, instead of swapping my khakis for other thin pants and keeping my boxers on, I just kept my boxers on with no pants. I thought for a minute. I opened the desk drawer, took out a pair of scissors, and sliced a hole in the lining of the coat, right behind the pocket. Like that I could slip my hand through the hole and, except for the thin fabric underwear, I could easily rub off my boner; it felt almost like flesh to flesh. It was only just after 9 AM and the Mall would be open for holiday hours, but this early, maybe it wouldn’t be too crowded.
I practically sprinted to my car. I drove to the Mall, and one look at the parking lot told me my chances of a light turnout were nil. I found a parking place a football field from the nearest entrance and darted inside. I remembered the collar just as I got to the Mall entrance and had to return to the car to get it. I got in, opened the glove compartment, and fastened it on. As I looked up, a woman who had thought I was getting in to leave, and who had pulled up behind my car to take my place, was looking at me strangely. I blushed bright red as I realized she had probably seen the collar and watched me put it on. I ducked my head and ran all the way back to the mall.
The place was packed. My hands were shaking as I got my cell out and dialed Dexter's number. I had it memorized by now.
"Hello?" he paused. "I knew you could do it," he smirked as the cacophony of Christmas commercialism piped through the phone. "Is it a busy place this morning?"
"Yes Sir, it’s wall to wall."
"Good." Dexter’s voice dripped with delight. "You know what to do and where to do it. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. You can start without me, but you’d better not finish."
Power of the Nerd: The Sequel
Part 2 of 6
When he arrived at the Mall, the place was packed. Jackson’s hands were shaking as he got his cell out and dialed Dexter's number: he had it memorized by now.
"Hello?" Dexter paused. "I knew you could do it," he smirked as the cacophony of Christmas commercialism piped through the phone. "Is it a busy place this morning?"
"Yes Sir, it’s wall-to-wall," Jackson told him.
"Good." Dexter’s voice dripped with delight. "You know what to do and where to do it. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. You can start without me, but you’d better not finish."
I groaned. Some part of me wanted to find a way out this - go do it in the bathroom, or a changing room, or out in the car - especially after seeing this crowd. But he was coming to watch me do it. I resigned myself to my fate and wove my way through the huge hall to the center fountain. I sat on the infamous bench and waited. I didn't honestly think I could last fifteen minutes if I started now. After I sat, I stared at the big clock on the wall and stuck my hand through the hole in my pocket. If Dexter got here and I hadn't started, he might get pissed. I looked away as if I were looking at the decorations as my fingers began stroking my dick through my pants. The trench coat was barely moving, which was a relief.
It was difficult to focus on my cock and to also watch to make sure no one noticed me as they passed, but it only took a few minutes for the stimulation to get to me. Before long, I was devoting a large part of my concentration on keeping my hips from rocking up on the bench or my breath from getting too ragged. I kept anxiously looking at the clock, waiting for Dexter so I could finish before I became too conspicuous. After 15 minutes I began to get nervous that he wasn’t coming, but a couple of minutes later I saw him.
Dexter was standing in line for coffee at a corner shop just catty-corner from me. He was wearing a deep, forest green turtleneck and jeans, and he was staring at me. I saw his trim frame; his light build that betrayed both his dominant attitude and his disproportionately large cock. The sheer eroticism of this image, his casual, nonchalant appearance which, to the casual observer would have made him appear to be leisurely waiting his turn in line, made my cock leap. I clamped every muscle in my pelvis as I strained to keep my load in my balls. I stopped stroking instantly, and then I saw him nod, his eyes staring into mine from 50 feet away.
My bare hand grabbed my hard, dripping dick through the thin boxer underwear and that was it. FINALLY, I shot my wad all over myself. Every muscle in my body clenched as I tried not to give my perverted self away. I bit my lip hard to keep from screaming out. I held my breath as seconds passed and I felt my warm spunk shoot inside my boxers and seep heavily down my leg. I shot so much, I felt it slowing dripping down to my white socks. I pumped my load longer than I could hold my breath, and I gasped for air as the orgasm racked my rigid body. I almost lost my grip on my composure as the air rushed in and out my lungs. Dexter had been staring at me, an audience of one in a sea of hundreds, or so I hoped.
And then it was over. I don't know how long it took, but I suddenly became aware of the surrounding noise; in the moments of climax I had heard nothing. The only information my brain could process was the feeling of sexual release, pent up for four days in my unbearably horny condition. The look on Dexter's face told me he recognized my orgasm as a struggle between outward calm and inward upheaval; it was a look of conquest. Smug. Satisfied. I looked at him, and he was now ordering. I sat, immobile, exhausted, feeling the sheen of sweat on my body. I slowly looked around to see if anyone had noticed, but if they had, there was no sign of it. Slowly, my breathing returned to normal.
Coffee in hand, Dexter walked passed me and subtly gestured with a nod of his head that I should follow him. I rose, wobbly, and made my way behind him. We walked to the end of the Mall, where he stepped outside the exit and stopped.
"I knew you could do it," he said, looking over the parking lot. He didn't acknowledge me except with his voice.
"Did you drive, Sir?" I asked.
"Yeah, I drove Mom's car. Parking was a bitch." He shivered. "It's cold out here."
"I'm on the other side of the Mall. Are we going back to your place?"
"I said it's cold out here," he repeated. He turned to me and gave me one of his blank, cruel looks. I stared back in disbelief. After a few seconds, he titled his head expectantly as cars cruised the lot for parking places.
“It’s cold out here. Your coat.”
Oh, I thought, he wants my coat. “Oh, but Sir, I have no pants on. I didn’t bring them so I could do a good job for you in the Mall. You don’t want me walking through the parking lot in my boxers!” I laughed at myself and the image that came to mind. Luckily, he laughed too. It was all a joke. Yeah, that would be a silly image of a tall guy like me walking through a very busy parking lot in only a shirt, underwear and shoes. Yeah, that’s a good one. We both had a good chuckle.
“Boy, it is cold out here,” he said again, but this time he didn’t look at me. He just waited.
What the fuck! But the name of the game was to obey and to please … ah … my … my Master. That still sounded so strange. I looked around, waiting for cars to stop driving by us, but the cars weren’t stopping and neither were the people walking by us, in and out of the Mall. But still, I slowly took off my coat and handed it to him. Odd. He just looked ahead and didn’t take it. Then I got the message and held it open for him to insert his hands, one after the other. But as I stood there in my white boxers, in the bright light of mid-morning, he still didn’t move.
He adjusted the coat just right and then looked at me and smiled. He actually touched my underwear to check it out. Tugged at the leg trim and stretched it a bit. The white material, being soaked, showed my fleshy pinkish meat tube clearly. CAN WE FUCKING GET TO OUR CARS!” I yelled inside my head. He didn’t hear that, of course, but he saw my knees trembling and my hands shaking, not from the cold, but from the drop-dead humiliation I was experiencing.
“So, you like being out at a crowded Mall in your underwear?”
I wanted to yell, but I didn’t say anything.
“You know the rule: when I ask you a question, you must answer it and, if necessary to please me, you may lie as long as I hear an answer that is agreeable to me.”
“Ya …ya … yes, Sir. I love to … to … to … to … to have you show ... show … show … me off.” I don’t think I could have been any more embarrassed. I was shaking and stuttering. But Dexter obviously thought that was cute because, of course, he knew that I hated being there, dressed like that.
“Would you like to look down at your boxers right now?” Dexter whispered.
I did and I freaked out. I moaned as I saw my new state of erotic obscenity. I wanted to put my hands over my hard dick, which stuck out like a horizontal flag pole. It was so stiff that it pulled the waistband away from my belly. I was actually looking down into my boxers which were now wide open and away from my belly. I saw my fleshy dick; I felt as if I were going to pass out. My body was quivering. Dexter reach out to steady me by holding my arm. If there was a hole, I would have crawled inside.
“Pa … pa … pa … please let me get to my … my … ca .. ca … car? Pa … please? Kind Sir?”
A few ladies walked up near to us, initially to just walk on by, but they couldn’t resist stopping and gawking. Then Dexter spoke up: “Oh, do you ladies know which stores here has a men’s underwear department?” The ladies just gasped and hurriedly went inside. “Oh well, let get going,” he said to me.
I moved behind him, using him to block the view of the front of my underwear. "Ca… ca … can I walk behind you to … to … to my car?" I pleaded for mercy.
He laughed out loud. "Yeah, right. Good one, Jackson. Meet me at my place in 20 minutes. You've still got to pay up for calling me by my name earlier and, just now, arguing with me. And don't even think about wearing that ridiculous underwear inside my house."
With that, he stepped off the curb. “And no running, I don’t want you to trip and fall. You might bruise your dick.” He laughed. My cover was gone, and I freaked. I gathered myself and made ready to make the long slow trek to my car. The cum was cold now, even colder in the wintry morning air, and my hard-on never abated. I ‘walked’ through the parking lot and, after a few circles, finally found my car and got in. I know many people saw me, but I don’t know what they might have thought. Maybe a school prank, I hope. I just got the hell into the driver's seat and revved the engine to quickly warm the inside and left.
I arrived at Dexter's house, parked beside his car (or rather his parents’ car, since his folks thought he was too young to have one of his own) and I walked up to the porch. I realized that the cum on my underwear from the public jerk-off at the Mall was gross, and I wasn't in a big hurry to strip naked outside Dexter's front door in the wintery cold and icy weather, but nevertheless I stripped down naked except for my black leather slave collar. Freezing in the cold morning air, I anxiously rang the bell. I covered my crotch with my hands and turned my back to the door.
"Who is it?" I heard through the door after a minute that felt like an hour.
"Come on, Sir! It's Jackson, and I'm freezing!" I hopped from foot to foot.
"Jackson? I can't see anything but the back of someone's head," he taunted. I turned my ass back out to the world and faced the peephole. "Hey, I don’t see my faggot." the voice said. "Who is it again?"
"It's your cunt pussy whore, Sir!" It came out louder than I had intended, but damn it was cold. The door opened and Dexter stood there in the outfit I had seen him wearing at the Mall. He handed me my trench coat.
"Put that on," he ordered and walked passed me. I eagerly donned the coat, both for cover and warmth. I was a bit perplexed though, as Dexter walked down the driveway to his parents’ car. I didn't know whether to stay put or to follow him until he turned to me, glared, and pointed to the driver's door. I dashed down the steps and opened the door for him. He got in and pointed to the passenger's seat. I was getting a bit worried; I wasn't dressed for an outing. Fuck, I was barefoot and totally naked under my trench coat. The fact that Dexter was driving meant I wouldn't know our destination until we arrived, and that put me ill at ease.
We drove in silence until we arrived at the same porn store we had visited a few days prior. "Go inside and get the bag the clerk is holding under your name. Don't open the bag, and don't ask what's inside it."
"Sir, I haven't got any money to pay for it." I reminded him that my wallet was in my pants, which were still on Dexter's doorstep.
"It's been paid for with the money the guy held back last Saturday when he was giving you grief about the credit card," Dexter replied, never taking his eyes off the road. I then remembered the $150 bucks the cashier had added to my bill on my last visit, presumably a merchant fee for using a credit card plus a bit more for hush money after he said his grandson knew me from soccer. I reached down to button my coat closed, but Dexter saw me. "No buttons, but I’ll let you hold it closed. Now get out and get your present!"
With growing trepidation, I opened the door and stepped out. The street wasn't particularly busy, but I felt conspicuous wearing a trench coat over my naked, shaved body. My now-smooth legs extended past the bottom hem from mid-calf down to my bare feet, and a patch of my chest was exposed where the open front flapped a bit in the breeze. I held the coat closed over my crotch by wrapping my arms tightly around my waist and I quickly ducked into the store.
The old guy wasn't there. An androgynously dressed girl about my age, with green hair and pierced lip and nose, stood behind the register. I inwardly cringed; add yet another person to the ‘I've been outed’ list.
"I'm picking up a package," I told the girl. She looked me over with a wry smile on her face as if I wasn't even wearing the trench coat.
"Name?" she asked, eventually.
"Jackson," I answered. She looked behind her at the brown bag on the counter. It was the only package there.
"Sorry. Jackson who? I wouldn't want to give you the wrong one."
"Owens. Jackson Owens," I mumbled to the floor as my face flushed crimson.
"Kind of cute," she said, eyeing me again before she tauntingly licked her lips with her pierced tongue. "Too bad. From what's in that bag, I guess you wouldn't be interested." She laid the bag in front of me.
I reached out and snatched it and turned for the door, but when I got to it, the shoplifting alarm went off. I whirled around at the girl, both of us know that the only things I had were the items in the bag. "Sorry, Jackson, but I'm going to have to see what you've got in your coat."
"What? You know I don't have anything except what's in the fucking bag!" I argued.
"OK. I can call the cops and let you explain it to them," she grinned sarcastically.
Great. The cops. While I'm naked in a porn shop.
"Fine," I seethed. I tossed the bag onto the counter, but the girl ignored it.
All of a sudden, a big burly guy with full body tattoos came out from the back. “What’s going on here, Sky?” he said all flustered. “Who is this? Is he the one stealing?” He went behind the counter and turned the alarm off.
“I don’t know, Bull, but he came in here with that huge shoplifting coat, supposedly to pick up a package, then I turned my back and before I knew it he tore out the door,” Sky told her presumable boss.
“Look, I was just sent here to get …” I tried to explain but was cut off.
“No, you look. We get guys and gals in here all the time wearing big over-coats with big pockets, trying to steal stuff. I need to inspect your coat, so take it off.” I froze. “Now!” Bull said.
“Look, I’m sorry, but I’m not dressed and I just need to say …”
“NOW!” Bull yelled.
“Can we step into the back room or somewhere ...?” I tried to ask him.
“Sky, call the police. This guy doesn’t seem to want to handle this the easy way.” Sky picked up the phone.
“NO, WAIT!” I yelled, “Here’s my coat.” I took it off and handed it over to the big guy; I was now totally naked in his sex shop, and he was taking his sweet time examining my coat. I realized I had to get my naked body out of public view or I could be arrested. I started to panic.
“I DON’T HAVE ANYTHING, YOU FUCKING MORON!” I yelled. “I CAN’T STAND HERE TOTALLY N …”
“You shut the fuck …” but I cut Bull off.
“YOU FUCKIN’ FREAKS! YOU’RE INSANE, I’M JUST …”
I didn’t know where he got it, but before I realized what was happening, he jammed a black rubber gag into my mouth without me having a split second to stop him.
“Mumph, mummmph, mumph” I tried to tell him as I grabbed his huge arm with both of mine.
”Mummmph, mummumph!” But I couldn’t overcome his vise-like grip.” As muscular as I am, big Bull could easily break me in half. He must have been 300 pounds of fat and muscle.
I flailed my arms all over, trying to pry him off of me and to jerk my body free, but he was the one in control.
“Look, Asshole, stop fighting so I can sort this out.” Bull said, and I began to calm down. I let go of him.
“That’s better,” he said as he secured the bulbous gag in my mouth by doing something behind my head. I tried to dislodge it with my tongue, but the gag filled my mouth, pressing my tongue under it.
“That’s better. Now, no more foul language from you or I’ll be the one calling the cops. Is that clear?”
“Now, if you don’t want me to cuff your hands, put them behind you and keep them there.”
I did as he told me to; I figured the sooner he did what he felt he had to do, the sooner he’d discover that I wasn’t trying to steal anything, so I cooperated.
Bull stood right in front of me, with my ass right up against the large street-front window.
“Mumph, mummumph mumph,” was my way of politely asking him to take me to a back room so I didn’t get arrested for public indecency.
He ignored me. I took my hand from my back to point to the back room, but as soon as I did, he grabbed one hand and twisted it behind me and then grabbed the other. CLICK!
“LIKE THIS? HE CUFFED ME LIKE THIS?” I screamed inside my head. I was totally fucking naked, wearing only a black leather slave collar and a black rubber ball gag … IN THE FRONT OF A BIG PICTURE WINDOW WITH MY ASS PRACTICALLY PRESSED AGAINST THE GLASS.
Meanwhile, Bull was checking out my coat, inch by inch, seemingly in no hurry to complete his task. “Oh, wow, I see you have big holes cut into these pockets. That could only mean one thing: you’re a pervert, a public jerk-off freak.” Bull said as he looked at me with a serious stare. “Did you cut these holes in your coat to beat off on a busy street?”
He stared at me and I stared back at him and I nearly started to cry. I wanted to shake my head ‘no, but I just felt so humiliated I wanted to shrivel up and die because it was true. I closed my eyes, too embarrassed to look at him.
“You disgust me. I don’t want to look at you either. TURN AROUND!” Bull yelled. And so I did.
Finally, when I opened my eyes, I was shocked with horror to find that I was facing a small crowd of people who were just standing there laughing and giggling. “Mumph, Mumph.” I softly pleaded to Bull to get me out of public view. Of course, he didn’t respond.
“What was taking this asshole so long? This was so ridiculous - I could get arrested for public exposure!” I said to myself. And then I noticed he hadn’t even closed the front door!
A moment later a couple that was standing just outside the window came into the shop, a young man and a much older woman, a ‘cougar’. They were both staring at me. ME, as naked as a Playgirl centerfold, IN BROAD DAYLIGHT! All body-shaved and wearing a black slave collar and a gag.
“Can I help you?” Sky said to the couple.
“Oh, we were wondering why this man is naked. At first, we thought he was a life-like mannequin, but I see his ... ah … you know ... is getting stiffer and bigger, she giggled, “so that can’t be true.”
I looked down and saw that my steel-pole dick was indeed sticking straight out. WHAT? WHY WAS I THROWING A FUCKING BONER FOR ALL THE WORLD TO SEE?
“Oh, yeah, he is on display to show off our new stock of slave collars and rubber gags,” she said, sounding serious but with a girlish grin on her face. I had my back to her and couldn’t see her expression, so I thought she WAS serious. “It’s OK, just go ahead and check him out.”
“WHAT THE FUCK?” I wanted to yell, but I didn’t want to cause any more of a scene, so I just stood there with my hands cuffed behind my back, looking like a dummy. Both the older woman and her young 20-something partner stepped up close, so close I could feel their clothing rubbing against my belly. Then she fingered my collar. “Oh my, this is quality leather, and I like the stitching on it. Usually, they are just cut and get a buckle attached, but this one is much better quality.”
What Bull and Sky did not know because they were behind me was that while the woman was talking about my collar, she had her free hand under my balls, tickling them. The young man had two fingers on one hand pinching my right nipple, and with his other hand, he was stroking my dick. I was slowly shaking my head to signal “No! Please don’t!”, and I wanted to wiggle and jerk my body free from all those molesting hands, but Bull might have interpreted that as being aggressive and as me making a scene. If he were to call the police, I would have just looked like a naked crazy man, all drugged up and trying to flash people and jerk-off in public and, of course, he had the coat with the cut through pockets as further evidence.
I continued to slightly shake my head no, but the two continued. I was also angry at myself because I had a huge boner. Where was Dexter, and why wasn’t he coming to help me out of this mess?
Then, all of a sudden, the young man asked “I was planning on getting a cock and ball harness for my lady to use on me. Do you have any of those?”
“Oh yes, we have them by sizes. What size do you take?” Bull asked.
“Gee, I don’t know. Oh, wait. I’m about as big as this model is. Do you have one to fit this size?”
“I think so,” said Bull, as he walked to a back wall, found one, and handed it to the young man. I was expecting to see a rubber or leather ring, but this was a configuration of small black leather straps with multiple chrome snaps.
I’m not sure this will fit me. Can try it on him?” Bull nodded yes, and the young man stooped down in front of me.
He was having trouble fitting it on because I was so erect he couldn’t snap the ends together. Then, without asking me, he squeezed my balls really hard and pinched the tip of my dick and didn’t stop. “MAAAAAAAAAAH, MAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!” I cried out, but no one seemed to care. I lifted one bare foot and then the other, hoping to try to alleviate the pain. I tried to stand on one foot and move the other bent knee over my groin to push his hands away, all the while screaming “MAAAAAAOOOGGGHH!”, but no luck. The pain was unbearable.
Power of the Nerd: The Sequel
Part 3 of 6
Then he let go. I looked down and saw my limp dick, and him quickly strapping the thing on. A strap went around my dick and balls, and another around the top of my ball sack. I thought he was finished, but then he lifted my balls to secure the last strap under them, separating my balls like two eggs. It didn’t hurt at all, and then he let go.
I lost track of what Bull was doing with my coat, or even if he was still interested in it. All my attention was focused on my dick.
“Do you mind if I see how this holds an erect dick?” he asked.
“Knock yourself out,” Bull replied.
The young man stood again and first tickled, then pinched, both of my nipples. He raked his fingernails over them repeatedly, sending a shiver down my spine. As he continued doing that, the woman went back to scratching – very lightly scratching - the stretched skin over my balls; my dick wasn’t being touched at all. I was moaning through my gag, my head was rolling around on my shoulders, and I lost track of whatever else was going on in the room. All my attention was focused on my dick, the dick no one was touching.
The couple was now staring at my engorged cock, and so was everyone else who was watching from outside the window. “Look, he’s leaking fluids,” the cougar woman said to the young man. I think a cock and ball harness is just what you need, Jeff.
Yes, Miss, it’ll make a nice Christmas present for both of us,” the young man concurred.
“Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck,” I said out loud, not realizing that the gag had been removed. I was experiencing an erotic high. It wasn’t just the touching or the dick harness contraption - I was also freaked out about all these people watching me. It wasn’t by choice that I was the object of this public humiliation and was being made into a spectacle for their entertainment. “Ah, yeah, fuck, fuck,” I mumbled. My mind was reeling, my head was slowly lolling around, and my face was tilted backward, looking up at the ceiling with my mouth gaping open. “Fuck, fuck, yeah.”
I saw the ceiling fan slowing turning and stared at it as I felt my dick getting wet; I didn’t care. I moved my hands to touch the top of the head of the person stooped in front of me; my dick felt all wet and comforted and tingly. My head slowly turned downward to see the young man licking my dick. I rubbed his hair as if he were a big puppy. My dick, all stretched out to full length, was bouncing and twitching, and he was licking the underside of it, only the underside. I wanted to fuck his mouth hard and fast and shoot my load, but instead, I got distracted.
I heard the words, “Someone called the police,” as I was ushered outside, still naked, my dick all boned up and drippy. The crowd applauded, and I felt pats on my back and ass. Everything was a foggy daze.
The next thing I remember was when a couple of hard road bumps jostled me awake. Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck! I looked over and saw Dexter driving me somewhere. I was blinking my eyes and wiping my face with my hands as reality was slowly coming back and my head was clearing. Dexter was smiling, and then he just broke out into a full belly laugh.
Then I remembered: “Oh no, Sir, I forgot your package! I left it in the shop!” I told him with a start.
“Don’t worry, Jackson, it’s in the backseat.” He paused. “You alright, boy?”
I waited a minute to regain my full composure. “Yes, Sir, but I almost got arrested for shoplifting.”
“No, you didn’t. I planned that whole thing. Well … not exactly, but I set the basic scene into motion and it evolved on its own from there.” he explained. “What did you think of it?”
“It … it … it was … was very powerful. It was awesome! I was on a natural high and I couldn’t stop it.”
“You couldn’t stop it because you were not controlling it. Furthermore, you couldn’t control it even if you had wanted to because the shop owners are friends of mine and I let them play with you.” Then he added, “And how did you feel, being exposed so blatantly in public and being at everyone’s mercy?”
“I hate to admit this, but it was the greatest sensation I have ever experienced.” I said softly.
Dexter laughed and said, “That’s alright! You don’t have to admit it.”
Just then we arrived at his house and we walked up to the door. We found ourselves just standing there, talking about the weather, discussing how cold it was, and how the next week would be the same. When I looked at him and saw that he was smiling. I asked him why.
“I’m smiling because you are on my front porch totally naked, wearing a slave collar and your new cock and ball harness which is helping you to keep fully erect.
“Oh, SHIT!” I yelled, “Please, Sir, please let me inside!” I said frantically.
He then opened the door and let me in. "Upstairs. Now!" he ordered as soon as we had crossed the threshold. He was carrying the brown bag he had wanted me to pick up at the sex shop. upon entering his room, he put the package on his desk and turned to face me.
"You've gotten off this morning at the Mall. Do you feel better?" I nodded my answer to his question. He scowled and then I remembered.
"Yes, Sir, I feel better now that I've cum, Sir," I answered aloud.
"Wasn't it nice of me to allow you some relief?" he asked.
"Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir," I responded, looking down at my feet.
"I'm feeling generous today - maybe it's the Christmas season. All those corny carols playing at the Mall, and all those merry, milling shoppers. I think that I'm going to give you a chance to earn a fuck today." He reached over and raised my chin with his hand until our eyes met. I looked at him blankly. "If you earn it, that is.”
We stared at each other for a minute or so as I awaited my orders. I was wondering why he wasn't telling me what to do to earn his dick in my ass when he tilted his head and cocked his eyebrows expectantly. My eyes widened as I realized he wasn't going to give me an order: this time, he was waiting for me to take the initiative; he wanted me to come up with some way to earn being fucked. As I gazed at his face, I felt something inside me give. I don't know what it was, and I think I only subconsciously felt it at the time. Without another thought, I lifted my hands to his head, watching his face register surprise as his head jerked back in an instinctively defensive maneuver. Gently, I took his eyeglasses between my fingers and slid them from behind his ears. I carefully folded them and laid them on his desk.
When I looked back at his face, there was still a look of puzzlement and surprise. I felt my tongue softly wet my lips and my hands went to the tail of his turtleneck. I pulled the soft lamb’s wool up his sides and he wordlessly raised his arms over his head so I could slip it off. I repeated the process with his white undershirt while his arms remained up. I dropped them both carelessly on the floor and my eyes were drawn to the pale flesh of his torso. Without thinking, I began to slowly brush the back of my fingers up over this stomach and up to his chest with one hand while the other gently rested on his hip above the crest of his jeans.
It was as if I had lost all conscious control of my body. There I was, standing naked and hairless, but feeling warm inside as some unseen force directed my movement. I moved in towards him and wrapped my arms around him as my mouth closed on his. He stood rigid for a moment, and then I felt the heat of his body as he pressed into me, his bare chest against mine as I felt his lips open and his tongue brush mine. His hands went to my hips as I molded myself against him, and my hands began to move over his smooth, hot back. There was almost no part of my brain that felt conscious or alert, but somewhere I recognized the intense warmth Dexter's body was generating. I had never before touched anyone whose skin felt so warm to the touch.
I broke the kiss and my mouth moved to his neck. I kissed him there as my hands fell to the mounds of his ass. I could feel his cock rising, so I reached between us to grope him through the denim that covered it. By the looseness of the material and the freedom with which his package was moving inside it, I could tell he wasn't wearing underwear and, for some reason, this intensified my passion. My lips moved down to one of his firm, pink nipples, and I flicked my tongue over it before taking it into my mouth. I gently raked my teeth over it, alternately sucking and licking as I had done to girls a dozen times before. My hands were at the button of his jeans, then at his fly, then pulling the waistband down over the curve of his ass and the length of his thighs to his knees.
I kissed my way softly down to his navel, which I worshipped with my tongue and lips as I fell to my knees in front of him. His jeans were puddled at his ankles as I tilted my face upward to his, where I saw him watching me intently. But there was something in his eyes, something on his brow beneath the gentle wave of his blond bangs, that looked unsettled, discontent. I looked up at him, eyes pleading for permission, as my face and the head of his cock was separated by inches; but his approval wasn't forthcoming. I could almost see the wheels and cogs of his brain whirling - he was too distracted by his thoughts to give in to me, so I boldly took the shaft of his cock in one hand and, while firmly stroking it, leaned it upward to lap at his ball sack with my tongue.
I heard him draw in a deep, ragged breath as I sucked his balls into my mouth. I ran my tongue over the salty skin, breathing in the erotic musk of his crotch. I alternated between running my tongue over every inch of his scrotum and rolling each nut around in my mouth. All the while I stroked his shaft, never touching the head, just firmly gripping his thick cock at the base and then running my hand back and forth over the length to the flared, purple ridge. I pulled away from his sac and stuck my tongue out, barely brushing over the head of his cock while I held it still with my hand. His hips pulled back from the stimulation and he jumped.
"On the bed," he muttered hoarsely. "On your hands and knees." I leaped to my feet and assumed the position as instructed. I saw his hand go for the bottle of lube on the shelf-like headboard, heard the top pop open, and soon felt the cold goo on his finger as he smeared it over my hole. In a flash he was behind me, one hand just below my navel as the other lined up his cock. He sank into me in one fluid motion, not a harsh thrust as much as a familiar and determined sheathing of his dick into my ass, like a sword into a scabbard. I moaned softly as the craving for his cock was sated. My guts were like a perfect glove for his rod as it slid home inside me. As his pubes hit my cheeks, I heard him sigh hard above me. As he began to withdraw, I felt his mouth on the back of my neck. He kissed me with his lips, then with his tongue, as he continued fucking his cock into and out of me.
He developed a slowly accelerating rhythm, each thrust firm and eager, each withdrawal slow and reluctant; we both knew that the place for his cock was deep inside me. We both knew that that's where it felt best, both for me and for him. In one thrust, he rammed in particularly hard and as I cried out in surprise, I felt his teeth close on the tender flesh where my neck met my shoulder, just at the collarbone. He nipped there and at the back of my neck as he fucked me, one hand still pressing against my abs under my navel.
The feeling of his fucking was sheer ecstasy, the length of his thick cock sliding first in and then out of my tight sphincter, the ring of muscle craving each thrust. His cockhead plowed into my asshole, each time bluntly brushing my prostate. I was in an erotic daze; my cock hard and drooling. There was a thin sheen of sweat clinging to my skin. I couldn’t help but punctuate the silence with an occasional primal moan of lust. His thighs frequently slapped against mine and I could feel the weight of his balls swing his sac up against the spot between my ass and my own balls.
I yelped as I felt the first slap. His cock was buried completely inside me as his free hand connected with my nuts, drawn tightly up to my crotch. It wasn't a hard strike, and there was no sharp pain, but it caused my cock to twitch, my abs to tighten, and most importantly, my ass to clench hard around his cock as he slid it back from within my depths. I could feel the warm, dull ache deep in my gut as he punched his dick back into me. Then came another slap, and more tightening around his cock. I realized that he was feeling my instinctive response not only to his cock but also to my abs rippling with the hand he pressed under my navel. He incorporated this into his rhythm; each time his cockhead was at its deepest inside me, he slapped my nuts, making me milk him hard on the outstroke.
I was too wrapped up in this erotic haze to appreciate the calculation of those slaps. Never enough to cause sharp pain, never enough to seriously hurt me, but just enough to cause that dull ache and produce that primitive muscular response. It had been painful at first, more from the surprise I think, but as the sexual endorphins enveloped my senses, and as the repetition set in, I felt myself becoming immersed in the sensation. The ache was a complement to the feeling of his cock so deep inside me.
His climax, when it came, came too soon. I was just beginning to feel like a sailor on some tropical sea, being rocked by gentle waves of lust and pain and pleasure in a haze of heat and desperation when he came. His orgasm was no surprise because he had begun to grunt loudly and regularly, then he called out to me. "Fuck, Jackson, fuck! God damn it, I'm fucking my senior jock pussy whore! Fuck! I'm going to blow my load inside your faggot cunt hole! Your ass is milking my fucking rod, you want it so badly, you slut!" He closed his fist around my nuts, not clenching, but enough to let me know it was there, and he rammed his cock deep into me as it began to pump his seed. He held himself there, panting silently as he unloaded into me. When it was over, he fell limp over my back.
"Get down and turn over," he ordered. I rolled and lay down on my back, and he fell on top of me. As his crotch pressed into mine, I could feel my lower abs spasming from the abuse he had inflicted on my nuts as he had fucked me. The muscles there and in my sphincter were in overdrive, twitching and convulsing. My ass was empty, and I could feel the warm, wet cum beginning to ooze down into my crack. He was covered in sweat and his mouth came to mine as he propped himself up on his elbows. I felt as if I were being devoured as he kissed me, our tongues grappling in my mouth. At last, he lowered himself, exhausted, onto my chest. I could feel his heart racing as his breastbone rested on mine. He was breathing deeply, and I thought he might fall asleep on top of me.
I gently rested my hands on his shoulder blades and rolled him onto his back. I curled myself against him, my head on his chest, as he caught his breath and his heartbeat returned to normal. I found my hands softly stroking his inner thighs, then up over his stomach and back down. I looked at his shrinking cock, wet with his cum and lube. Without thinking, I moved my mouth to it and took it in. It tasted somewhat more bitter than after a blowjob, no doubt from my ass, but it didn't taste filthy or unclean as I removed his cum and the lube. He gasped when he felt my tongue on his sac, and I slowly kissed my way over his stomach to his chest.
"Why are you doing that?" he asked, and I looked up with a start. "You've already earned your fuck." He was looking at me with the same clouded, confused look he had given me earlier.
"I don't know," I answered sincerely. "It just feels like something I want to do."
"But when you were doing it earlier, you were just doing it to get me hot so that I would fuck you," he said.
"I don't think I was even thinking about that," I told him.
He then leaned over and removed the cock and ball harness the guy at the sex shop had put on me and tossed it aside. Looking at me skeptically, he commanded, "Jerk off.” My cock was raging - I had gotten off at the Mall not two hours earlier, but the fucking had definitely gotten me back up again, so I didn't need to be told twice. I reached down, grabbed my cock, and started pounding. It didn't take more than a minute or two to get to the edge. "Catch your cum in your hand," he ordered as he watched me and saw the signs of my approaching orgasm. With a loud cry, I felt my cum boil up from my abused balls and shoot out of my throbbing cock into my waiting hand. As I lay there, panting in the afterglow of my climax, I felt Dexter take my wrist, move my cum filled hand to my face, and smear my juice all over my face and hair with my own hand. I felt the coating of slime cover my cheeks, nose and forehead, even my eyelids.
"That looks about right for a cock slut," Dexter smirked. "Now keep your eyes closed, because it's time for your surprise. No peeking!"
With that, I heard the rustling of paper. A minute later, I felt Dexter's hands on my balls and softened cock, manipulating them with a cold, hard object. He began by pulling my balls and then my cock through a ring and then sliding the ring tightly up to my crotch. Then I felt something else on my cock, also cold and hard, sliding up around it, and then I heard a sharp click. "There," I heard Dexter say in a satisfied tone.
I opened my eyes and looked down to see my cock locked inside a plastic cage. A clear plastic ring, like a cock ring, was firmly against my crotch, and through it, Dexter had pulled my balls and my cock. Then, he had taken the plastic cage and slid it over my dick and locked it to the base ring. My balls were trapped loosely between the cock ring-like base and the ring around the root of my cock that locked to it. I couldn't slip the cage off of my cock without ripping my balls off.
"What the fuck is that?!" I yelled.
"It's a chastity device, Jackson. I just call it a cock cage. I decided you needed one when you told me that you almost disobeyed my order not to ejaculate without my permission and that I would never have known if you had. Now, quite simply, you can't - not without me knowing. If you do, you either have to cut off the lock, here," he said, pointing to the small padlock that held my cock trapped, "or cut the plastic rods or rings. Either of which would be very obvious.
"The best thing about this particular device, compared to its competitors, is that it allows you to go to the bathroom and shower, and to do all the other things you might want to do without calling and pestering me. The only thing you can't do is jerk off. Oh, it might be a little obvious under your clothes, I guess, since the cock ring kind of lifts your cock and balls up and out, but I'm sure that if you're not comfortable with that, you could just wear a jock strap. That might help hold everything back down."
I jumped off the bed. "Take it off! Come on, I can't wear this thing! How long are you going to keep me from jacking off anyway?"
"You will wear it, Jackson, until either I take it off of you or you break yourself free as I have already said. But you know what the consequences of that will be: no more cock. Not from me. No more cock to suck. No more cock up your ass. None." He smiled wickedly. "Of course, you know you can break it off anytime. Be careful, though, as you wouldn't want to damage yourself. If you decide you can't take celibacy, that's your choice; just take it off. It won't matter to me, as long as you never call me again and you never expect me to satisfy your cock slut needs. But if you take it off, and I ever hear from you again, your DVD - showing you engaging in all sort of faggot sex and begging for more - goes public."
I looked down at the contraption locking up my dick, adjusting to the new weight and closeness. It wasn't uncomfortable, it was just unusual. And a little heavy, mainly from the padlock I guess. He said I could go to the bathroom in it, and I guess the open spaces between the rods would easily accommodate that, and it was plastic, so I could shower it in. It wouldn't be that much of a restriction on my life, really, except that it would be there. But keeping it on would mean I was giving him ownership and control over my dick; it would be his, and every minute that I wore this device would be a minute that I conceded his authority over me.
I could feel his cum leaking out of my ass, which was still throbbing from his earlier fuck. I had just cum, and already I missed his cock inside me. I missed lying on the bed with him, the smell of him, his warmth, the smoothness of his soft skin. I looked up at him and resigned myself to my fate. I would let him control my cock. I had already let him control my ass, my mouth, my dignity, my modesty. I could give him this, too, because I needed him in ways I couldn't understand. I wasn’t gay, but I was Dexter's fuck toy, and I knew it.
Dexter had been watching me, and he recognized the signs of my mental surrender. "Good," he said. "I see you've come to terms with this. Now get out of my house. Your punishment for calling me by name is that you don't get to clean yourself up. You can drive home with cum all over your face, and in your hair, and leaking from your ass. You can think about how embarrassed you will feel by all the looks and stares by the drivers in the cars you pass and evaluate which is more intolerable, being a cum soaked whore or calling me ‘Sir’. Now go," he ordered.
My mouth fell open with the shock. Cum was all over my face, still drying, and in my hair. I reeked of man sex when I got home, but at least my parents were still at work, and anyone who saw me at a stop light wouldn’t have been able to see the signs of my new station in life: cum whore. Faggot slut. Dexter's face was unyielding, and I knew better to argue. I shuffled out of his room, down the stairs, and onto the doorstep. I mechanically put on my clothes, descended to the car, got in, and began the trip home. As instructed, I kept the slave collar on until I left the street he lived on.
The drive home was nerve-wracking. Every time I came to a stop light, my face burned because I was certain that the occupants of the other cars could see me and the drying cum covering my face and smeared into my hair. I kept my eyes straight on the road in front of me and never looked to either side. The only thing I could think about was what would happen if I were to pass one of my friends or someone who knew me, having them look over and seeing the signs that I had become a gay slut. When I arrived home and pulled into the driveway, I felt all the muscles that had been tense with worry begin to ebb and relax. I was safe.
But the cage around my cock signaled a clear change in the relationship between Dexter and me, and he took no time in making that clear. I called him the first thing the next morning. I woke up hard, or at least as hard as the device allowed me to get. My cock had lengthened and thickened to the extent permitted by the plastic bars down the length of the curved cage, and those which closed off the end at the terminal ring. As my cock grew inside, the pain became insufferable, and the sensitive head of my cock poked into the cruel, unyielding bars.
He answered the phone on the second or third ring, and when I begged him for release, he laughed scornfully. "Sorry, my fuck toy, things have changed. Now I'll know whenever you rub one out against orders because the only way you can is to break the cage off. That means I no longer feel the need to be lenient with you, or to let you come over whenever you feel horny so that you can get relief without breaking my rules. I’m not going to let you come over just because you are in a fit of lust, yet you don't want to cut yourself off from my cock. You need my cock, don't you, Jackson? In your mouth? In your ass?"
"Yes," I muttered in acquiescence.
"Yes, what, bitch?"
"Yes, Sir!" I shouted like I was an army recruit in basic training.
"You don't call me anymore, fuck toy. When I want you to get me off, when I've decided that you've been restrained long enough to earn my cum on your tongue or in your cunt, I'll call you. Then, if you've been a good boy, I'll pop that cage open for you. You can get your cock all nice and hard without that plastic biting into your skin. You're hard now, aren't you?" I confirmed that I was. "It hurts, doesn't it?" I told him that it did. "Just think," he continued, torturing me as my lust only grew, "You can wrap your lips around my cock. Maybe your ass lips, maybe the lips on that cock sucking mouth. And your cock will be free to pulse and throb. To jut out from your body into the air. You want that, don't you?"
"Yes, Sir, please … how long ...?" I began to whimper.
"When I decide it's time, bitch," he cut me off. "And maybe, if you get me off really well, maybe I'll even let you cum before I slam that cage back around your cock and lock it into place."
Now a new and horrible thought ricocheted around my brain; he might use me and not even let me get off! And with this chastity device, he could do it!
"But don't despair, Jackson. You know you can get that thing off anytime you want. I think that a pair of pliers, your jock strength, and some determination could easily break those plastic rings. Or break that mini-padlock. You can make that decision anytime you want. But you know the consequences, right? Tell me what happens if you break free."
"I'll never get your cock again, Sir."
"That's right. But that's not all. If you ever call me, if you ever look at me longingly in the hall at school, if you ever make any sign that you want my cock again, your DVD goes into publication. I might email the file to everyone at school. And your parents. Or, maybe it finds its way into the DVD tower in the media lab and, one day, all the monitors throughout the school flash up with Jackson Owens, soccer captain, big man on campus, sucking cock and begging to have his pussy fucked. Think about that," he mocked. He let the next few minutes slip by in silence, certainly knowing the thoughts that were in my head. He had the computer skills to do any of what he said and more. I could feel my body blushing from head to toe as I thought of my friends, my teammates, even the faculty, even kids I didn't know but who knew me because of my popularity, all watching that DVD.
"Jackson?" he asked, finally.
"Sir?" I answered by reflex.
"Is your cock still hard, boy?"
Power of the Nerd: The Sequel
Part 4 of 6
“Yes sir,” I answered.
My mind turned from my nightmarish daydreams and zoomed back into the present reality. My cock was still hard, I knew because it still hurt from the bars and rings that formed the cock cage and I told him so. He chuckled. "See, I think that some part of you, deep down in places you don't like to think about, wants everyone to know you're a dick licking, ball washing, cock riding faggot. Someone who wants everyone to know you're my bitch. But I think we'll let that mature a little first. If everyone else knew, someone else might then want you for themselves. In fact, your jock buddies might just want you on your knees for them in the locker room showers, servicing each of their rods, sucking down their loads of spunk as they all watch and cheer each other on. Or maybe they’d like to bend you over the changing benches, forcing one sweaty, post-practice fuckstick after another into you until your cunt overflowed with their sperm and your hole was so red and sore it wouldn't even close. Maybe that's what you want."
"No, Sir" I whispered.
But I realized I had goosebumps all over my skin and that the tip of my cock was trying to pry through the unyielding plastic.
"Please! Please don't tell anyone!"
I had begged him several times before, begged for his cock, begged to be allowed to cum, and I thought I had come to know desperation, but that was desperation from lust; this was desperation from fear. But was it fear of being outed, fear of being ostracized, fear of being ridiculed and losing my position and respect? Or fear because what Dexter said was true? I didn't know and didn't care, I just knew I was scared, and I needed reassurance that my life as I knew it wasn't going to end despite how much it had changed behind closed doors.
He must have sensed the genuine concern in my voice because his tone mellowed. "Don't worry, Jackson. Like I said, I'm not going to tell anyone. Just remember over the coming days, whenever you feel like you can't stand it and you have to rip that thing off, that will be it. If you make that decision, if you act hastily out of lust, the first thing in the back of your brain as the afterglow from your orgasm ebbs is going to be, `Oh, fuck! I've lost Dexter's cock forever!' And that's going to be followed by, `And if I even beg for forgiveness, or offer to sell my soul for a second chance, I'm going to be exposed to everyone!' It'll be your call."
The click signaled that he had hung up. I stood there in silence and then set the phone down. I stared at it, and within seconds, it rang. I picked it up in a daze and heard Dexter's voice. "Oh, and each time you call me in desperation between now and when I want you, you add a day to your wait. That was one." The phone went dead again.
I sat down on the desk, already wanting his cock. I could feel nothingness in my ass, and I craved something to be there. I craved it like I craved release from the fucking rings around my cock. I sat on the desk and there was no warmth emanating from it, there was no shaft wedged between my lips, no head against my prostate or buried in my gut. I sat there and felt the breath on my shoulder that wasn't there, the hands on my hips that weren't there. I could smell the odor that wasn't there, the odor of his crotch smeared on my face the way it did after I rubbed his cock along my cheek while licking his nuts and sucking where his thigh met his groin. The texture of his cock head and the veins of his shaft on my tongue weren’t there. I could still taste the sweat, the salt, the musk, the cum, that weren't there. I was alone and I felt abandoned.
With each day that went by, I got hornier and I wanted more desperately to cum. And with each day that went by, I missed his cock more, I missed his control more. Some part of me already longed to hear his voice calling me names: "Cunt," or "whore," or "slut," or "fuck toy," or "bitch." Or Jackson. How long would he keep me from jerking off? How long would he deny me his cock? Which would be worse? I knew the answer as soon as I thought of the question: denying me his cock was worse. I could jerk off whenever I wanted to, except that meant I could never be with him again.
How had this happened? How had I become a slave to cock? I thought about the feelings, the smells, the tastes of being used. Being fucked, mouth or ass; every image was of Dexter, although I could replace his image with other guys. At first, it surprised me that I could picture my teammates naked – I could see their hard cocks in my mind, and I wanted them. But, as I went through all the guys I knew at school in a mental slide show, undressing each, imagining the taste, the feel, and the smell of each package, I realized something was missing. Yes, I felt lust for these guys at school, undeniable lust for their cocks, but nothing more. It was only when I thought of Dexter that I felt something more: completion. He owned me, and I craved his control, his dominance. I could suck anyone's cock, and I could take anyone's cock up my ass, but I knew that there was something else I needed just as much which only Dexter could provide.
That day passed and so did the next, and then it was Christmas Eve. I finished my shopping and wrapping and hung out with my friends at the Mall. The weight in my crotch from the chastity device was something I no longer noticed; I was still aware of it on a subconscious level, but other than when I went to the bathroom, when I had to sit to piss to make sure it didn't splatter on my pants, it didn't really interfere with my life except when I got hard and had to suffer through the cramps I got from the restriction. The combination of the plastic cock ring that formed the base of the cage and the curved shape of the device itself made a bulge in my pants, especially khakis, but I got around this by sort of tucking everything down into a jock strap when I needed to, which made the bulge less noticeable.
Whenever the phone rang, I leaped for it. And when I heard Dexter's voice on the line, my cock jumped. "Hey, whore. Merry Christmas. I had planned to have you over tonight for some special eggnog, but you have to be penalized a day for calling me and begging for my cock. How does that make you feel?"
"Frustrated," I said to which Dexter chuckled.
"Been hard much?" he asked.
I fought back the temptation to be a smartass. I was pretty sure that's what he was provoking so that he would have an excuse to either inflict some new, cruel punishment on me tomorrow or to postpone my chance at relief. "Yes, Sir."
"Good. I'm feeling festive. What does your family do for Christmas?"
"We open presents in the morning and then have dinner in the early afternoon." I said.
"Just you and your parents?"
"My uncle's family, too. We alternate each year, and this year it's his turn to come here."
"How cute," Dexter replied. I thought about Dexter, alone in his big house, his parents off in Europe without him. I wondered what he had been doing to pass the last few days; I wondered whether he spent much of the time planning something for me. Something for my benefit? Probably not. I shoved that thought aside as he continued.
"Here's the plan. I've sent you an email, and you're going to look at it all. Afterward, you're going to reply, describing in detail what you've seen and its effect on you. This is due by midnight tonight." It was about seven now. "Before you start, though, I want you to put on your collar. You'll wear it until you arrive here at my house twenty-four hours from now."
"But what about my family?" I interrupted. "What do I tell them?"
"Tell them you're my bitch.” Dexter yelled, “Tell them that you wear that leather collar because you're a cock hungry faggot. Tell them you want to slurp my spunk down, and this is the only way you're going to get it." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "What the fuck do I care what you tell them? Improvise. Do I have to do all the thinking for you?"
"No Sir," I mumbled.
"You'll be here at least one night, maybe two, but no more. If your parents are prone to worry, you might want to tell them that in advance.”
I had been trying to think of how to explain to them I was going out on Christmas night at all, and now I had to explain my absence overnight ... and maybe longer. "Yes Sir," I answered, but the line was already dead. I replaced the phone in its cradle and looked at my computer. With growing trepidation, I sat down in front of it, logged in, and there it was: Dexter’s email with an attachment. My cock swelled in its cage, and I was tempted to open the message right then to end the suspense, but I remembered my orders: I had to put on the leather collar first, and it was in the glove compartment of my car.
I stood and wasted a futile minute hoping my cock would go down, but eventually, I gave up and decided to make a break for it before the erection and its tell-tale bulge worsened. I darted down the steps and out through the kitchen’s back door, narrowly missing an encounter with my parents in the living room. I trembled as I unlocked my car in the frosty air; it was both a reaction to the cold, against which I was pretty lightly dressed, and from my predicament. I popped open the glove compartment, reached in, and took out the object that signified my station in life. My cock throbbed as my fingers closed on the smooth, cold leather. I shuddered from both the cold temperature as well as the tight plastic around my engorged dick as I closed a fist around the collar and rammed both hands into my jeans.
I returned inside through the kitchen door, but this time I ran into my Mom. "Jackson, you should be wearing a coat if you're going outside," she scolded. I accepted her rebuke and quickly stepped around the island countertop, putting the structure between my rampant arousal and my unsuspecting mother.
"Hey, Mom, a friend of mine is having a Christmas party tomorrow night. I know it's Christmas and Uncle Jack will be over, but I was wondering if I could go," I ventured cautiously.
She frowned at me. "Jackson, it's Christmas night, couldn't your friend have picked a better time for a party?"
I faked a sly grin before turning my face to the floor. "Well, his parents are out of town, and this was a great opportunity for a party. And I mean, sure, it's Christmas night, but it's a Christmas party after all." My mom was pretty cool, and we usually shared an honesty about my social life that won me a lot of latitude. Providing the shadier details of some of my plans had earned me permission to go out a number of times before, probably because she appreciated that I wasn't going behind her back. I kind of felt guilty using her trust against her this time, but the tactic worked.
She contemplated for a few minutes. "Well, OK, Jackson, as long as you're here through dinner. Just don't do anything to get arrested, eh?"
I looked up at her and smiled, my sincere gratitude overwhelming the shame I felt inside. I turned and headed for the hall and the stairs, and as I made my way through the doorway I called back over my shoulder, "Thanks, Mom. By the way, I may plan to spend the night, just to play it safe," and I darted up the stairs before she could protest.
Once in my room, I locked the door, something I never did because my parents never tried to come in unannounced. Nevertheless, I felt a sense of foreboding about this email, and I wanted to ensure my privacy. I took the collar out of my pocket and shakily fastened it around my neck. It felt strange, having been off for so long, and especially to be wearing it now, here in my own room in my own house. The leather quickly warmed around my neck, and I moved in front of my computer and sat down. I clicked the email message and read the text that awaited me.
"Jackson Owens," the message began, "This is your mission, should you choose to accept it. First, I want you to strip. I want you to take off every article of clothing except the collar that should be around your neck right now. When you're naked, I want you to stand in front of a mirror." I was lucky because I had a large mirror on the inside of my closet door. I quickly stood, shrugged off all my clothes, kicked off my shoes, and rolled my socks into the floor.
"While you're collared, totally naked and looking at yourself in the mirror," the message continued, “think about yourself. Look at my property. Think about the fact that you're owned. Reflect on the fact that, regardless of how this began, you are where you are right now because you want to be here. You begged me for my cock. You begged me to fuck you. You begged me to feed you my cum. Even when I cut you lose, you made the choice to come back to me. You are my slave because you want it.
"I want you to stare at your body. As you take in the sight, remember that it is mine. Everything you see is mine. I want you to know that we both know that I control it. I control what you wear now; you're naked because I have ordered it. I control your involuntary biological functions; and that pubic hair that's starting to grow back by now? It was shaved because I ordered it. And rest assured, that stubble will soon be gone as well. I control your sexual outlet. You will not get a release, your cum will not spew and, in fact, your cock cannot even grow fully erect, unless I order it.
"Now go do it. Examine my property in the mirror," the message concluded. "And when you're ready, click on the attachment."
I stared at the text in front of me. Every word was true. I stood, walked unsteadily to the closet and opened the door. I looked at myself in the mirror - I saw everything above my navel. My skin was pale and the cold had risen goosebumps on my chest and forearms - well, it was because of either the cold or Dexter's words. My nipples were hard and, on glancing down, I knew the cock cage was full, too. I slowly moved my eyes up over my torso, the email echoing in my head. My chest was smooth, as always, and I stopped to look at my nipples: the tender flesh was tightly clenched. My eyes traveled still upward over my neck, where I wore Dexter's collar. I was mesmerized. "You are my slave because you want it," Dexter had written.
I stood there dumbfounded. Frightened. Lustful. Enslaved. I stared for a long time, motionless until I couldn't look into my own eyes anymore. I turned my face down, quickly taking in the reflection of my own pecs, biceps, abs, until my gaze rested on my feet. I was broken.
My legs felt like lumber, senseless, dead, as I walked back to my chair and sat in it. I clicked on the JPEG attachment; it opened. It was a montage of still images, presumably from the DVD Dexter had burned on our second night together. The night I had begged to be fucked, the night I had been shaved. The images were crystal clear, unmistakably showing my face and body in various emotional states, from reluctance to lust, from pain to pleasure. It showed all the vile acts, a faceless man whose cock I sucked, who spewed cum into my gaping, eager mouth and onto my face. It showed the faceless man plunging his cock into my ass. The final image focused on me as Dexter lied to me, telling me we were being broadcast to my friends. I was staring, horrified, directly into the lens. In subtle colored text at the bottom of this last image, there was a message. "And prepare for others to know what we know, too."
Christmas morning - I woke up nervous. I was nervous because I always was, just like a little kid. There's something about Christmas that does that, I guess. Maybe some people grow out of it, but not me. But this time I was nervous because I had been naked and hard all night and because I knew I was going to see Dexter tonight. Maybe I would get to suck him off. Maybe I would get fucked. Maybe he would let me cum. I was nervous because I wanted to know what he had in mind for me, what he had meant by others knowing what he and I knew. I was nervous because I had to wear Dexter's collar all day and I hadn't thought of how I was going to pull that off yet.
I stood in front of my closet, wishing I had a turtleneck like Dexter had worn at the Mall. It was ironic that I never wanted one before; I thought turtlenecks were too gay. I took out one of my Oxford button-downs, a deep, French blue. I put it on and checked the collar. It covered the leather on the back and sides, but not the front unless I fastened the top button. I debated doing that, but I never did that, so it would be too conspicuous; the only way out was a tie. The shirt and khakis wouldn't be too surprising; I wore them all the time. Sure, usually not at 8:00 on Christmas morning, but I could probably get by without it being a big deal. But a tie? My hand brushed my bare ass as I tucked the shirttail into my khakis. I had never worn a jock strap Christmas morning, either, but I also had never been locked into a chastity device that needed to be molded down tightly to my body before either.
I reached up to the closet shelf and pulled down a couple of sweaters. One was white, a crew neck. It might work. I pulled it on. Kind of warm, but, hey, it was December. Pulling the sweater slightly back on my shoulders raised its collar a bit, which helped hold the collar of my shirt closed. Maybe a little risky, but it was the best solution I could think of.
Later, my sense of trepidation grew as I drove to Dexter's house. All day I had been fine, even though I spent a lot of conscious effort turning my thoughts to other things whenever he, my assignment, or the prospect of sexual release came to mind. As I parked in his driveway, my nerves were shot but my cock was rock hard in spite of the cage that imprisoned it.
I got out of the car, took my position on the front stairs, and disrobed as had become my familiar practice. Naked, I rang the bell. Minutes passed as I shivered, but eventually, the door opened; Dexter was standing there in a blood red robe, his hair still wet, apparently fresh from the shower. He looked amazing in it, his blond hair and glasses softly reflecting the light with the smooth, pale skin of his arms, legs, neck, and face exposed around the margins of the soft cotton.
"Not a word," he directed as he motioned me through the doorway. He reached over my shoulder with one hand to close the door and spun me around with the other hand so that I faced away from him. He pushed me tightly against the inside of the door and stepped in closer. I could feel the heat of his body emanating from the inch or so that separated us, and I felt his breath on my neck. Holding me to the door with one hand pressed between my shoulder blades, he untied his bathrobe and moved up against me. His cock was hard as it pressed into my ass cheeks, and I whimpered softly as my own erection was constrained inside the plastic rings.
"Do you want me to fuck you?" he whispered in my ear. Remembering his order not to speak, I nodded. "Do you want me to fuck you here?" he asked, his mouth moving closer to my ear. I nodded. His body was hot against mine, my own flesh still cool from the outside exposure. I could tell by his heavy breathing that he was ready to take me right then and there. I knew, after three days, that I sure as hell was ready to be fucked, too. All I wanted was for him to unlock the goddamned padlock trapping my cock, but I knew better than to ask. I whimpered again as the cock cage bars kept biting into me, my cock head wedged tightly up against the end of the cage.
Dexter's hand never left the spot between my shoulder blades, but I felt his other hand slide down my side, then slip between my belly and the door, then to the cage. "I was right," he said softly. "You are getting some stubble. We're going to take that off, right, bitch?" I nodded again. "And you remember that I said that there would be a price if you didn't keep it shaved, right?" I groaned. I had forgotten. Reluctantly, I nodded again. His hand slipped back around my hip onto my ass cheek. I felt him line up his cock into my crack, pointing it into my hole. His hand then moved to my throat, his fingers and thumb resting where my neck met my collarbone, just below the collar. I felt him lean away, the hand on my back holding me to the door and the hand on my throat giving him the leverage he needed.
"This is the price," he said. "I’m going to fuck you dry, hard, and without any mercy. You get to keep your dick imprisoned in your cock cage,” Dexter said coldly.
Power of the Nerd: The Sequel
Part 5 of 6
With that, I felt him thrust up into me with his hips. The friction was incredible as he forced his long rod into my hole. I hadn't had anything in there for days, and the absence of lube made the pain unimaginable. I cried out as he sank himself into me in one stroke. The sensation did nothing to discourage my hard-on; if anything, it swelled more and with more persistence against its prison, and I felt the distinct sensation of precum oozing from my slit, seeping through the cage bars. For the first time in days, the pain of the device cramping my erection was drowned out by the fire in my ass. As with the first time he had fucked me, Dexter caused what felt like a muscle cramp in my anal ring, only this time he took no time to allow me to acclimate to the sensation or to relax. And this time, without lube, the burn extended up the length of my cunt to the depth of his penetration. As he buried himself inside me, tears came to my eyes.
He held himself there for a moment, more to enjoy the sensation of my ass on his dick and my hole clamped around its root, than to give me a break. His chest was still leaning away from my back, his body curved like a bow as he stood on the balls of his feet to press his straw-colored pubes against my bare ass. I knew I could have thrown him off me; I knew I could end it at any time - I was stronger, taller, and more athletic. But I was his bitch. I knew it and he knew it. It might have physically resembled rape, the way he took me without mercy or care for my pleasure, but emotionally – even despite the pain – it was something I needed, and for my disobedience, something I had deserved.
He pulled back, almost all the way out, and I grunted from deep within my chest. The motion pulled my hips back with him, back away from the door. He pistoned back into me with greater force than the first stroke and my breath caught in my throat. The plastic clutching my cock slammed into the door, forcing my cock to bend down and away, the impact bruising the skin between the cock ring-like base and my pubic bone. He repeated the motion once more, and then pulled completely out. I felt him step away from me, and I slumped limply when his hand released me from the door. I felt him take my shoulder and turn me again, and I dropped my eyes shamefully to his feet as I faced him. He took my chin in one hand and tilted my face to his. With the heel of my palm, I cleared the tears from my eyes as he looked intently at me. His expression was stern but not angry or malicious.
"Now you know that I can do it - fuck you so it hurts. And now you know that you'll take it. Don't make me do it again. Now get upstairs and fix the problem." I opened my mouth to apologize, but he caught me. "I said not a word, didn't I? So go."
In the bathroom I placed my collar on the vanity, I turned on the shower, and I stepped in. The wet-dry electric razor was on a shelf of the shower stand, so I took it and set about my task. However, it proved to be impossible for me to shave the underside of my sac with the chastity device on, so I moved up to shear off the stubble that had grown between my hips and over the base of my cock. As I finished, the shower door slid open and Dexter, naked, stepped in with me. He held a key with which he unlocked the cock cage, and for the first time since Monday, my cock sprang loose. But he only removed the front part; he left the base ring still on me. It immediately snapped up to attention, and the freedom felt incredible. Dexter watched me as I maneuvered the razor over my sac, pulling it down with one hand to tighten up the skin. He then reached over and took the razor from me.
"Bend over and pull your cheeks apart," he said. I obeyed and he quickly eliminated any regrowth on my ass. When he turned off the razor, he slipped a finger into my ass. My hole was still sore from the punitive penetration in the foyer, but the warm water provided enough lubrication to allow me to enjoy feeling something inside me again. Leaving his finger in my hole, Dexter replaced the razor in the shower stand and moved in behind me. With his free hand, he pulled me by my shoulder to a standing position. His finger fucked its way in and out of my ass as he pressed me forward into the cold shower tile. When I could move forward no further, he added a second finger and increased the speed with which they entered and retreated. My cock throbbed, firmly sandwiched between my abdomen and the wall of the shower. I moaned loudly at the sensation and began to rock my hips against his hand, dragging my cock up and down the wet tile.
"If you cum before I tell you to, that cage is going back on and it may not come off before Christmas break is over," Dexter warned as he pulled his fingers out. He quickly stepped up and resumed the position he had taken downstairs: one hand between my shoulder blades holding me against the wall, the other at the base of my throat. He thrust his rigid dick into me in a single stroke, but the water cascading over us and the loosening of my hole with his fingers made all the difference between the fuck downstairs and the fuck I was getting now. I whimpered, not with pain, but with pleasure as his dick repeatedly banged its way over my prostate and into my guts. He plunged into to me quickly and made a slow, lingering withdrawal, pulling my hips slightly down. Then the ever-forceful, determined re-entry rammed into me again.
My moans became pleas for him to stop, to slow down because I could feel the cum churning in my balls. The base of the cage, the plastic ring he had left on, bound my balls up to my cock like a cock ring and was not helping to delay my pent-up orgasm as my oversensitive and long-deprived dick slipped up and down over the smooth, wet tile. "God, Sir, please! I can't hold it back! I can't! It's been too long! Please, stop! Oh, God, it feels so fucking good!"
Dexter said nothing but his grunting became more primitive behind me, louder and more urgent as I tried to clamp my muscles down to hold back the flood of cum I felt building up. The tightening effect on my ass did nothing to impede the progress of his rod into or out of me, but I felt his fingers and thumb press subconsciously harder onto each collarbone as he applied more force to his stroke to penetrate me. With my dick rubbing against the shower wall, it was like someone beating me off; I was going to cum if he wouldn’t let me move away from the tile.
As if he read my mind, Dexter suddenly pulled me back from the wall that my dick was rubbing against. His cock was buried inside me as we backed away, and he leaned forward to bend me over. I bent at the knees and waist, resting my palms on my kneecaps as he resumed his frenetic pace. The pressure in my ass and the pounding of my prostate continued unabated, but at least there was no friction on my cock, which now pulsed and drooled in mid-air.
I felt some relief for a few minutes, although I knew I was too close - the slightest additional simulation would set me off. I could feel his cock swelling inside me, and I feared that his orgasm alone would be enough to send me exploding. But then I felt one hand clamp around my balls. A dull ache quickly spread up my gut as he held them tightly, not crushing them, but applying enough pressure to make me clench my hole and cheeks around his cock. It was also enough to distract me from the sensation as he came inside me. "Fuck!" he shouted. "Fuck, bitch, I'm unloading in your pussy again! Jesus Christ, you have one hot, slutty, fucking cunt hole!" He almost collapsed on my back as the water flowed over our bodies. He left his rod soaking in his load in my hole as he panted, trying to catch his breath. As the minutes passed I held us both up, and then I felt him slowly pull out of me.
He reached over and turned the water off. "Dry me off," he ordered. I gingerly stepped out of the shower, my ridged dick bouncing as I did, and I took a towel and returned to the shower. I started at his head, tousling his hair, and progressed down his chest. He turned away from me and I repeated the gestures on his back, finally kneeling down to wipe the beads from his ass, legs, and feet. He turned and I worked my way back up the front of his legs, softly drying his cock and balls, and then I patted his pubes.
I looked up into his eyes as I knelt there, and as he looked down at me, I glanced at his cock, still half-hard in front of my face. I looked back at his face and sought permission. I could see the deliberation in his gaze and, after a pause, he nodded. I smiled in thanks and leaned in to take the spongy head between my lips. My eyes remained locked on his as my tongue slowly teased around the hot plum.
He closed his eyes and opened his mouth, a long, hushed sigh escaping from his lips as I sucked more shaft between mine. When my nose was pressed against his pubic bone, I clamped my lips tight and emptied the air from my mouth, sucking on him hard. I could feel the blood flowing, causing his cock to lengthen into my throat and swell. Without releasing any of the suction I had created, I began to pull my head back away from him. He groaned loudly as his eyes opened, the skin of his dick growing taut as I pulled away. He buried his hands in my sopping hair, and I tasted a trickle of cum, some residue left in his tube that I had sucked out. As I felt the rim of the head locked between my lips, I firmly pressed the tip of my tongue against the underside of his knob and rubbed vigorously from side to side. After several moments Dexter tried to pull me off, but for the first time in the week since I had become his slave, I resisted.
I raised my hands to cup his ass and held on tightly. I slurped his rod back down into my throat and tried to swallow him whole. Next, I repeated the suction and the long, slow pull back from his crotch. His legs quivered. "Christ, stop it, Jackson! It's too much!" he yelled as he tried to wrench my head away, but I wasn't giving in to him this time. I was stronger than he was, and I knew what I wanted. His cock throbbed and fresh precum dribbled when I repeated the tongue work on the head. I tried to force the tip of my tongue into his slit, and he closed his eyes and threw his head back. "Stop it," he said again, but faintly this time, like a whisper.
I kept up that pattern until my knees were sore from kneeling in the shower. He had stopped protesting and had started rocking his hips with me as I alternately deep throated, then sucked, my way down his shaft. His fingers massaged my scalp as I worked, his head back, almost perpendicular to the floor, occasionally releasing throaty moans through his gaping mouth. I pleasured him mercilessly. I didn't care that he had just cum in my ass; he was young and he could afford to lose another load in my mouth. I wanted to taste him. I wanted to know I had made him cum with both my cunt holes. It was when I took one hand from his ass cheek and moved to caress behind his ball sack that he gave it up. He was mine as I sucked him dry. Unlike his lusty cry while fucking me, it was his turn to whimper as I pulled the load from the depths of his nuts. At least three shots fired, and even then I would not relent, suckling on his pulsing head even after the last trickle stopped. I swallowed it all.
He stood limply before me as he turned his head down to look at me. "Did you think that was going to convince me to let you cum?" I reluctantly let his dick pop free from my mouth, and I shook my head no as I licked my lips, still savoring his flavor. "Why did you do it then?"
"Because I needed to taste you. I needed to make you feel good. I knew you got off fucking me, but that was you taking me. I needed to give something to you. I needed to get you off with my mouth and throat," I answered. He looked down at me quizzically, then backed away a step as I stood stiffly and stepped from the shower. In the time since I had blown him, the water had evaporated from my body. I reached for my collar to replace it around my neck as he watched me, speechless.
But Dexter regained his composure quickly. He stepped over to me, at an arm's length, and held my chin firmly. His eyes burned into mine. "It felt good, what you did. And I'm still working on whether I believe why you did it. But remember who's in control here, and when I say stop, you better fucking stop." He released my chin and pulled his hand away, then sharply backhanded me across my face, first in one direction and then in the other. I don’t know what hurt more, my cheeks from his hits, or my feeling from his disapproval. I turned my face back to him and blinked away the pending tears. His face still bore an angry frown, but his eyes betrayed him. His eyes told me that he hadn't wanted to do it. He had done it to re-establish his control, and I knew that was something we both needed. What else I saw, in his eyes and in the tension of his posture, kind of surprised me: there was fear. He was looking at me tentatively, watching to see whether he had gone too far and whether, by adding an element of physical violence, he was provoking a reaction from me. He wanted to know if I would react violently in return.
I remembered how he had flinched when I had reached up to take his glasses off to kiss him the last time we were together, and how he had backed away from me when I suddenly stood and stepped from the shower - he knew I was stronger than he was. For all his control, he was still worried that I would turn on him. The realization only took fractions of a second, and so too did the acknowledgment that I needed his control. I needed him to know that I accepted our roles and would not rebel.
"Yes sir," I said, turning my face to the floor like a punished little boy. I could feel relief wash over him as he saw me relax and accept.
"Into the bedroom," he directed. I followed him across the hall into his room.
"I want you to lie down on the bed, on your back, and with your arms hanging off one side and your feet hanging off the other side."
I climbed onto the bed and assumed the position he had described. He opened the armoire and selected some plastic ties and casually tossed them onto the mattress at my feet. He then took a tie and walked to the side of the bed. Without looking at me, he tied my wrist to the bed rail that rang along the edge of the box springs and formed the support structure for the sleeping surface. With one wrist secure, he walked around to the other side, knelt on the corner of the bed by my feet, and used another tie to restrain my other wrist in the narrow space between the bed and the wall.
When he was done, I saw him looking down at my chest. With my arms pulled out and down this way, my pecs and abs were more starkly defined. He moistened his lips, and I knew that he was in turmoil. He wanted to reach down and stroke my chest, and probably to lean over and lick me and suck on my nipples, too, but the way he defined our roles in our relationship prevented him from doing that. The construction of my subordination required that he use me for his pleasure, but never reveal his lust for me. He had done that the first night we were together, and he had felt rebuffed. He didn't understand how much I had changed between that night, just one week earlier, and tonight.
He quickly looked away and stood. He walked over to his desk and unlocked a drawer, taking out lube, the vibrating butt plug, and the tit clamps. My erection, which hadn't even begun to subside, throbbed and drooled as I saw him walk to the bed with the toys. He saw it bobbing in the air and smiled wickedly. "You are not going to cum," he said as he lubed up the plug. He took his place between my feet, which hung over the edge of the bed, and took them with his free hand, one at a time, to bend my knee and swivel my hip so that the sole of each was planted on the corners of the mattress. My thighs were spread and my hole was exposed, and he lost no time in slipping the plug into me, burying it to the hilt in one stroke. I closed my eyes and groaned, pulling subconsciously at the bonds securing my arms as I felt it slide between my ass lips and into my gut.
"Jackson," he called softly. I opened my eyes and gazed down my torso and between my spread knees to look at him. He smiled wickedly again as he switched on the vibration. My cock twitched. Dexter walked up to the side of the bed and leaned over me, propping himself up with one hand. He used his free hand to begin torturing my nipples, pinching them first between his fingertips, then between his fingernails, then rolling them and pulling them up from my pecs. My face contorted with the pain of his tit work and the pleasure of the vibrations deep in my ass. The orgasm, which had been waiting in my balls for literally four days, and which had only been seconds away from spewing forth as I was getting fucked in the shower, began to churn in my sac again. The muscles of my groin began to tighten.
I clenched my eyes shut.
“Open your eyes.”
He had the tit clamps in his hand, but this time the black rubber tips were gone; it would be metal teeth biting me now. "Oh God, oh God, oh God," I chanted like a mantra. Then I felt the first tit clamp close on my nipple. I cried out and bucked my hips into the air, but he wasted no time repeating the procedure on the second nipple.
"Don't cum," Dexter said.
"Please, oh God, please!" I begged. My cock was throbbing in the air and my hips were rising up, trying to find some sort of friction as well as to find some escape from the sensation in my ass and crotch and the dulling pain in my nipples.
"Do you want it?" he asked.
"Yes, oh God, please yes, Sir!"
"Do you think you deserve it?"
"Please Sir, oh please let me cum!" I shouted.
"Tell me who else cheated on that calculus exam," he ordered.
"What?" I exclaimed, and just as if a bucket of ice water had been thrown at me, he immediately had my full attention.
"You said last week that cheating wasn't your idea. I want to know whose idea it was."
Now it was my turn to be speechless. He reached over and began to stroke his fingertips up and down the underside of my cock, from the root all the way up the cum tube to the head. He picked up some of the precum I had drooled and he massaged the viscous fluid into my cock head. I could feel the sensations building back up inside me as he teased me, and I became aware again of the pulsing inside my ass.
"No!" I protested.
He leaned over my crotch, wrapping one arm around my upturned leg for support and began to blow cool air over my nut sack. His fingers never stopped massaging my cock head except to run back down along my cum tube to retrieve more slime.
"No, no, no, no," I begged, my resolve softening. He then stood as my hips began to gently rock again, trying to find some way to avoid the pleasure in my ass. He walked to the foot of the bed and pulled my ankles down and apart and knelt between my spread knees.
"Tell me," he ordered.
"I can't!" I sobbed.
"Do you want to cum?"
"If you cum without permission, Jackson, it's over. You'll leave here tonight, and you'll never come back."
"No! No! No! No!" I was struggling hard against my bondage now, my head rocking side to side in protest and desperation. I began to thrash my legs, so Dexter pinned them down to the bed with his hands and then moved his legs to trap mine under him. One of his hands stroked my nut sack, which had tightened up, as my orgasm approached.
"Who was it, Jackson?"
"No," I whimpered. I was clenching every muscle in my body, focusing on clamping the prostate closed to hold back the tsunami of cum I knew was in my balls, ready to explode. I thought about that fucker, Paul Bryant, who got me into this with his stupid fucking idea about that stupid fucking calculus exam. I thought about what would happen if I shot my load - being dismissed from Dexter's house, never to return. Never being used again. Never having his cock inside me, inside my mouth or ass, ever again. I thought about the liquid fire churning at the base of my cock.
Suddenly I felt fingertips stroking the inside of my thigh and I couldn't hold back anymore. "Paul Bryant," I screamed. "It was his idea!”
As soon as the name was out of my mouth, Dexter gripped my cock tightly in his hand. "Cum," he ordered, and I obeyed with intensity. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe. I had no conscious connection with the pleasure that erupted between my cock slit. It began as if in slow motion as Dexter knelt between my knees, his legs pinning mine down, fisting my cock. Like hot magma, the cum exploded past my clenched prostate and through my cum tube and fired into the air. It rained down on my face, hair, chest, and the bed beneath me. I have no idea how many times I shot, or how long the orgasm lasted; I couldn't have told you what day it was or what my name was as I came. When at last the sensation began to ebb outwardly from my groin through to my legs and chest and out to every extremity, my brain left the place in the clouds where it had retreated and consciousness flowed back into me. My nipples, trapped in the steel clamps, were hard. The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up; I was covered in goosebumps.
I felt Dexter release my cock. He stood up and walked around to the other side of the bed, where he sat beside me. When I opened my eyes, which at some point had overflowed with tears, I blinked them away and saw him as he held his hand, drenched in my cum, to my lips. I opened my mouth and began to lap at the juice I had just coated him with. His free hand stroked my hair softly, and when his other hand was clean, he began to run his fingers through the pools on the sheets and on my chest and on my face, bringing each to my mouth to feed me. I was exhausted, mentally and physically. There was nothing left as I lay limp, eating from Dexter's hand the spunk I had spewed. My nipples ached, my guts vibrated.
And I had no idea what else lay in store for me.
Power of the Nerd: The Sequel
Part 6 of 6
I stood naked on the doorstep, as required, and rang the bell. I heard noisy footsteps and suddenly the door whipped open. Paul Bryant stood there with a cruel sneer. "So Jackson Owens is a fag? Well, get the fuck in here, bitch!" he ordered, grabbing my arm and pulling me inside. He unceremoniously shoved me backward and I sprawled on the floor just inside the door, which still gaped open. I saw him open his jeans. I could have overpowered him, but I was so stunned and in shock that I let him flip me over onto my belly and I felt his stiff dick ram into my ass.
I awoke with a start, my heart racing. What a nightmare! I was drenched in cold sweat and covered in goosebumps; my cock throbbed. I stared up at the ceiling in the pale, eerie light of that pre-dawn morning. Dexter slept silently beside me in his bed. I fought myself to control my heartbeat and breathing, then rolled onto my side and took in Dexter's slumbering form. He was undisturbed. His blond hair was mussed from the pillow.
He had untied me after I came, after I revealed Paul's name to him in a fit of lust; I had bargained Paul away for an orgasm. Dexter had walked me over to the bathroom, telling me that tomorrow – meaning today - I was going to be calling Paul and asking him to meet me here, at Dexter's house. I had pleaded with Dexter, asking to know what he had planned, reminding him that he had promised me that no one would know about our relationship. He told me that that meant that he, Dexter, would not be telling anyone about us. I wasn't going to argue the semantics of the point because the not-so-subtle message was clear.
We showered without anything sexual going on. How strange! After he turned the water off and I dried us both, he took the cock cage from the shower stand where he had placed it for my shaving and relocked it to the cock ring base that he had never removed. He then took me downstairs, he in his robe, I naked as always. He offered me supper, but I was still full from a large family Christmas meal I had eaten earlier, so he microwaved something from a freezer package for himself. Then we went into the formal dining room and he sat at the head of the long, richly varnished wood table and ate quietly. I stood behind him to one side as he ate; he made no offer that I sit nor order that I kneel, and I felt awkward not knowing what to do, so I did nothing.
"Can you wash this?" he asked as he handed me his dirty dish. His attitude had changed since my orgasm. It wasn’t that he was indecisive because he still acted with the same resolution of purpose, directed no doubt by some plan he had schemed out at my expense, but he seemed sullen, distracted, and almost weary. As I washed his dish, he padded off down the hall and the sound of the television told me he had gone to the great room. Once I finished I joined him there, and he pointed to the floor in front of the sofa where he sat, so I sat on the floor.
As each hour passed, I became more acutely aware of the solitude of his existence. Alone on Christmas, except for his sex slave who sat on the carpet. I turned my head several times to look back over my shoulder at him, but all I saw was the reflection of the television in his glasses, and then a flash as he changed to yet another channel. I wanted to touch him, to comfort him, to show him I felt sorry for him, but I knew I couldn't. I couldn't feel sorry for him because it wasn't my place to, and I couldn't touch him, either. Still, something inside me felt his loneliness and wanted to do something about it.
His parents obviously had a satellite system, because spending a minute on each channel took almost three hours; I actually lost track of the time. After all the hours of sex, showers, dinner, and television, it was after midnight when he finally sighed and clicked off the television. "You can sleep here on the sofa," he offered. The last time I stayed overnight, I slept on his bed, his cock still in my ass after I had impaled myself on it, but that night had not been planned; it had unfolded that way because we were each just too exhausted to do anything else.
"May I sleep with you, Sir?" I asked. He looked at me suspiciously and then gave in.
"Bring your clothes in off this porch this time," he ordered. "You can hang them up in the coat closet, then come up." He walked up the stairs slowly as I obeyed, retrieving my clothes and hanging them as I had been instructed.
I woke slowly, the clock showing 7:05 AM - twelve hours after I had arrived. Gingerly, I slid out from the covers, bracing myself in the cool morning air and checking to make sure Dexter was still asleep. I shivered as I crossed over to the bathroom. I craved clothing not so much for cover but for warmth, but I was certain I couldn't afford to put any on. I performed my morning ritual quietly. After using the toilet, I retrieved the wet-dry razor from the shower stand and began shaving my face.
While I shaved, I remembered what had happened on the last morning I had awakened here. Dexter had ordered me to make breakfast and I fucked it up. I went back to the bedroom where Dexter still slept and stood in front of his computer. It was still on, and a touch of the mouse caused the monitor to flicker to life. I keyed in a search to look for recipes and cooking instructions and wrote down what I wanted on a pad on his desk, and then I snuck downstairs to the kitchen.
He was still asleep when I returned, arms laden with a tray. I didn't know what he would want, so I made the omelet he asked for last time, egg whites with ham, tomato, and Muenster cheese. I had the toast, no butter, marmalade and grapefruit juice, too. And silverware. I also made French toast with cinnamon and powdered sugar. The kitchen was a mess, but I wanted to show off my feast before it got cold. I was damn proud of my second attempt at food service!
"Dexter," I called out softly and then gasped at my error. He stirred but didn't wake. I set the tray on the desk, moved to the bed and shook him slightly. "Sir?" He groaned and stretched, and as his mind clicked into gear, he sat bolt upright with a start.
"What?" He looked around quickly, ascertained that he wasn’t in danger, and then tentatively retrieved his glasses from the wide headboard. "What is it?" he asked.
"I made breakfast," I heralded, beaming. He looked at me, then over to his desk where I pointed and saw the tray, neatly arranged with food.
"Doing this shit isn't going to get you out of what's going to happen today, whore. Do you think I'm as stupid as you are?" His voice dropped.
My pleasant mood vanished and I reacted angrily for the first time in a long time.
"You know, it's going to be fucking impossible for me to ever do anything to make you happy if you keep second guessing everything I do," I lashed out. "I don't think about what plans you've got worked out for me. I worry about them, sure, but I know I can't do fuck about them, that this is your show. You want to use me? Humiliate me? Fine. You can. I didn't know what I wanted a week ago, and it pissed you off and maybe it hurt your feelings, but are you really so socially inept that you can't see that I've changed and that I'm trying to give you more now than you ever wanted then, and ... and ... "
My voice trailed off as I saw his face darken, literally and figuratively, as his eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed and blood rushed to his cheeks.
He took to his feet and stared me down coldly. I was older than he was. I was taller than he was. I was stronger than he was. I could whip his ass, and we both knew it. And yet I cowered.
"And what?" he dared.
I stared at him, eyes wide. I had no idea what he was going to do. I knew that if he reacted physically I’d just take it, but that didn't scare me. What scared me was what he might do, either with the DVD, the pictures, or if he were to order me to leave and never return. Timidly, I looked at the floor. "And what?" he repeated.
"And you’d rather throw it away to fuck me over, and fuck yourself in the process than to take it for what it's worth," I finished softly.
Silence. An eternity passed, and the tension grew with each breath. But then, at last, he spoke, and his voice was calm, cool, and controlled - as if nothing had happened.
"At nine o'clock this morning, as promised, you are calling Paul Bryant. You are going to have him meet you here by ten. You will beg him, you will plead with him to come here. You will tell him that I know he cheated too, and that if he is not here, you're both screwed. When he gets here, you will be dressed in the clothes you arrived in last night. You will say nothing. You will let him in; you will take him into the great room. You will then kneel in front of me where I sit on the sofa, unzip my pants, take out my cock, and blow me in front of him. I will explain to him how I caught you cheating, and that you told me it was his idea. I will give him the DVD, and then I will give him the option of staying while I fuck you, or leaving."
Silence. My heart stopped. My body was numb. I was paralyzed. A lump rose in my throat and, at first, I thought I was going to throw up.
"Jackson?" Dexter asked. I barely raised my head as I lifted my eyes to him. "Or you leave now, and it's over. Your decision. But, if you're staying, you need to go stand in the corner until you've pulled yourself together."
As he walked over to the desk, I saw the wonderful meal I had prepared for him and then the dam broke; I covered my face with my hands as I wept. Then I made my way to the corner.
I sobbed openly as I leaned against the wall. I could sense my life as I once knew it coming to an end. Part of me was blaming Paul Bryant and his fucking idea to cheat on the calculus exam, part was blaming Dexter, and part of my mind was telling me to leave. I could leave; Dexter had given me that option. I could leave, but I could never come back. All I had to do was turn around, walk downstairs, put on the clothes that I had hung in the coat closet, and leave. He had given me permission to leave, but I knew I wouldn't.
And it wasn't just cock. Hell, if Paul found out I was gay, the whole school would know in a week. I wouldn't then need to stick with Dexter just to have secret access to cock, to suck and get fucked with no one else knowing; many guys could fill that role. But if Paul knew, then my friends, my teammates, my parents, my teachers, even kids I didn't even yet know would know too. There would be whispers in the hallway as I passed: "There goes Jackson. He was the Class President and a soccer hero, but now he's a fag." And maybe there would even be worse things than whispers; I shuddered at the thought as the tears flowed. Anyway, if everyone ended up knowing, there wouldn’t then be any point in trying to hide it; I could then be as slutty as I wanted or, worse, as slutty as Dexter could program me to be. I could go to gay clubs and hook up with ‘dating’ sites online. BUT … it wasn't cock that made me stay, it was Dexter.
I wanted him. I liked the way he looked, I liked the way he controlled me, at least as long as it was private. He made me cum like I had never cum before. And now that I knew why he was being a jackass, I sympathized with him. No one should be alone like this, and I didn't want him to be. He didn't need to be - he had me if he wanted me. But he just wouldn't accept that; he just couldn’t see me as a companion, a friend, a lover, a boyfriend, but rather only as a toy and a slave, something to be played with and used. I had lost my chance to be anything else because I had been too afraid, too disgusted, and too angry with myself that first night we had sex. That’s why anything I did now would only be seen as an attempt to manipulate him, and that made me cry more. Me, one of the most popular guys at school, a real lady killer, weeping like a little girl.
Eventually, I stopped crying and stood, sniffling like a child, with my nose in the corner. I could hear him eating something behind me as he clicked around on his computer. Minutes passed. At last, he turned in his chair towards me and said, "Jackson, what the fuck are you still doing here?"
I turned to him, wiping what moisture still glistened on my cheeks away with my hand. "You told me to wait in the corner."
He stared at me. "You're going to fucking stay? You want to call Paul and suck me off in front of him?"
"No," I answered. "But what other choice do I have?"
"You have the choice of getting the fuck out of my house," he retorted.
"And then what, Sir?" I asked.
He shook his head in disbelief. "And then it's over."
I was dumbfounded. It was over. He was done. He had never had any intention of outing me to Paul, he had only intended to push me away. He had expected me to turn and run, and now that I hadn't, he had no idea what to do. "But why?" I asked.
"Jackson, my parents are coming home tomorrow. I can't have some jock slave boy showing up naked on my doorstep, begging me to feed him my dick."
"But you did this to me! I was fine, I was a happily repressed straight boy until you came along and fucked with me! Why did you pick me? Why did you make me come over here that night? Why did you make me suck you off, and fuck me?"
He looked at me intensely, then turned back to the computer. "Go home, Jackson."
I just stood there, astonished. He was done, but he didn't understand. He didn't understand that I didn't want it to be over. I walked over to where he sat at his desk and he looked up at me, that shadow of fear creeping into his eyes. I leaned over, rested my arms on the back of the chair, my face inches from his and said "You think I’ve been doing this because I need cock? That’s true, but my needs have changed. You think my making breakfast this morning was calculated so that I could get out of doing something I didn't want to do? You’re wrong. You’ve grown tired of playing this game, so you are trying to scare me off, but you don't understand what's happened. You don't understand that you're responsible.”
I continued, "You know that I know that there's nothing for me to get out of now since you were never serious. You were never going to make me call Paul; you were never going to out me, so explain this." And with that, I leaned in and kissed him.
He sat motionless, frozen. I moved back and looked at his face. He was staring, almost terrified, back at me. It was exactly as it had been that first night when he kissed me in the kitchen, but now the roles were reversed. I finally did it - I finally got ahead of him, and now he had no plan and he had no idea what to do. I leaned in and kissed him again and, as I held my lips to his, I felt the moment when his reluctance and confusion finally broke. Because I had exposed my true self to him, his lips parted and he brushed his tongue against my lips and his arms wrapped around my neck.
He was vulnerable after all; I could see it in his eyes as they pleaded with me. I knew I could crush him if I turned away or if I laughed at him, but that's not what I wanted. Not anymore and never again. I reached for his glasses and carefully removed them from his ears and set them aside. I smiled faintly and then I kissed him again. Then I took his arms and pulled him up from the chair. His cock was fully erect and as I pulled him into me, his dick bumped into the plastic cock cage I wore. It startled him, and he pulled back and looked down. He looked back up at me, and then opened the desk drawer and plucked out the key to the padlock.
He knelt and put his face close to the lock to be able to see it without his glasses. After he opened the cage and dissembled it, freeing my own hard-on, I was completely taken aback, flabbergasted, as his mouth closed around the head of my cock. I threw my head back and cried out as I felt him bury my shaft in his throat. I ran my fingers through his hair and held him there until I felt his hands on my hips, trying to push me back. Suddenly, I remembered: no matter what, he was still the boss. I dropped my hands and, as he slid off my cock, I looked down with concern. "I'm sorry, Sir," I said apologetically as he stood.
"No more ‘Sir’, Jackson," he said, as his mouth closed on mine. As we kissed, I wrapped my arms around him. I half carried, half dragged him to the bed as his hands closed behind my neck. I pushed him backwards onto the bed and knelt between his splayed legs, lowering my head and devouring his dick. He moaned and reached for my hair, but I intercepted his wrists and pinned his hands back down to the mattress. I swallowed him whole, to the root, and held him there, gulping his knob with my throat muscles before I pulled back. I moved my head down to his sac and inhaled it into my mouth, washing it with my tongue, weighing each nut, sucking it, then releasing it. I licked my way up his shaft again and swirled around the head. He called out my name again and again, and as his hips began to buck and roll under me, I rose.
I climbed onto the bed, straddling him. He lifted his head to watch me, and opened his mouth, expecting my cock. He lifted a hand to reach for it, but I surprised him again. I reached behind myself, gripped his beautiful hard dick and aimed it at my asshole and sat on it. His eyes closed and his face contorted with pleasure as his cock head slipped inside my ass. I jolted from the initial insertion, but slowly lowered myself onto him until I sat on his pubes. He opened his eyes and looked down his torso where he saw the root of his cock embedded between my ass lips. He turned his face to me, mouth wide open. I recognized his need so I leaned over him, planting my palms beside his head, and kissed him again.
He rocked his hips up against me and I rocked mine back as he lay and I sat. He wrapped his arms around my back and held me to him as we made love for the first time; the minutes wore on and time ceased to exist. At some point, he took my dick in his hand and slid it up and down the shaft. That sensation, together with the friction of the shaft in my hole, the fullness of his cock inside me and the pounding of his head against my prostate, overtook me.
I clamped my ass muscles down, squeezing his inserted dick as tightly as I could - that sent him over the edge. As he unloaded in my ass he simultaneously caused me to spray my spunk all over his abs, his chest, and even up to his face and hair. I leaned down and kissed him again. As the tide of ecstasy washed over me and then ebbed, I pulled my mouth away from his and, exhausted, let my body slump forward with his dick still in me. I rested my face on his shoulder and his neck. We lay limply like that, him still inside me, as I kissed the side of his neck.
In those minutes we had consummated a profound change in our relationship, and we knew that his control over me was greater now than it had ever been before.
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