Contracted To Justin - Chapter Ten
NOTES>> This is the tenth chapter in the Contracted To Justin series. Safe sex doesn't appear in this story all that often, but I trust it appears a lot in your own lives. Sex does appear quite often though, sometimes quite graphically, and invariably of the gay and BDSM nature, so only read on if the law of your chosen land allows. The copyright is all mine, subject to Nifty's rules on the matter.
Don't forget that I'm writing a second story concurrently with this one - 'Working For Darren' - which you can also read here on Nifty. Meantime, I hope this chapter pleases - lots of degradation, which seems to be especially popular!
Feedback always appreciated - do drop me an email to josh_armstrong2007@hotmail.com.
CHAPTER TEN: Toilet Time & Sex Shop
Perhaps I should explain a little about my job.
I worked in the IT department for a fairly big corporation - or at least I did on paper. In reality the rest of my department were based in another city, which meant in my own office I was a department of one. And for that reason I had my own little cubicle, next to an entirely different department that I had very little to do with. And because I worked in programme development - I wasn't the guy that fixed the printer or went round rebooting crashed computers, that was another department - I only regularly dealt with a small number of the other people who worked in my office. Even my direct boss had relatively little to do with my working day, because he wasn't an IT specialist, and really I was reporting to the bosses in the main IT department on the other side of the country.
None of which is really that relevant, accept that it meant there were no colleagues working directly next to or interacting with me, which meant there wasn't really anyone to notice when I returned to my desk a shivering wreck. Which was just as well that day, because shivering wreck was an understatement.
Prior to that day, my work situation had often depressed me a little. I found it hard to make new friends as it was, and because I had no real direct colleagues based in the same building as me I'd not really got to know anyone working at my company, not socially anyway, despite having worked their for over four years. I chatted with colleagues at specific meetings when they took place, and I corresponded by email and IM to some of the IT guys based in the head office, but that didn't really count. All of which meant my work life had often been as lonely as my home life pre-Justin.
But that day I was glad that my work life was pretty isolated.
My lunchtime at Doc Roberts surgery had really shaken me up. I think it was the thought of being made to serve, and be naked, and do all that other stuff, in such a clinical environment, away from my apartment, and in front of strangers, and without Justin leading the domination. And then there was the horribly embarrassing moment in the surgery lobby when a passer by had seen me, completely naked accept for my cock cage, desperately trying to gather up the clothes the doctor had thrown all over the floor. That had really thrown me, big time.
Once I'd finally found the courage to leave the surgery building I'd rushed straight back to my office without stopping. I kept thinking everyone I passed was staring at me. Earlier in the day I'd liked the fact that the cock cage, and the horrid scummy cummy jockstrap, and the embarrassing pink socks, all of which Justin had made me wear, reminded me of my new sub status, but without revealing it to everyone around me. Now I couldn't help thinking my hidden subservient attire wasn't so hidden after all. Nothing had changed of course, but my lunchtime at the doc's surgery had made be paranoid. I couldn't help but think every passer-by could see the shape of the cock cage under my trousers, or smell the rank pissy, cummy, vomity smell of the jock. And I kept finding myself looking down to my ankles to check that no one could see the tops of my socks, which proclaimed 'I suck cock' and 'I drink piss' of course. I'd originally planned to buy some lunch on my way back to the office, but as it was I didn't bother. The thought of standing in a queue at a sandwich shop, where people might get a closer look at the cock cage bulge in my pants, or smell the rank jock I was wearing, or read the words on my socks, was all just too much. I just wanted to be back at my desk, where my groin and feet could be hidden.
Not that I could have eaten anything anyway - I was so shook up my stomach felt really worse for wear - you know like it does when you're completely on edge and stressed? In fact, as I've said, I really needed to shit. That too was the nerves. I mean, I'd hardly eaten anything in the last three days apart from piss and cum (I'd had that large Sunday lunch I suppose, but I was sure I must have thrown most of that up during that horrific ball bashing). But the stress and nerves meant I wanted to shit anyway. Certainly there was no way I could have faced eating a sandwich in that condition. Though it did occur to me I should probably have stopped to buy some mints, because having been forced to drink a glass of my own piss by the doc my breath probably smelled really dodgy.
Having got back to the office, I sat at my desk for a good half hour doing nothing, except desperately trying to calm my nerves and steady my stomach and persuade my mind to focus on something other than being paraded naked around the doc's waiting room, and having his receptionist rub cream on my balls and ass, and being wanked off by that naked fifty-something sub. Because of the relative isolation, I'm pretty sure no one noticed. I wasn't completely closed in - and there were co-workers close enough to see and hear me if they so wished - but because I never really talked to them anyway, they rarely paid me much attention. Which is just as well - given my state that afternoon.
The pressing need to shit slowly started to dominate my thinking. And that put me more on edge, which made my stomach churn even more, which made me need to shit even more. The thought of shitting put me on edge because I was going to have to call Justin to ask for permission before having a piss or shit. Imagine if someone on one of the desks near mine overheard me asking someone for permission to shit - what would they think? And it would only take one person to hear for the whole of that department to be gossiping about my perverted phone conversations.
I spent a few minutes agonizing over what to do, until I managed to pull myself together for a minute or so, and hatched a safer plan. I'd go to the men's room on the floor downstairs where less people would recognise me, then I'd wait until it was empty and call him from there. Hopefully I'd get my permission before anyone else came in - meaning there was no danger of anyone hearing me talking to Justin.
That plan calmed me down quite a bit, so that I felt able to leave the security of my desk and go to the men's room.
A guy I'd never seen before was pissing at the urinal when I got there, but that didn't matter, I simply went into a cubical and waited for him to leave. Then I quickly got out my cellphone and dialed Justin's number. He let it ring eleven times before answering.
"What is it cocksucker?"
"Please master, I need to go to the toilet, can I have your permission?"
"Where are you?"
"I'm in the men's room in my office Master".
"Go back to your desk and call me from there, then I'll think about it".
And with that he put the phone down.
Shit.
So much for my plan.
As I said, although I worked in my own little cubicle, neighbouring colleagues could easily see or hear me if they chose to. I hoped to God they didn't watch or listen to this conversation. The thought that they might put my nerves totally back on edge again, meaning I was now really desperate to shit, meaning I really need to make this call. Nevertheless, it took me five minutes sitting back at my desk before I plucked up the courage to call Justin back.
"You took your time cocksucker".
"I'm sorry master" I said, quietly, hoping that no one near by would hear what I said, while praying Justin wouldn't insist I speak up. Fortunately he didn't.
"What were you doing?"
I couldn't think what to say to that. I decided to go with honesty. "I'm really embarrassed about calling you at my desk, so it took me a few minutes to find the courage to make the call".
He laughed. "Ah sweet, the cock sucker's feeling embarrassed about having to say a few rude words. No problem parading around his doctor's waiting room with his filthy dick on show for all to see, but he struggles with his toilet words". I wondered if that meant he'd spoken to Doc Roberts, or if he just knew that a visit to Doc Roberts on a Monday lunchtime would inevitably lead to me, as a sub, being paraded around the wating room naked. I wondered whether I should point out to Justin that exposing myself at the Doc's surgery had been as embarrassing as hell also, but I thought better of it.
"So, what do you want?"
"Please master, can I go to the toilet".
"Piss or shit?"
"Both master".
"Ask me about each in turn".
I knew what he was doing. He wanted to make this as drawn out and embarrassing as possible for me.
"Please master, can I have a shit?"
"Yes".
"Please master, can I piss".
"OK, but here's what I want you to do. Take a glass with you and piss in that. Do that first, before you sit on the toilet. Then drink the piss. Once it's all drunk, then you have can your shit. You understand?"
"Yes master".
He continued to talk. "To be honest I'm surprised you didn't need to piss earlier than this. It's hours since you pissed at the flat this morning. That's a long time to go without pissing".
Fuck. I had pissed earlier. At the doctors. And without asking for Justin's permission. But did I need permission there? Shit, what do I say?
"Please master, I did piss at the doctors, because Doc Roberts told me to".
"You did what?" He'd sound amused so far, even when challenging me for not calling him back straight away, but now he sounded angry again. "Why didn't you call me for permission? Didn't I tell you to call me if you needed to piss?"
"Yes... but... I didn't think I..." I didn't know what to say.
"You just didn't fucking think at all did you? You fucking ingrate. I can't believe you'd do that. You're such a fuck up. A pathetic useless fuck up. You're going to pay for that piss boy, get your balls ready for another paddling, because you're going pay big time"
And then he cut me off.
Fuck.
I'd really really fucked up this time. The thought of taking another ball paddling really worried me. Big time. I wasn't sure I could take another ball paddling - mentally or physically. An ass paddling yes. Despite my genuine belief on Friday that I'd not survive a substantial ass paddling either, now I suspected that, in fact, I could. Even if he went over the 300 swats he'd administered the previous day. I mean, I could still feel every one of those swats on my desperately sore ass now, but I suspected I could take more if and when Justin wished. But another ball paddling? I wasn't sure I could do it. That had been by far the worse thing so far - and I'd really hoped it would be an incredibly rare event. A one off maybe.
But still. There was nothing I could do about it now. What was done was done. I should go have my shit, then try to focus, and perhaps do some work. What was going to happen when I got home later was going to happen whatever I did now. I had to stop stressing about it.
So that's what I did. I grabbed a large glass from the office kitchen and made my way back to the toilet downstairs again. I don't think anyone noticed I was leaving the room for the second time in ten minutes, nor that I was taking a large glass into the toilet with me. I hope no one did.
The men's room was empty this time, so I went straight into one of the cubicles. I decided to completely take off my trousers and that horrible jock strap, even for the pissing, because as I've said, it's quite hard to piss with the CD3000 locked around your cock and I didn't want to splash any piss onto my clothes. Actually, it worked quite well, and I quickly had an empty bladder and a glass full of piss. I put it to my mouth and, for the second time today, downed a glass full of my own piss. This time I didn't really need to down it in one go - no one was telling me to hurry - but actually I found it easier that way. Actually, I think I was already finding it easier to drink piss in general. Within a week or two it wouldn't bother me in the slightest, and as I've said before, in the end I'd grow to like it, really like it even - whether it be my own or, even better, someone else's, straight from the cock. Best of all, Justin's, straight from his cock.
But that was the future. For now I was just happy in the realisation that the piss drinking didn't seem as bad as it had 48 hours ago. And in the thought that I was now half way though this toilet visit - I could now have my shit, hope that settled my stomach a little, and then get back to work. Except, of course, I couldn't. I sat down on the toilet and was about to shit when I realized, once again, that doing so would make me fart. Fuck, why hadn't I thought of that? You nearly always fart when you shit, don't you? Which means [a] Justin would know that I'd fucked up because I was unlikely to shit without farting, and [b] I really needed to remember to always ask for permission to fart before I ask for permission to shit.
I got my cellphone out and called Justin for a third time.
"What?"
"Please master, please may I trump trump?"
"Oh for fucks sake, where are you?"
"I'm in the men's room again".
"Then go back to your desk and ask me there. Shit, you're really rubbish at this. Oh, and shit head, no pausing this time, call me as soon as you're back at your desk".
And with that he was gone gain.
Fuck, how could going to the toilet be so complicated? Because Justin wanted it to be I guess. As I put the horrible jock strap and my pants back on, and as I made my way back to my desk, I prayed to God that none of my work colleagues were paying any attention to my movements - I'd be soon going back to the men's room for the third time in half an hour, and that would look very suspicious. I rushed back to my desk, returning the glass I'd used to piss in to the kitchen on my way (don't worry, I rinsed it out). It occurred to me that if my breath had smelt pissy earlier, it would smell twice as pissy now.
As soon as I got back to my desk I called Justin again. His insistence I call him back straight away was a good thing really, because it meant I couldn't sit there for five minutes agonizing on when to make the call. And not doing the agonizing was a good thing. Especially as I still needed to desperately shit. And besides, at the end of the day there's no good time to have to ask your master for permission to 'trump trump' in potential earshot of your work mates. You might as well do it now as in five minutes time.
He let it ring fifteen times this time, then...
"Say it shithead".
"Please master, please may I trump trump".
"Yes, now stop bothering me with this shit. Oh, and talking of shit, no wiping when you're done, right? You never wipe down there. Pussy boys like you don't get to wipe".
And then he was gone again.
That last instruction, the latest rule that governed my new life, wasn't good. I won't go into details, because it's pretty disgusting, but when I did finally get to shit it was quite liquidy, if you know what I mean. That's what it's like when you're all nervous or stressed out, isn't it? I did all the shaking of my ass I could manage, but it was definitely still a bit damp down there as I pulled up my jock and trousers. The jock didn't offer any protection to my crack, of course, so any shitty moisture there would just soak straight into my trousers. I hoped to hell it wouldn't stain or smell.
Though to be honest, what with the jock strap and my pissy breath, I was already a bit of a stink, I doubt a bit of shit would have made all that much difference. Thank God I wasn't needed in any meetings that day - then people would surely notice the smell. As it was I think I got away with it though, despite my best intentions to get back to work after going to the toilet, the thought someone could smell my stink, coupled with the thought that I might now stink this way on other days when there would definitely be meetings to attend, kept me really stressed out. I tried to work, but found it hard to concentrate on anything.
And the last hour was the worst. Thanks to Justin again. At half four he'd called me.
"Yes Master".
"Ah fuck boy, there you are. I've got a chore for you. On your way home I want you to go to the sex shop on North Row, just off Chapel Street. I've put in an order for you, and you need to pick it up. Tell them that you're Justin's pussy boy and that you're there for your naughty toys. You'll have to use those exact words or they won't give them you. And there'll be some charges to pay too".
"Please master, I only have the five bucks you gave me for lunch".
"Why didn't you buy lunch?"
"I didn't have time master".
"Well, that's not good enough. You've got to eat".
"I'm sorry master".
"Well, I'm not having you stock piling cash. I want you to rip that money up and put it in your bin"
"But master, how will I pay for the toys?"
"You're naughty toys?"
"Yes master"
"Say it".
"My naughty toys, master".
"I'm sure you'll think of something". And he hung up again.
What the fuck did that mean?
And what toys?
And which sex shop?
Is it any wonder my mind continued to race for my last hour at work? I subtly ripped up the cash he'd given me and threw it in my bin, and then started to panic about the chore I'd just been given. By the time 5.30pm came round I was so nervous I really needed to shit again, but there was no way I was going through all that again.
Instead I made a quick exit from work and head straight for Chapel Street. I wanted to get this chore done as quickly as I could. I had no idea what Justin had planned for me that evening - there was a very real chance it would be ten times worse than anything that had happened to me so far that day in terms of pain or degradation - but somehow the thought of being in my own apartment, however painful or degrading what happened there may be - seemed very desirable compared to what had happened to me so far that day, and what could happen on my visit to this sex shop. Despite everything, home now seemed very secure.
Chapel Street I knew well, and it only required a slight detour from my normal route home - though it meant I took the bus instead of the usual metro. I already knew that there were a number of sex shops on the side roads that ran off Chapel Street, though I didn't know which side street was North Row, nor what to expect when I got there. I'd never been in a sex shop in my life. I'd past a few while walking round town - it was hard not to - but I'd never considered going in one. I sometimes wondered who did in this day and age - surely most people preferred the privacy of ordering sex toys and porn on the internet? But enough people must have still used them to justify the twenty odd that seemed to do a good trade in the Chapel Street part of town.
I came across North Row much sooner than I'd expected, though my immediate happiness in finding it so soon quickly disappeared when I looked along it. There were five sex shops on North Row. Which one did Justin mean? Why hadn't he given me a shop name? Didn't he know there was more than one sex shop on this street? He must do. Shit, I was going to have to call him again.
"Hello cocksucker, what can I do you for, looking for a cock to suck?"
That threw me - I'd not expected Jay to answer Justin's cellphone.
"Please sir, is Justin there?"
"Master Justin to you surely?"
"Yes sir, Master Justin, is he there sir?"
"No".
Thrown gain. Fuck, how was I meant to know which sex shop to go in?
"Please sir, do you know which sex shop I'm meant to be going to, Justin, I mean, Master Justin, just said North Row, but there are five sex shops here".
"I'm afraid I've no idea fuck face".
"But what should I do? I have to pick some things up for Master Justin"
"Well, try them all. Say your magic words and see which one hands over the goods. Catch you later, shit features".
In a rare moment of clarity it immediately clicked what was happening here. Justin knew how many sex shops there were on this street. But he'd deliberately not told me which one he'd placed an order with. And he was almost certainly with Jay right now - certainly he'd briefed his protégé what to say. He'd set me up. I was going to have to pick a random shop, and go in, and tell the staff there that I was Justin's 'pussy boy' and that I was there to pick up my 'naughty toys'. And there was only a one in five chance it would be the right store. Walking into a sex shop and saying all that stuff was gutting in itself - going into the wrong sex shop and saying it was beyond gutting. I was considering calling Justin's cellphone again and begging that Jay or Justin tell me which shop I was picking my stuff up from. And, despite knowing doing that would most likely be futile, I probably would have done, had a text message not arrived at that second.
"Stop dithrng + do it pssy boy - pck a shp, any shp - ur fkd if u pick the wrong 1 - ha ha - Jay"
Despite that order, it took me another five minutes of further procrastination before I picked a shop. Firstly I tried to decide which looked the least sleazy - I'd try that one first - it would be less embarrassing. Except, it then occurred to me that I was going to have to talk sleazy, and it would probably be less embarrassing doing so in the sleaziest of these sex shops. Plus Justin would pick somewhere really sleazy for me to go to, wouldn't he? Or would he? As I thought about it, I realized it didn't really matter - all five of the shops on this street looked really sleazy. I suspected this was the sleaziest bit of the city's sex shop community. In the end I just opted for the one nearest to where I was standing.
It was busier than I'd expected. Obviously you can never see inside sex shops from the outside, but I'd never expected them to have so many customers. And a real curious mix of customers too - men, women, smart, scruffy. This made it all so much worse. I could just about stomach the thought of having to say what I had to say to a sex shop employee - they surely heard similar crap all the time. And if a few dirty old men, or obvious BDSM scenesters, overhead me, well I could probably cope with that. But there were so many 'normal' looking people in this shop. Normal's probably the wrong word - but you know what I mean.
I browsed and loitered for a couple more minutes - though I couldn't really tell you what I looked at (I think I flicked through some racks of porn DVDs) because I was panicking so much about what I was going to have to do. I considered leaving and trying another shop, or leaving altogether and just taking whatever Justin dealt in punishment for not doing the task he'd set, but, even as I was seriously considering that option, I suddenly found a previous untapped source of courage within and found myself walking quite assertively to the counter. There was a scruffy looking guy in his twenties and a leather glad middle aged women serving.
I caught their attention and I said it: "Please sir, I'm Justin's pussy boy and I'm here for my naughty toys".
The guy started laughing, and I'm pretty sure a couple of customers near by giggled too, but I was riding on this wave of courage now, so it strangely didn't both me. And the woman was really nice about it - which helped a lot. She said, in a friendly voice, "sorry love, I think you've got the wrong shop". Still in courage mode I responded, confidently, "I'm sorry miss, you must be right", and I walked straight out of the shop, with my head held high, and straight into the next shop along, where I repeated the process. Again I refused to be embarrassed about being in the wrong shop, despite the laughing assistants, and again I responded confidently "I'm sorry sir, you must be right" when one of them told me I was obviously in the wrong place, before storming straight onto the third store and then the fourth.
I was in autopilot by now, so much so that when I told the guy behind the counter in the fourth store "Please sir, I'm Justin's pussy boy and I'm here for my naughty toys", and he responded by saying "OK fuckboy, follow me" I very nearly delivered my confident apologies and stormed out of the shop.
Strangely, and unfortunately for me, as soon as I'd registered what he'd said my burst of courage vanished as quick as it had arrived. My stomach started churning again, and my mind started racing anew. I'd been so worried about what I had to say when I got to this sex shop, I'd not really considered what would happen once I'd delivered my line. That question now filled my mind. Where was this guy taking me? He was probably about my age, perhaps slightly younger, but he looked much tougher than me. He had a skin head haircut, was wearing leather trousers and tight black leather vest - both ears were pierced and he had tattoos on both arms. I know you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, but while you'd never guess Justin or any of his friends were into the BDSM scene when you first saw them, you'd probably not be surprised to find out this guy was. I followed him behind another counter at the far end of the store, and through a curtained off door way, and up some stairs, through another curtain, and into moodily lit room.
I looked around me, and if I'd been nervous before, it was nothing compared with now. The main room of this shop had had the same rows of porn, and kinky underwear and fancy dress, and shelves of dildos, vibrators, cock rings, lubricants and novelty condoms all of the other sex shops I'd just visited had boasted. But this room was in a whole different league. Ropes, chains, scaffolds, whips, paddles, gags and every BDSM device I had ever seen pictures of, or read about, or imagined, and a whole load more were lined up on shelf after shelf (a number of things I could see I had no idea what they could be used for). There were four people browsing - one of whom was wearing just a pair of denim shorts, very revealing shorts, not altogether unlike the ones Justin had made me wear the previous day. He was diligently following another fully dressed guy around the store - so I guessed the half naked guy was a sub, and the guy he followed his dom. I wondered to myself whether Justin would ever take me shopping like that. The thought of that, coupled with all this merchandise around me, excited me a little and I could feel my dick pushing against the sides of the CB3000. Though the excitement was tempered with a real sense of fear. Being in this place on my own with these strange guys was very very unnerving.
There was yet another counter in this bit of the shop, and behind it there was another guy about my age. Ironically given the surroundings, he was wearing a pair of jeans and t-shirt - pretty smart and fashionable clothing - looking a bit like he worked in a high street fashion store rather than a BDSM sex shop.
"This is Justin Ford's bitch, he's here to pick up his package" the vest guy said.
"Ah, about time too" the smart guy replied. "There's a service charge to pay - but he's paying in flesh - so do you want front or back".
"It's your client, you take back".
"Cool," the smart guy was walking towards me now, "lose the clothes fuck boy".
Shit, so this is the kind of payment Justin had meant. Of course this is the kind of payment Justin had meant. What else would he have meant?
"If you're not naked in twenty seconds I'll cut those clothes off you".
He slapped the back of my head as he said that. Where was that courage thing now? My stomach churned a new - I was terrified. Though, I should add, the feeling of terror was accompanied by an increasingly intense horniness. I quickly removed my shirt, then my shoes, then my socks, then my trousers, leaving me in just that horrid horrid jockstrap. I looked up and noticed all four customers had now formed an audience - including the other sub guy. His tight denim shorts were bulging big time - his cock clearly wasn't caged.
"You can leave that filthy thing on" the smart guy said, pulling the elastic waste of the jock as he pushed me towards the counter he'd been standing behind.
Once I was standing by the counter he pushed on the back of my head, hard, forcing me to bend over and expose my bruised ass to my gathered audience - all of whom had followed us over to the counter I noticed. The smart guy had walked round the desk and now stood in front of me. The height and width of the counter meant my head was now resting on the edge, conveniently lined up to the smart guy's crotch - no coincidence I suspected.
I was about to be fucked, I was sure of that, and from what the smart guy had said and how the vest guy had responded, I suspected the former would be fucking my ass while the latter fucked by face - like what Justin and the guys had done on Saturday night. Strangely, this didn't bother me anywhere as near as much as I'd have expected. And that wasn't because my courage had returned - it really hadn't. I was still terrified of these surroundings, and of the strangers that were gathered around me, and of what else might happen here before I got to leave with Justin's toys. But the fucking - well, I knew what that would be like and, while it would be degrading, and probably painful, I'd done it before and I knew I could get through it. Maybe even enjoy it a little. Certainly the thought of being fucked in that way, in this place, was making me even hornier. My dick was pressed hard against the sides of its cage. And sex drive, while not the same as courage, can have similar effects.
Smart guy unbuttoned his flies. He wasn't wearing any underwear, meaning I immediately got a glimpse of his shaven uncut cock - still flaccid but clearly rising to attention as I looked on. "You've got thirty seconds to get this as wet as you can, and that's all the lube you're getting, so I'd get it very wet if I was you". I did as he said. I immediately opened my mouth and started to lick his growing dick from top to bottom, desperately trying to get as much saliva as I could on it. To be fair to this guy, I think he gave me quite a bit more than thirty seconds to cover his dick in spit, and when I was done he got me to lick his fingers too. That had confused me at first, until he wandered round to my ass and started finger fucking me. One finger, then two, then three. I'd never realized how good a finger fuck could feel (rent boy Simon had done it a little, but nothing like this) and while, when he replaced his fingers with his now throbbing seven inch dick, it still hurt, a lot, it didn't hurt anywhere near as much as when Justin had first entered me on Saturday night.
Not that I had much chance to focus on all that, because as soon as I'd finished licking the smart guy's dick and fingers, the vest guy was at my mouth, with his six inch dick already out and hard, demanding I lick his balls, then his cock head, and then that I open up so he could thrust his full dripping cock deep into my throat. But even he seemed to go quite gentle compared to the guys over the weekend. Perhaps I was just getting used to such throat assaults. Once they were both inside me the two guys quickly got into a rhythm, the vest guy pulling out of my throat as the smart guy plunged into my ass, the smart guy withdrawing as the vest guy pushed back in. A couple of the customers were now shouting encouragement - and pretty degrading stuff - "fuck that pussy boy", "fuck his lights out, the filthy scum boy", "give it to him, he's just a cum bucket, fill him up" - but that didn't bother me either, in fact it turned me on more.
In fact there was only really one bad thing about this whole experience. The CB3000 still locked to my cock. The dicks inside me - throat and ass - coupled with the degradation of the setting, and the audience and their remarks, was turning me on big time. Yet my dick, desperate to grow to full size, was still constrained by its cage. And the cage was pushed tight against my body by the jock. It was horrible. I'd have given or done anything to have someone remove it at that moment.
Fortunately that torture didn't last long. After about ten minutes I heard the smart guy say "OK, go for it" and then both he and the vest guy started really speeding up, thrusting their rock solid dicks in and out of my throat and ass until I felt that now familiar sensation as a dick inside you prepares to shoot its load. Smart guy shot deep inside my ass, vest guy deep inside my throat. In fact it was only as the vest guy got me to lick his dick clean that I got to taste his cum. The smart guy cleaned himself off on my shirt which would have bothered me - [a] because it meant I'd have to wear a cum stained shirt home and [b] it was depriving me of the taste of his cum - but then again it looked like there was some shit on his dick (Justin hadn't let me wipe remember) and just the thought of having to lick shit again was nearly bad enough to bring me down from my highly sexually charged state.
But not quite enough.
Which meant I was still feeling really horny as the smart guy ordered me to get dressed, and as he handed me my bag of merchandise, and as he told me to "fuck off out of his shop", and as he all but pushed me down the stairs. So horny, in fact, I was in a bit of a daze as I left the store. Meaning I was on the bus back to my apartment before I noticed the bag I was carrying had the words 'dirty sex toys' written on it in big red letters, and that the shitty cum stain on my shirt was really quite obvious. And that the smell of that horrible jock strap I was still wearing seemed to be getting ever more poignant. And that the guy sitting opposite me was giving me the filthiest look I'd ever seen.
Those discoveries, however, were enough to bring me back to reality.
My horniness seemed to disappear as quickly as my courage had gone earlier. Suddenly I felt my face burn red again. At the next stop I quickly got off the bus and opted to walk home. That wasn't much better, but at least people would be less likely to smell my disgusting jock strap, and even if they noticed what the bag said, or the shitty cum stain on my shirt, they wouldn't be able to fix me with a disgusted stare for the rest of my journey. Nevertheless, I was very very stressed, now that the horniness had gone.
And the stress rose as I got closer to my apartment. Mainly because I'd just remembered that when I got home I was going to have to again strip naked in my hall way and pronounce I was a cocksucker to anyone wanting to hear, fifty times. And despite everything I had experienced that day, the doctor's surgery nakedness, the toilet trauma and the sex shop fucking, somehow that seemed like one of the most scary degrading things of all.
To be continued - chapter eleven coming very soon! Meantime, comments and thoughts positive or otherwise are always much much appreciated - josh_armstrong2007@hotmail.com