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Three months ago my relationship with with Tom, my ex, ended. It had been a sudden end, but one I might have seen coming if I hadn't been so blinded by love for the fucker. Tom and I had been together for two years, having met at a mutual friend's wedding. He was a few years younger than me, eight years really, but that didn't seem to matter to either of us. We'd been seated together on the "singles" table and hit it off immediately, quickly going from small talk to flirting to drinks at the bar to a passionate kiss on the dance floor. Sensing eyes on us we relocated to my room in the same hotel, barely keeping the clothes on each other as the lift took us to my floor. Underneath his suit his body was firm, smooth, defined and I couldn't believe my luck as we spent the next few hours fucking, then resting, then fucking again. Tom's body seemed to mould to mine, adhering with sweat as I gasped my third load into him, my lips resting moth like on his nape. I've never seen love at first sight, but I visited the area that night.
The next morning we arranged our real first date, laughing at having done things in the wrong order. Not uncommon for gay men, I've found. From there our relationship moved fast and before long Tom had moved in with me. I adored living with him, enjoying the comfort of domesticity that only another person can make, and what was at first an active sex life. Tom seemed to like taking my dick in his firm, round arse almost as much as I liked giving it to him, but as I found out later he had begun to grow bored of our intimacy. He found, I think, that there was a part of him I could not reach, and so he made himself more and more unreachable to me. Looking back, the signs that he had been fucking another guy are obvious. The late nights away, the hints of unfamiliar cologne on his skin as we kissed, the way he guarded his phone, but I didn't see them. I sensed a distance growing between us, but it was a sense that only touched the edge of my perception. It was not until that afternoon, two months ago when, arriving home early from work (yes, I was struck by the cliche as well), that the lie unravelled and I learnt just how inadequate I had been for him.
There had been a strange car in the driveway, a silver Audi, a few years old but still nicer than my car. I tried to remember if Tom had mentioned anything about a meeting. He often worked from home and would, from time to time, have to host an impromptu meeting at the house. Conscious of this I opened the door quietly, testing the waters so to speak before announcing my presence. I saw unfamiliar shoes kicked off in the hallway, followed by a jacket, a belt, and the vest and gym shorts Tom had been wearing when I'd left that morning. These items, along with the sound of muffled thudding led my attention to the bedroom. I crept towards the quarter open door, still somehow clinging to my complete naivety, right up until I saw them.
Tom was on the bed, on his hands and knees, his face pushed down into the matress and his arse stuck up high behind him. His arms were up behind his back, held in the large right hand of the muscular man who was at that moment slamming my boyfriend's hole like it had looked at him wrong. I remember my heart almost stopping it was beating so fast. The curtained window cast them in silhouette but I could easily make out his tall, broad physique, this unnamed man now making Tom moan, words half formed emerging briefly as if he were singing while drowning. The man's voice came in answer, forming from a growl that started low.
"Who's bitch are you?" The man said, slapping Tom's arse hard. I thought for a second he'd addressed me, that he'd seem me lurking at the crack in the door, but Tom groaned out his reply.
"I'm your bitch, your bitch." Tom was almost sobbing the words, and I could here the solid truth in them. I'd like to say that this was the moment I stepped into the room fought for my honour, or even that I'd stepped in and encouraged them on, but I just crept away, quiet and small, and left the house. I went back to my car in it's spot a little down the street and got in to wait.
As I sat there, glancing furtively towards the house every ten seconds or so, I contemplated what I'd just seen. The sight of Tom shoved down and railed like that, used like I'd never been able to, burned brightly in my mind. I knew at that moment that I'd lost him. I'd never made him respond like that, like that powerful stranger had, the man that I knew now owned my boyfriend's hole, his core. But even as awareness of the extent of what I'd lost began to grow, so did my dick, my perennial friend in a crisis. Maybe I wasn't thinking straight, well of course I wasn't, but a recklessness overcame me and I pulled my dick, now hard as a rock, and beat it hard and desperately. If this was the end then I guess Tom would make me cum one more time, even if he didn't know it.
I closed my eyes and replayed the image again, remembered the curves of the man's strong backside, crescented in the morning light as he thrust forward and swung back, again and again, and those words, that growl that became words, primal, deep, from his belly into the ears of my fuck-high boyfriend, "Who's bitch are you? Who's bitch are you?"
The orgasm came fast and sharp, almost ripping out of me, cum spilling uncontrollably onto my shirt. With perfect synchronicity I heard at that moment the splitting yell of a car horn, and looked up to see a silver Audi about to pass on my right hand side. As the car passed l looked over startled, and saw the face of a handsome, dark haired man in his early thirties, a broad grin on his face as he met my eye. "Looks like you need to clean something up, son." He shouted through the open window, and I recognized the voice that I'd just cum thinking about. He didn't seem to recognize me, though. How could he? Presumably to him I was just some pervert having a wank in his car. Never the less I was relieved when he continued on his way, still audibly laughing above the hum of his engine. I folded in shame around my cum splattered shirt and wept.
I didn't know his name yet but I later learned that it was Declan. That's the name that appeared on Tom's facebook page two weeks later. I'd hoped perhaps that he'd leave it longer, for the sake of appearances, for the sake of my pride, but Tom had spent a week as "it's complicated", a week as single, before declaring his relationship with Declan. I found out later that it had been going on for a few months before that, before I saw them together. The tension between Tom and I that evening was strained to say the least when, having cleaned myself up, I returned home for a second time. It only took an hour or so of difficult small talk before the strain became too much to ignore and I confessed what I had seen. I'll spare you the details since the result was already determined before a word had been said, but Tom was gone from my life the next day.
The following months were a difficult time for me. I began comfort eating and put on weight, and began drinking too much and too often. I became reclusive, feeling conspicuous and ashamed wherever I went. It's like a window in your heart, Paul Simon sang, everybody sees you're blown apart. That's how I felt. I wanted my shame to be secret, and so I met it alone and late at night, in front of Tom's facebook page. At first it was your predictable, maudlin, dumped boyfriend script of scrolling through old pictures, those of you and he together, remembering happy times and riding that feeling until you hit reality again. And then the next night the same, and the next. And then one night reality hits back.
I recognized him straight away, of course, Declan. Tom had changed his status and posted a new picture of himself and his new lover. They seemed to be at some kind of outdoor party, there was the corner of a drinks strewn patio table in front of the wide seat they shared, and Tom was sat closed legged on one big spread thigh of the man I recognized from that afternoon. At least I had a name to go with the face that had returned to my thoughts so often since then. I'd been trying and failing not to think of that afternoon, about him, but seeing him there, one hand reaching around Tom's waist, the other on his thigh, not just touching but possessing, owning the things that were once mine, it brought back in a rush all of the frustration, shame and arousal that he represented to me. It presented as a sick feeling in my stomach, and a vivid throb in my pants.
I studied the picture closely. I could see what Tom had fallen for. Declan was handsome in a rugged kind of way. He had dark, almost black hair and eyebrows, and blue eyes that held a confident gaze into the camera. I guessed he had Irish roots, from the name and how he looked, that dark hair continuing in trails on his forearms to his hands. I remembered again those hands gripping and shoving Tom, slapping him. I imagined all of the other things those hands had done, I imagined them entering Tom, feeding him. >From the angle in the picture I could see the curve in Declan's crotch, the bulge that looked to me to be obscene but magnetic. I looked down at my own bulge, now straining painfully, and I started rubbing it, feeling the fabric of my shorts press against the sensitive end. I licked my lips and imagined what was causing Declan's bulge, the fat dick that had fucked my boyfriend, his boyfriend now. I rubbed myself harder, fixating on that bastard's crotch, hating myself with every fetid thrust against my hand, thoughts of the humiliation that this man had inflicted on me sending waves of sick pleasure through my twitching dick as finally it spewed its load into my pants, bathing me in a sticky warmth that crept the length as I panted down from the high I'd just felt. I clicked the page closed, suddenly disgusted with myself, and swallowed some whiskey to get rid of the bad taste in my mouth. But, as sick of myself as I felt right then, the next night I was meeting my shame again for our nightly dance, except now my shame wore Declan's face and spoke in his voice.
Of course I didn't stop with that first picture. Pretty soon I'd scoured Declan's entire profile, obsessing over it, building a picture of this man in my mind. He worked in some finance job that I didn't fully understand, but he seemed to do well from it, judging by his frequent vacations. I found a picture of Declan shirtless at the beach, smiling into the camera, arms crossed over his well developed chest, with it's flash of dark hair that ran from there across his abs, then under the waistband of his swimming shorts, daring your eyes to follow. It was while looking at this photo that I made my fateful mistake, as without thinking my finger clicked the like button. Realising what I'd done I shut down the page, as if that would help. I would just have to hope that Declan didn't recognize my name, and that Tom doesn't see it, I thought. I was even half way persuading myself that it wasn't a big deal when a notification sounded on my computer, followed half a second later by another from the phone on the desk beside it. I opened it on my phone. A friend request from Declan, with the message "I know you, don't I son?"
Just reading those words sent a jolt through me, that painful pleasure again, but this time stronger, more sudden. My dick sprang up. It was ever its own master but these few words controlled it like I never could. I hit accept. A minute passed. I simply stared at my phone, dick still quietly raging in mMy pants, half elated and half afraid of what this meant. A chat request appeared and I opened it immediately.
"So, you like what you see? I know Tom did." Declan had sent. I remembered again the sight Declan towering over Tom's body as he jack hammered into him.
"So, you remember me then?" I typed out, pausing a moment before hitting send.
"Haha. Hard to forget. Tom told me you'd seen us fucking that day. I didn't tell him I'd spotted you wanking your little dick in the car outside. So, I assume you've been wanking over my pictures, too?" Fuck, well at least that answers that. Declan knew everything, it seemed, right down to what was in my head at that very moment. I badly wanted to get my dick out and start stroking, but I held off. It felt wrong to do it while talking to Declan, even though he couldn't see me. Perhaps it was a residual of the embarrassment I'd felt the first time we'd crossed paths. I pondered how to reply, what damage limitation I could perform, but I knew Declan would see through any such attempt, so I opted for the truth.
"I have. I'm sorry. I'll stop." I sent, not sure if I hoped for or dreaded a reply. One came anyway.
"Nah, it's good. If you want to jerk that lonely little dick thinking about the guy that took your boyfriend then go ahead. Get it out now and I'll give you something to stroke to." Declan added a wink to the end. Without giving myself time to reconsider I pulled my jeans and boxers to down around my ankles, then tentatively started stroking my dick with one hand, and with the other tapped out "ok", and sent.
"Good. Here's something I took just this second to get you wet, bitch." Came his reply, followed by a picture. It was a selfie of Declan taken from above. The first thing I noticed was his handsome, arrogant face, lips curled in a smirk. Then I admired his broad shoulders and wide chest, tapering to a narrow waist. His chest was bare and his trousers were open, and there at his groin was Tom, head just in shot, face looking up, but not into the camera, he was looking up at Declan. Tom's mouth was stretched around the head of Declan's fat cock, his face red and flushed as if he'd just been choking, which given the size of what he was sucking wouldn't have been surprising. It was the first time I'd really seen Declan's dick, and it confirmed most of my assumptions, at least from what I could see. Though partly in Tom's mouth it still showed seven or eight inches to the air, and as wide as a deodorant can. The base was adorned with dark, trimmed hair, and his balls hung heavy underneath. I was stroking my dick slowly as I looked at the picture, feeling the edge approaching but not wanting to reach it yet, not unguided. Precum pooled and spilled in my foreskin as it opened and closed around the head, the only sound its quiet kissing. The combination of Declan's smug expression and posture and Tom on his knees worshipping that fat dick got me so fucking close, and I wished I could have seen it for real, to have had Declan look at me with that look of amusement and derision as he took what was mine.
"You close, bitch boy?" He sent.
"Yes, I'm close." I tapped back, barely missing a beat on my cock.
"Ok. But before you do, I want you to thank me for taking Tom from you. I want you to admit that you're a loser and that a much better man won." This message shocked me, but seemed to push buttons I hadn't quite realized I had. My dick felt close to bursting so I dropped it, twitching, and typed a message back.
"Thank you for taking Tom from me. You are better than me in every way. I'm a loser, and the much better man won." Sent. My heart beat in my chest and I grabbed my cock again, just a gentle touch to have me tiptoeing on the edge, waiting for the word to jump.
"Haha. Ok, you can squirt, loser. And I'm gonna put a load in Tom's throat. Sweet dreams, bitch boy." That was enough, and I came harder than I had since the time in the car. My body shook as the cum erupted out of my swollen dick, coating my hand. I absent mindedly wiped the cum on my shirt as I came down from the high, still feeling dazed. I should have felt sick at what had just happened, I should have felt sick at everything that Declan had done, but I didn't. I felt alive again.
From that night I began to receive frequent messages from Declan. Not necessarily conversations, but he seemed to enjoy sending me pictures of him using Tom, taunting me with the proof of his victory over me, his superiority. And if he was doing this to fuck with me, to turn me on, to make me crave each new message, each new reminder, he was successful. I was horny and on edge 24/7, and wanking only alleviated it temporarily. Besides, along with the taunting, Declan had subtly maneuvered me into craving his permission to cum. He had persuaded me that it was better for us both if I just did what he said, and I was becoming so addicted to what Declan was doing that I acquiesced to his will.
There were a few longer conversations, too, during which Declan coaxed out a side of me I hadn't known was there. My admission, on that first night, of being a loser, a loser to him, had just been the start of what Declan wanted of me. We had moved to Skype, and so no these late night conversations between us became more direct and intense. He would have me strip naked when he came online, the camera positioned to show my face and dick, allowed to touch, to edge, but not to cum. Declan would sometimes put his cam on, sometimes not, but I would still hear his deep, masculine voice as he instructed and belittled me.
"Stroke that little nub, bitch." He said one night. "Stroke it and think about me, think about the way I nailed Tom on your bed, as you perved from the doorway. Man, you're such a fucking loser. Not only couldn't you stop me fucking the love of your life, you crept off to wank about it."
I was riding the edge at his command, his words were pushing me so close, but I held back. I could see myself in the video box, and I looked how I felt; fat, horny and pathetic.
"Say it, bitch. Tell me again what a fucking waste of skin you are. I could do with a laugh." And I could hear Declan's smile, even if I couldn't see it.
"I'm a fucking loser, waste of skin, ugly, small dicked bitch, Sir." I said, completely caught up in the moment. I heard Declan burst out laughing, pulling away from the mic. Recovering he said, "Fuck me, bitch. Yeah, you are. And you can keep calling me Sir, I like that. You know, I like taking things from you. Your boyfriend, your dignity, haha. Makes my big dick hard fucking with losers like you, just because I can. And you like it too, don't you, bitch boy?"
I barely had one finger on my cock now, keeping me on the precipice as Declan's words entered my head and took up the controls.
"Yes Sir." I said tentatively.
"I can't hear you." Said Declan in a slightly sing song, mocking voice.
"Yes Sir. I like it when you fuck with me, when you took Tom, when you take my dignity, just because you can." My voice trembled a little but it clearly reached Declan because he laughed even louder. It had begun.