This is a work of fiction, none of it ever happened although it does include some of my own fantasies. It contains many scenes of unsafe sex, something I do not encourage.
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Chapter 1
Here I am standing at a table sorting a batch of mail. I am a 33-year-old male wearing a ladies garter belt, nylon stockings fastened to the garters, pink panties and a white blouse with lace. As outrageous as that sounds, it isn't quite as ridiculous as I looked a few minutes earlier, before I kicked off a pair of green and black spiked high-heeled shoes.
I am not a cross-dresser by choice, but I have to wear what my master says I do. In fact, I don't make any decisions about much of anything anymore. My master, whose real name is Mike and was once my lawyer and my friend, has complete control over me. There is nothing I can do about it, because as bad as my situation is now, the alternative is much worse. One phone call from Mike to my probation officer would be all it would take to send me to prison, where it has already been determined I would be the personal punk of Monk, the black inmate who virtually runs the institution. I have been under Mike's control for a little more than two years, and have six remaining under my sentence.
I had been convicted of sexual assault on a minor and embezzlement, two charges of which I am totally innocent. Mike, my attorney, convinced the court that as a first-time offender I deserved probation under his "supervision." That "supervision" immediately became virtual enslavement, and not only does Mike have control over me, he has access to my bank accounts, stock portfolio and half of my $200,000 annuity from the estate of my late father. My ex-wife, who helped orchestrate my frame-up, has control of my company as well as the other half of the annuity.
The Mike I have known for years is not the Mike I know now. Tall, blond and handsome, Mike, who moved to town about 20 years ago, always had plenty of girl friends but never married. There were rumors, and an errand boy from Mike's law office had accused him of inappropriate sexual behavior. The boy later withdrew his charges, saying he was mistaken. A few months later he moved away amid talk that he was paid to change his story.
I have since learned that not only is Mike bisexual, but also dominant, controlling and sadistic with men (or at least me) and gentle and caring with women. And it adds to his satisfaction when I cannot share in the pleasure. I have always known that I might be gay with a touch of masochism, so sometimes when I am the sex object of Mike or someone else, my cock starts to stir. But stir is about all it can do most of the time, as Mike regularly keeps me locked in a chastity belt. And his pleasure in humiliating people (or at least me) is not limited to sex. He tries do degrade me any way he can, and can become quite creative.
As I arrange the mail by category (I am not allowed to open any, even if it is addressed to me) I have to move carefully as my ass is a little tender. Over the last two years it has had much use as a sex object for Mike and whomever he allows access to me, so I have grown to tolerate, and even sometimes almost enjoy, pain in that area. But last night was particularly rugged.
The evening had been what passes for normal these days. I had cooked Mike a steak dinner while I ate the same meal I have had for two years: one piece of boiled chicken, unseasoned brown rice and lettuce with no dressing. After we ate I did the dishes (the dishwasher broke a few months ago and he declined to get it fixed although he could easily afford it "You need the exercise," he said.). At 8 p.m. he locked me in my basement room, chastity belt secured, and left for his monthly poker game.
Although the furnishings in the rest of house are of the highest quality by first-rate designers, my room is Spartan. It contains a small wooden chair, a toilet, a narrow shower and a dresser, which holds just socks and some loose fitting thigh-length shorts. Mike has control over the rest of my clothes, and they are in upstairs closets off-limits to me.
There is no TV, radio or computer. My access to the outside world through those media is virtually non-existent. Mike never lets me watch TV unless it is sports (in which I have never had an interest) or porn. When he watches TV, he turns the screen so I can't see it or puts on head phones so only he can hear the sound. Sometimes both.
I was fast asleep on my cot when Mike opened the door at the top of the stairs leading to my room. I looked at the clock and it was 11 p.m. The poker game must have broken up early.
"Hey Faggot," Mike yelled, using his favorite name for me, "I'm horny. Come up to my room and take care of me.''
By the time I got to the door of the master bedroom – the very bedroom I shared with my wife until two years ago -- the door was open and Mike was laying on the bed. I waited outside. I am forbidden from entering any of the bedrooms without explicit permission. Mike was naked, his cock flaccid against his belly. He had obviously just dropped his clothes on the floor, knowing I would eventually pick them up.
"Come in Faggot, and suck my dick," Mike said. "I lost some money tonight and I need release." I went over to him and got on the bed, knelt between his knees and started servicing his cock, I began by licking his balls, then gently putting first one, then the other in my mouth. He didn't give much of a response. I lifted his cock, holding it almost entirely vertical and kissed the bottom just above his scrotum. My mouth stayed glued to his shaft and my lips came all the way to the tip. Then I slipped my tongue into his opening, put my mouth totally around the cockhead and proceeded to move up and down on the shaft. With every thrust down I took in the whole length, then moved back up to the tip, never entirely letting go. All the while my tongue was working furiously.
That normally turns him on, but Mike still wasn't hard. He lifted his legs into the air and pushed my face into his asshole. My tongue darted into it, again something that almost always gets Mike hard. Not this time. I sucked it some more, stroked it, rubbed it against my cheek. Still no luck.
"Damn it, Faggot," he said. "This isn't working. Go get me a glass of water and a blue pill."
By blue pill Mike meant a Viagra, and I knew my night just got a lot longer. I was hoping to suck him off, or maybe have him finish in my ass, then I would be sent to bed. Given the amount he had to drink at the poker game, one orgasm almost certainly would have been enough. But after he took a Viagra, his stamina and lust would be increased manifold. I knew I would be obliged to remain upstairs, and service him multiple times.
I went to the medicine cabinet and noticed that not only was the Viagra in my name, but also so was a bottle of Oxycontin and a bottle of Norco. . I didn't think Mike was taking them and I knew I wasn't. I had heard him tell some friends that was able to trade some prescription drugs for grass or coke. If anything went wrong, I would be blamed.
Viagra takes about 20 minutes to work, so Mike rolled over on his stomach and told me to give him a massage. I rubbed his shoulders neck and back and felt the muscles relax.
"Good job, Faggot," he said. I continued for several more minutes and just as my arms were tiring I felt him stirring. He rolled over onto his back and his cock was rock hard straight.
"Well whadda think of that, Faggot," he said, "Let's see you ride it." I climbed out of bed to get ready for Mike's favorite fucking position. As I stood there, he rolled his legs off the bed and put his feet flat on the floor, leaning against the bed, his cock pointing out and slightly up.
"Turn around, Faggot, and come to me." Mike said. "You know what to do."
He was right, I did, having been made to do it many times. I turned around and moved backwards toward him. I kept moving until I felt his hands on my waist. Then he guided me back until I felt the tip of his cock against my ass.
"Open up, Faggot," he said he yanked me down onto his cock, which was forced into me. Without lube it hurt, but because we were both sweating it soon moved easier.
The reason Mike liked this position is that I did all the work. His hands kept my hips in position and I moved up and down on his cock with my dick, attached to the chastity belt bouncing. I could tell I was in a good position for him because he started moaning almost immediately. We didn't need many strokes this time. "Damn, damn, aaggh!!" he said as I felt his load blasting into me.
He held me in position for a few moments as his cock relaxed, then gradually slipped out of my ass, oozing cum all the while.
"Good job Faggot," he said. "Now go get a towel. That was so good I might let you jack off."
As I was nearing the bathroom he said. "Be sure and hang around, I might need you later tonight."
I fetched a hand towel, wiped off his cock then cleaned up the floor where we had dripped. By the time I finished he was back on the bed and fast asleep. So much for jacking off.
I took my place on the floor, lying at the foot of his bed, and tried to get comfortable. I was dozing when I heard Mike's voice. "Faggot, I got another raging hard-on. Come here." That Viagra really works.
"Suck on it," he said. "And you know I love your tongue." This time I did not approach it gently. I put my mouth around the head caressed it with my lips for a few seconds, then took the whole length in my mouth. He grabbed my head and moved me up and down on his rigid shaft, not letting me break away even for a second. Finally he let go of my head and put my mouth around the side of his cock, moving up and down what was a blow job equivalent of sidesaddle. Then I went down on him in more orthodox fashion, sucking enthusiastically. This was a long session, and my mouth was getting tired.
Finally Mike said, "Roll over on your side, Faggot, I want to fuck your face." I rolled over and opened my mouth opposite his cock. He rammed it in my mouth half a dozen times, pulled it out and shot a big load of cum all over my face.
He lay there for a few seconds breathing hard. Then he reached over and grabbed the towel I had used last time. He wiped off his cock then put his hand on the back of my head and seemed ready to clean off my face. Then he stopped, reached up and turned on the light. He started laughing, grabbed his cell phone and snapped a couple of pictures. "Here look at yourself," he said and showed me photos. I did look a fright with my nose and cheeks covered with cum, and the creamy stuff dripping off my chin.
"Here, let me clean you up," he laughed and roughly pushed the towel into my face and moved it around. He wasn't wiping it up, he was rubbing it in. I could feel cum still on my chin and my ears.
"OK, I am going back to sleep, but we might have another go-round. I can already feel a boner coming," he said. "Get your moldy ass back on the floor and I'll call you when I want you."
That call came about an hour later. "On deck, Faggot," he said. "I got a hard dick for you to sit on."
He was flat on his back on the bed with another hard-on sticking straight up. "Come here and straddle me and let me stick it in your ass," he said. So here it was with me getting fucked and doing all the work again. My legs were awkwardly splayed and uncomfortable, he was comfortably on his back, feeling better with every stroke.
"Ah, Faggot, I got to admit, you've got a fine ass," he said. And then I could feel his dick get harder and start to twitch. "I'm gonna come again, you lucky Fag," I could feel his cum shoot into me, an amazingly large load considering it was his third in less than three hours.
He pushed me up and off of him and snarled,. "OK, Faggot, lick my cock clean then get the fuck out of here."
I bent over and licked his cock, tasting the mixture of his cum and my ass juices. I was careful to keep from stimulating him. I didn't want to have to deal with another erection tonight.
Chapter 2
It was after 4 am before I got to sleep and I was awake my 730. I showered, and headed upstairs naked except for my slippers. My routine in the morning before Mike left for work was to put on an apron open in the back with no shorts. He wanted my ass instantly available in case he had an urge to fuck it or spank it. He had a collection of paddles hanging in every room, in some rooms there was more than one. "I don't want to have to go too far keep you in line," he had said soon after we moved in.
On most days I brought up shorts to wear after Mike left, but not today. Friday was "Dress Up Day," Nothing illustrates Mike's cruelty more than Dress Up Days. He obviously put a lot of thought and time into designing my outfits. One time he found a tutu to fit me and made me dress as a ballerina. Another time it was a hula skirt with a pair of coconut shells dangling from my neck designed to look like tits. Then there was the Tinkerbell costume. And of course the French maid uniform, that I wore not only on "Dress Up Day", but also when he is entertaining friends and I am the service person.
Today he emerged from his bedroom carrying the garter belt and accessories. "That's you today," he said, as he sat down to eat the breakfast I had cooked. "You can take the shoes off after you get the mail, but I want you to keep everything else on until after I get home. Remember we're having company for the weekend, and I want you to make a good first impression."
Normally I am allowed to change into shorts after I get the mail. Of course, to fetch the mail was the whole reason for the "Dressing Up." The mail box was on the sidewalk, on the other side of the lawn. The mailman always came by 11 am, but on Fridays I was not allowed to go the mailbox until 4 p.m. Mike had a video camera on the front porch so he would know if tried to go out earlier.
The timing was to assure that a large crowd of students from the high school down the street, would be able to see me in my `finery". Mike had somehow made it clear to them that they couldn't touch me, but that taking pictures and videos was not only permitted but encouraged. And they also were to add to the humiliation and embarrassment by "suggesting" poses and actions. Mike said not following "suggestions" would bring unpleasant consequences. I was really just a toy for high school kids. After I had actually gathered the mail I had to remain in the front yard for at least 20 minutes, to the amusement of the young audience. Also the neighbors had certainly come expect a show and the video cameras were visible in the windows of the houses on either side.
When I open the door a sizable crowd is waitiIng. Even though I had been wearing them all day, I was still uncertain in the high heels. As I wobbled across the lawn the students were able to see everything I was wearing. And they loved it.
"Look at the pretty queer."
"Hey Fag, Fag, Fag,"
"That's the greatest, Come on move faster."
I got the mailbox, took out the mail and put it in a paper bag. Just as I started to turn around I heard somebody say, "Hey Fruity, come closer. Give us a look at ya."
I did as they asked and came a chorus of catcalls, whistles and jeers. I could see pictures being taken and video cameras rolling. In the front of the group I saw Terry Thompson, Jr, with his arm around a pretty blond girl. Both obviously enjoying themselves at my expense.
Terry Thompson Sr., had been a schoolmate of mine from kindergarten through high school. He was a terrible bully, who occasionally would intimidate me into giving him money or my place in line. Now he was the town sheriff and partly responsible for my current situation,
"Say, Queer," Thompson Jr. said with a grin. "Stand on one leg."
The crowd cheered and had no choice but try to balance myself on one of the high heels. After just a few seconds I started to wobble.
"Don't put that foot down," he said as his schoolmates snapped picture after picture.
Inevitably I lost my balance and fell, landing on my back with my feet in year.
"Yeah, look at that," the crowd yelled almost in unison. I started to lower my feet when I heard young Thompson say, "No, Keep your feet up, let us get a good look at your ass,"
Everybody laughed.
When I put my feet down I started to stand up to go after a piece of mail that had come out of the bag and blown away.
"No, Queer," Thompson said. "Crawl after it. On all fours."
I glared after him, but he said. "If you don't, I'll tell Mike you wouldn't cooperate."
The cheers and laughter were getting louder. I reached the piece of mail, put in the sack and said, "OK?" But as I started to rise, Thompson's girl pointed out something to him.
"I want him to crawl there," she squealed and the crowd laughed.
"You heard her, start crawling. And keep your nose in the grass."
As I started to crawl in that direction I saw what the girl had been pointing at. There just a few from me was a big pile of dog shit.
"Get close to it Queer, and stick out your tongue, like you are going to lick it."
I did what they said, without actually touching the pile. However, I can see that the pictures would look as if I were about to lick it.
After a few more yells and guffaws the crowd could think of nothing more for me to do, so they started to leave. As I looked up I saw a couple of police on motorcycles lowering their video cameras. I was sure they would have a lot to laugh about at the station house.
All that took place just a few minutes ago and I hear I stand hurriedly arranging the mail in proper piles.
The guest Mike had mentioned this morning was Rich, an old pal of his whom I had never met. They had not seen one another in years, but Rich had called out of the blue a couple of weeks ago and said he would be coming to town and maybe they could spend the weekend together.
Rich is a former truck driver who now owns his own fleet of trucks. He was coming to town on Friday to look at some equipment and through he might stay for a couple of days. He had asked Mike to recommend a hotel.
"You don't need a hotel," Mike said over the phone.. "You can stay here, I got room."
I couldn't hear Rick's response but Mike said, "Hey, no trouble at all. I got live-in help." He winked at me.
"All set then. Come by the office that Friday afternoon and we'll have a beer then come over here."
Mike had said he and Rich would go from the office to Joe Dale's saloon at 3 (Mike worked short days now) and be home by 5. I know that I have to be finished with the mail and be standing by the door when he arrives.
It's 4:55 and the door opens. Mike comes in carrying his briefcase with his jacket over his arm. He hands me his briefcase then turns around.
"Leave those suitcases on the front porch," he says. "The Faggot will bring them up to your room."
I stay next to Mike as Rich, a good-looking, well-built man with dark curly hair sets down a couple of small sutcases. "OK," he says as he comes through the doorway. "I can just...WHAT THE FUCK." The latter exclamation comes as he is finally able to get a clear look at me. "Who is this fruitcake? He ain't staying here is he?."
"Relax," Mike says. "This is The Faggot. He takes care of all the work around here. He will help you however you want him to. And if you want him to disappear he will. You'll find him handy to have around."
Just then Mike lets his sport coat drop to the ground. I bend over to pick it up and Mike gives my garter belted rear end a nice hard slap with his hand. "And if he gets sassy just give him a whack."
"I dunno," Rich says. "Maybe I should get a hotel."
"Trust me," Mike says. "You'll be more comfortable here." Then Mike turns to me and says. "Faggot, go take Rich's stuff up to his room, then go get us some beer and pretzels and bring them to the living room. We are going to watch the game."
I take the suitcases to the guest room, grab two cans of beer from the fridge and a bag of pretzels from the pantry and bring them into the living room. I set them down and am ready to leave when Mike, who is sitting in the easy chair with his feet on the ottoman says, "Hey Faggot, shoes."
I come to him, kneel and remove his shoes. "OK put them outside my bedroom door, then go stand over there, he points to a corner beside the television.
The game is obviously not very interesting because Rich soon says, "This is pretty boring. You got anything else we can watch."
"How about some porn?"
"Sounds good."
"Hey, Faggot, go put on the one with the blonde blowing the two guys. You know the one I mean."
I do, and find it easily. I put the disc into the CD player, push the play button and resume standing in the corner.
I can see Rich is getting aroused quickly. He soon starts rubbing his cock through his trousers.
"Damn this is making me horny. I need to get off. OOOh."
"The Faggot gives great blow jobs," Mike says. "He would be happy to help you get off."
"No fucking way. I ain't gonna let some fairy touch my cock."
"I tell you, Rich, this faggot gives better head than any broad you've ever had. Go ahead, let him suck you. I guarantee you'll enjoy it."
"I dunno. It seems kind of kinky."
"Sure it's kinky and it's fun. If you don't want to do it down here in front of me, the faggot will take you upstairs to your room. Go ahead."
"Well, OK. But if it gets weird I'll throw him out."
Mike doesn't have to tell me what to do next. I go over to Rich and say, "Whenever you're ready, sir."
As we are heading up the stairs Mike yells, "Plenty of tongue, Faggot, suck good. It's my reputation at stake."
I open the bedroom door and Rich goes in. I follow him and shut the door. Rich is standing, looking nervous and starting to fidget.
"I still don't know about this," Rich says.
I know that I have to do this so I ignore him and say, "Would you prefer to lie on the bed, or do you want to stand."
"I think I'll stand."
I kneel in front of him, pull down his zipper and reach for his cock. It is still semi-erect so it comes through his fly easily. I put my mouth on the tip, caress that with my tongue briefly, then take the whole length in my mouth, or as much as I could with his pants on.
"It would be better for you if your pants were down," I say, reaching to unbuckle his belt. He grabs my hand to stop me, but I feel his cock shiver as I roll my tongue over the mushroom head. He lets go of my hand and I loosen his belt and pushed his pants and shorts down to his knees.
He is still for a moment, then he starts to moan, "Uhh, Oh, Oh"
He grabs the back of my head and holds it still as he starts to thrust his cock in and out of my mouth. Suddenly I feel a blast of hot cum in my throat. "Aggh!" he yells as he holds my head and pumps his jism into me. He lets go of my head and looks at me as he pulls up his pants. "Holy Shit. Mike is right. That was great."
After he fastens his pants and I clean my face in the bathroom we head downstairs where Mike is watching TV. He has put the game back on.
"From I could hear, I guess it must have been all right."
"It was OK," Rich says, obviously afraid to admit the truth.
Mike turns to me and says, "Go get us two more beers then have your dinner. We have reservations at San Remo and you are going to drive us. Oh, and don't bother to change clothes, just put this on."
I was still wearing the garter belt, nylons and panties, and he tossed me a lightweight windbreaker to put over the blouse. "I want everybody to see how ravishing you look."