0 comments/ 9453 views/ 11 favorites Tricked Pt. 01 By: Cyanlot "Jesus ... This is almost too easy," I think to myself as Crystal opens the door and walks in. She's attractive, like most of the girls. She looks to be early 20s, maybe a bit older—slender, modest boobs but a nice tight ass. She has short, bobbed brown hair that gives her fine-featured face an almost elven look. Cuter than most. "Hi, I'm John," I say, quickly checking to see that the camera on my desk is recording as I stretch out my hand. "Crystal," she says. Her voice sounds more confident than most of the girls. But that doesn't mean much. All of the girls that come to "audition" for me fancy themselves budding actresses; some—not many—actually have a little talent (in the acting department, I mean—they all have the talents I'm interested in). I figure Crystal is one of those with a bit of acting ability. I'm betting she isn't at all sure of herself. None of them are. These girls are naïve and always a little scared. "Crystal ... That's a pretty name. Have a seat," I say, gesturing toward the couch across from my desk. I'm sure 'Crystal' isn't her real name but I'm not going to challenge her now. Part of my job, early on, is to put the girls at ease. I have to establish a rapport with them. They're invariably uncomfortable and nervous. They walk through the door not really knowing what to expect. I mean, they know what they're here for but they don't know what it will feel like. If I come off just as a decent guy—the kind of guy they can talk with—they're immediately relieved. Suddenly they don't have to think this is a weird, dirty thing. "So how're you doing, Crystal? Did you have any trouble finding the office?" "I'm fine. And none at all." She looks around the office. "But I must say, it's not exactly what I'd expected." "How's that?" "Well, in the first place, it's in a really nice office building." "Nothing but the best," I chime in as she goes on. "And your office is all decorated ..." "Oh, I see," I say. "You've looked at some of the audition videos on line—the ones where there's a bare office." Crystal nods slightly. "Well, I'm a legit agent. I don't work like that." I can see her relax a bit and I know this is working. I'm good at this. The girls quickly come to trust me. "Can I get you something to drink?" I ask. "No, it's too early." "I meant a soft drink or water or something." You'd be surprised, though, how many times the girl goes for a glass of wine. And then gulps it nervously. "Sure, some water would be nice." I get her a glass of ice water from the credenza under the window. When I hand it to her, I'm careful to allow our hands to brush together. Making a casual and non-threatening contact like that helps to put the girls at ease. "How old are you, Crystal?" "Twenty-three," she answers quickly. "I need to see your I.D." And then, for the first time, she hesitates. "Well, Crystal, I can't do this without positively verifying your age." She's shifts nervously on the couch. "No, of course not. How silly of me." But, still, she's reluctant. "Crystal's not your real name, right?" I say in as casual and non-accusatory tone as I can. She doesn't respond right away, not even with a nod. "That's okay. You'd be surprised how many girls don't give me their real names at first. You can use whatever name you want professionally. That's fine. But I need to know your real name, and age." She seems to relax again and pulls her driver's license out of her purse. She gets up and walks to the desk, her hand extended with the license. I scrutinize her as she does but try not to let her know that I'm appraising her. She goes up in my ranking. Her breasts are not large, but they're nicely shaped—at least they seem so with her clothes on. She's wearing a tight knit top with a scoop neckline. She's got a bra on but it's obviously a thin one. She's wearing a short, tight skirt and her legs are slender and smooth. And I notice again what a tight, high butt she has. This is going to be good, I decide. Well, she wasn't lying about her age. She is twenty-three. But her name is Sandra Betson. I put her driver's license in the scanner, make an electronic copy of it, and hand it back to her. "So, Sandra ..." "Sandy, please." "Okay: Sandy. Tell me a little about yourself. What do you do now and why do you want to get into adult films?" "Well, I did a couple of years of college, but it wasn't really my thing." She takes a drink of water before going on. "Since I left school, I've been mostly waiting tables. That's kind of boring and you can't make really good money, at least not at the places where I've gotten jobs." "I need the money," she continues, "and I'm not inhibited. I like my body and I don't mind showing it off. I like sex and I'm ... well, I'm adventurous." She laughs, a little nervously. "Well, that's all good," I tell her. "You can certainly make a lot of money in the adult film business—especially a gorgeous and fresh-faced girl like you." I always say something like this to the girls. Flattery will get you everywhere in this game. But Crystal ... Sandy, I mean ... really is gorgeous I now think. "Do you have a boyfriend?" "No. Why?" "Well, let's just say that not all boyfriends are understanding about these things." "Oh, I see ... sure. But, I don't. So there's no problem there." "Good." Now it's time to move things along. "You say you're not ashamed to show off your body. I guess now's a good time to put that to the test." I say it with a smile and in a light-hearted way designed to draw her along. "Okay," she says, now looking a little nervous again. "What do you want me to do?" "Just stand up and take off your top." Sandy does it without hesitation or any sign of embarrassment. Her bra is pink and lacey; it gives her a little lift, but no padding at all. Her abdomen is tight and flat. If she flexed, I think she'd show a six pack. It's clear that this girl works out. "Now take off your skirt." She had to shimmy out of her skirt. Even with the zipper down, it was a tight fit over her nicely rounded hips. "Just take a few quarter turns," I instruct. Sandy's panties match her bra. Her bra and panties adorn her body without hiding anything. She is perfectly proportioned. Her slender thighs leave a small gap at her crotch, which is clean-shaved. When she turns to the side, I note again her flat abdomen, which makes her small breasts seem just the right size. When she turns her back to me, I get a good look at her perfect ass. I check to make sure she's centered in the video recorder. I'm positive I'll be going back to look at this video again. "Great!" I tell her. "You're a very beautiful girl." "Now, can you take your bra off for me?" This is where, for me, it gets really sexy. Having a beautiful girl undress for you is all sexy, of course. But there's something about her reaching back to unhook her bra, then sliding it down off her breasts that is so intimate that I always feel a quiver go through my body at this point. This is especially true as Sandy undoes her bra. I could tell that her tits were great but when the bra falls away, I'm stunned. These are breasts to die for—women from envy and men from lust. They are full and round, but perky with eraser-sized nipples that stand out. "Outstanding nipples," I think to myself, amused. "Very nice." I get up from my chair, come around the desk and lean back on her side of the desk, next to, but not blocking, the video recorder. "Can I feel them?" Sandy, answers by walking over to me. I reach out my hand, trying to conceal my eagerness to fondle her luscious mounds. They feel as good as they look. Her breasts are soft and warm—her nipples hard. I want desperately to really fondle them—hell, I want to take them in my mouth and suck on them. But that would appear unprofessional. And, above all, I must appear professional. So, I pull my hand back. "They feel real." Sandy looks hurt. "Of course they're real!" she says with an air of indignation. "One hundred percent me." "Okay. Stand back by the couch and slip off your panties." This part is great, too, of course. But for some reason I always find the removal of the bra to be sexier. Don't know why. Now she's wearing only her high heels and her earrings. It's a great look on her. "Do the quarter turn thing again." Really, it's the half turn that's most important here. When her back is toward me, I tell her to stop and to bend over and touch her toes. God! Just like her tits, her ass is to die for. All I can think of is my hands on her hips as my cock is thrusting in and out of her tight little pussy. And these thoughts aren't only in my head. I feel my cock straining upwards in my pants. When Sandy rises and turns back toward me, I ask if she's comfortable. "Sure," she says as casually as she can muster. "Let me see you walk back and forth." I pick up the camera to capture her as she does. Her walk is good. Her hips sway gently and suggestively, but not in an exaggerated way that would look cheap. After a bit of filming this. I ask her to sit down again. I put the camera I had been using back on the desk, aiming it where the action would be, and pull out the second camera for the POV shots. "So, Sandy. You said you were adventurous," I begin. She nods. "That's good because you have to be in this business. You have to be able to do intimate things to strangers and make the audience think it's as natural as can be. They have to think that you're excited about what you're doing." I pause. "Do you think you can do that?" "I guess ... I'm not sure, but I've thought a lot about this and I think so," she says more candidly than I'd expected. "There's no better time to find out than now." I smile. "Come over and get down on your knees. Take out my cock and suck it." As she gets up, I add, "And remember, you're an actress." I don't want her to follow my instructions like a zombie. This is where she's got to show me her talent. That gets a smile from her—a confident and seductive smile. I don't think there's anything sexier than the moment when a pretty girl drops to her knees to give you a blow job. There is something so submissive about it. And yet, when she takes your cock in her mouth, she has such sweet power over you. It takes Sandy a minute to get my cock out of my pants. It doesn't help that I'm already pretty hard when she begins. Finally, she unbuckles my belt, unbuttons my pants, and pulls them slightly down, causing my cock to spring up and hit her lips. She lifts my cock up very gently and runs her tongue on the underside from the base of my shaft up to the tip. As her tongue passes that very sensitive spot, just below the helmet, I quiver with pleasure. Sandy looks up, directly into the camera I'm aiming at her, and smiles with pleasure. This girl's a natural. If I were really an adult film talent agent, I'm sure I could get a lot of jobs for her. As it is, I'm planning to get a lot of jobs from her. Today's action is guaranteed by her desire to break into the adult film industry. She'll put on a good show for that. Future action will be guaranteed by the video I record now. It turns out that practically every girl has someone she doesn't want to have see a film like this. All I have to do is figure out who that person is—or who those people are—threaten to give them the video if I don't get what I want. And, presto, I get what I want. But the first time is special. For some girls (not many!) I only do the one time. If they don't really interest me, I just let the whole thing drop. Usually they don't get back to me anyway. If they do, and I'm really not interested in fucking them again, I tell them that I shopped the video around and didn't have any takers. They're embarrassed, maybe humiliated, and I never hear from them again. Sometimes when they call back, I hadn't planned to get back together with them but then I decide that I have enough interest to string them along for another encounter or two. I might tell them that the video was good but I think they could better, especially since they've had the experience of doing it once. When they come in for a second audition, they act their hearts out. I've never seen girls act more like desperate, cock-hungry sluts than when they think they're "this close" to getting into the business. With some chicks, though, I want more and it's not possible to string them along with promises and reports of almost-closed deals for them. But in those cases, I always have blackmail. I find out whether it's the parents, or brother, or sister, or employer, or whoever that the girl would be appalled to have see the audition tape. And then I'm blunt: "Suck my cock ... or spread your legs and let me fuck you ... or whatever ... or else you know who sees these videos." Crude, but effective. I've always gotten what I wanted. Sometimes I lose interest pretty quickly. It turns out that these things usually aren't as much fun when the girl is just succumbing to your threats. If she's really gorgeous, it might be fun enough though. And I was pretty sure that, with Sandy, I'd not only be stringing her along as long as I could, but coercing her after that ploy quit working. After teasing me with her tongue, Sandy takes my cock in her mouth—her sweet, warm, wet mouth—and sucks my cock like she's cock-crazed. Jesus! I want to explode in her mouth. But that's not how the script goes. With very strong regrets, I pull my quivering cock from her lips and pull her up. I lay her down on her back on the desk and reposition the camera to catch our action from the side while I catch it for the POV shot. I press her legs apart and get down to get a close-up shot of her quim. I always get that shot but what I do next surprises me. Holding the camera to the side, I lean forward and lick her cunt. With my thumb and fingers, I pull her lips aside and flick my tongue over her hard clitoris. Her whole pussy is slick with her juices and the scent is intoxicating. I don't remember the last time I licked one of these girls' cunts. But something about Sandy called me to do it. When I have her juices really flowing, I stand back up and pull her to the edge of the desk, ready for me to plunge into her. I love looking right into the eyes of a girl I met just a few minutes ago as she lies naked on her back, her legs spread for my cock. I like to look deeply into her eyes, to try to understand what she's feeling as she prepares to let an almost complete stranger take her. And, of course, I catch this all on the POV camera so that I can savor and re-savor the best ones. After a few moments of suspense, I line up my cock and thrust hard and fast all the way into Sandy's slick cunt. She sucks in a breath hard and sort of winces—not from pain, I don't think—just from the suddenness and completeness of my entry. As I settle into a rhythm I watch, and record, the sometimes violent movement of her breasts, up and down over her rib cage as I pound her body hard. For a while, I capture a close-up my by shaft, now slick with Sandy's juices, retreating and advancing into her tight, little pussy. Then I pan up past her undulating breasts to capture the expression on her face. Sandy's impressive for an amateur. She looks at me in a way that conveys the lust, not of a natural slut, but of a good girl, turned into a slut by the masterful fucking of an attractive man. I may not be a real talent agent but I knew that this was a recipe for a star. Any guy watching her films would think that she was just compelled by their virility to beg them to fuck her. Again, I could spill my seed now—I want desperately to fill her cunt with my cream. But what about the "money shot"? I couldn't miss that. "Get on your knees," I say, out of breath as I pull out of her. "Hurry." Sandy is down on her knees in front of me quickly. Just barely quickly enough for me to begin shooting jets of thick, white cream all over her sweet, innocent-looking face. I roar out loud and grunt as my cock erupts time after time. Finally, I'm spent—drained not only of semen, but of all of my energy. I collapse onto the couch, leaving Sandy on her knees sporting a huge facial. This doesn't usually happen to me when I "audition" girls. Usually, I keep my composure. But this time is different. I sort of zone out for a while on the couch. I'm floating ... soaring ... floating and soaring at the same time. Whatever. But I'm completely unaware of the passage of time. Then I jerk awake, with that sense of falling you sometimes get when your falling asleep is interrupted. I shake my head to clear it and rub my eyes. Sandy is standing naked by my desk. She's wiping the cum from her face with tissues she took from the box on my desk. "Oh ... wow! I'm sorry. I guess I kind of nodded off," I say, apologetically. "Yeah. I guess I don't have to ask you how it was for you." She picks up her bra and panties and begins dressing. "I should go. Is that okay—do you have everything you need—or is there anything else we need to do now?" I tell her it's okay. I'll be in touch with her soon. And I know that's true. This is one girl I plan to have over and over again. I've got unfinished business with her. I need to cum in her mouth, in her cunt, and I need to fuck her up her cute little ass. Oh, yeah. I'd be calling her back. Sandy finishes dressing. I'm still laid out on the couch as she tells me to call her if I can get her a gig and leaves. After some recuperation time, I manage to get up, pull up my pants, and straighten my clothes. I'd dropped the POV camera by the couch when I collapsed there. It's still running. I turn it to replay and begin watching the video I'd made. It's terrific! The technical elements aren't anything impressive. I'm an amateur, and a distracted one at that. But she looks great. I love seeing the way she looked up at me while she sucked my cock. And the shots of me fucking her on the desk are golden. I was jerking the camera a little as I came on her face, but even so it was a very hot scene. Oh, yeah ... I was going to be watching this video over and over. I pour myself a Scotch and sit at my desk, very pleased with myself. I decided to take a look at the video on the other camera. While the POV camera gives me a replay of what I'd seen, the other camera gives me a whole new perspective on the action. The only thing is that it doesn't! The SD card is empty—at least that's what the camera is reporting. I pull out the SD card and put it in the card-reader in my laptop. Same thing. The card isn't even formatted for the camera. What the hell?!?! I know that the record light was on. I guess I get it that the camera may have malfunctioned and not recorded anything. But I don't understand how it could have unformatted the card. Shit! This pisses me off—more than it should. Oh, well, I was planning to use some ruse to get Sandy back for another video session. This just means that I won't be lying when I tell her I have to make another recording. Still, I'm sorry to have somehow lost the video. I would have loved to see this afternoon's activities from that camera's perspective. I call Sandy the next day. She's surprised that I get back to her so quickly but I explain to her that I have to do another recording before I can shop her audition tapes around. She can't come in for a few days but we get an appointment set up for early next week. I'm looking forward to it. In the meantime, though, I have to get back to my other life. It's not as if I make any money from this scam. My payment for this is in another currency entirely. My other life is quite disjoint from this one. No one who knows me in that other life has any idea of what I do in this office when I can steal a few hours away from my schedule. If they did, it would be the end of everything. Tricked Pt. 01 People's moral standards are changing—remarkably rapidly in some ways. But it's not like the 9,000 members of the New Harvest Church would accept that their pastor is engaged in a long-running sex scam: cheating on his wife of 15 years, putting their three kids in jeopardy of public humiliation and an ugly divorce, exploiting naïve young women who are seeking to get in the porn industry. Forgiveness might be a "Christian" virtue, but it has its limits and I was well outside of them. Still, I've been doing this for almost two years. I first met the girls in a motel room but then, after I found a way to skim off some of the church funds, I decided to up my game. I got a nice office in an up-scale building and furnished it in a very tasteful way. It lowers the girls' suspicion and raises my success rate. In a mega-church the size of New Harvest, it isn't difficult so siphon off funds from a few accounts for a slush fund—maybe I should say 'a slut fund'. Of course, the embezzlement wouldn't go over with my parishioners any better than my other offenses. One more unforgiveable sin, though it seems minor in comparison to the others. So be it. Things are going well at the church. I'm at the top of my game in my sermons. I can preach a real barn burner when I'm moved by the spirit. And, maybe my private sins help to move me. Who knows? Sometimes I reflect on the similarity of what I do in my public life and what I do in this office. I tell people things they desperately want to believe to be true. I promise them a wonderful future if they will just believe ... believe, and give me something now. I say it with confidence and conviction. And they buy it. They buy it because they want so very much for it to be true. I'm a con man ... in both lives. The story being sold and the currency exchanged are different, but the game's basically the same. It's not surprising that the skills are transferrable. On Sunday, I preach one of my more fiery sermons on lies and deceptions—how we are all liars and we begin by lying to ourselves. "You can't lie to God, though," I emphasize to those in the pews and those watching on television. "You can't lie to God." It's a good sermon. It goes over well. Personally, though, I pay more attention to the rhythm and rhyme of the words than to the content. The content's really fluff—superficial moralizing. I'm looking forward to Tuesday. I've had my secretary block out the entire afternoon—doing one-on-one counseling at a few of the hospitals, I say. I'm not meeting with parishioners, I note. Just ministering to anyone who needs consolation. "You're so wonderful," she says, echoing a sentiment that I've heard many on my staff and in my flock repeat. "You're not in this just to build a bigger church; you really care about helping people." I do. And I believe that generosity and benevolence begins at home. First and foremost, I'm going to help myself. ***** (Continued in Part 2. The story category changes in Part 2, and then again in future parts.) Tricked Pt. 02 I get to the office on Tuesday, about noon. I check and double check both of the cameras. Everything is working fine. I'm not going to have a repeat of whatever happened last week. I've become more than normally obsessed with Sandy. I know my ruse will run its course eventually and I want to make sure that I have great recordings to watch, in order to savor the moments of pleasure I had with her. At 1:30, there's a light knock on my door. I call to Sandy to come in. She looks different. She's not dressed in the semi-slutty way that she was last week. But that's not what catches my attention. She carries herself differently—with strength and confidence. I gesture toward the couch for Sandy to sit down but she ignores me and sits at one of the chairs by the small table that's a prop to look like a place where business deals are closed. "You should really sit on the couch," I say, frankly a bit flustered by her assertiveness. "That's where the camera's set up." "Oh, we won't need that ... yet." What the hell did she mean by that? I don't know. But, I take some consolation in the 'yet'. That means that we're going to get around to my plan later, I figure. Okay. If she wants to talk, we can do that first. As I sit in the other chair, Sandy pulls a tablet out of her purse. She sets it on the table, but doesn't turn it on yet. "So, what do you want to talk about, Sandy?" I say, trying to reassert my control of the situation. "I don't have the whole afternoon so we'll need to get to making another demo tape soon." "Oh, this won't take long. We'll have plenty of time for taping, Ralph." "Good," I think, until the last word registers. 'Ralph' is my real name. I'd never told Sandy, or any of the girls, my real name. What the hell is happening? How does she know my name? I'm in a panic but ... I'm an actor myself. What do you think being a preacher in a mega church is all about? So I keep calm, trying to see where this is going. "Do you know this girl?" Sandy says, firing up the tablet for the first time. It comes on with a headshot of a very cute 20-something girl who looks familiar, but I can't place her. "I can't say as I do." "Well, probably there have been too many girls for you to remember them all," Sandy says, her words dripping with scorn. I remember the girl now. Not well. I don't remember her name. But I remember that she is one of the girls I scammed. She probably was one of the run-of-the-mill ones. If she'd been particularly good, or particularly bad, I would have remembered her better. "Well, she's my cousin—more like a sister to me. She's been living with our family since her parents were killed eight years ago." I don't really know what's going on here. I get it that Sandy's figured out my scam and is angry. But why did she fall for the scam just last week. Maybe, I think, she just figured out the scam in the past few days. Wait, maybe things are better than I feared. Maybe Sandy's not on to my scam at all. Maybe she's just talked with her cousin and wants to know why I've never gotten any gigs for her. Maybe I can bowl through this thing. But, what about Sandy knowing my name? I'm still not sure what's happening here. But my uncertainty doesn't last long. And the truth is worse than I'd feared. "Carrie's a nice girl—a little wild and maybe too needy when it comes to approval from men—but a nice girl. And you took advantage of her naïveté. You raped here, really. Didn't you?" "No see here. I've never raped anyone. Carrie ... that's her name, right? ... Carrie came here of her own free will and everything we did here was consensual." I feel like I'm on a moral high horse, defending myself from a scandalous and false allegation. "So let's not be throwing around words like 'rape'." "Call it what you want. I call it 'rape by deception', and your description really doesn't matter." "Courts don't recognize rape by deception, not when the deception is about an inducement to have sex." What the hell is this? I think. Some kind of legal seminar? Why the hell am I explaining thing to this woman? "Oh, you don't need to worry about courts," Sandy replies, with complete calm. "You can lie to courts, just like you can lie to yourself. " And here she pauses for an uncomfortably long period of time. I say nothing because I don't know what to say. Sandy goes on, "but you can't lie to God" and she says 'God' like we bible-thumpers say it when we're preaching. "And you can't lie to me." Okay, so it's clear she knows all about my "real" life. She was at my sermon on Sunday. She's right that my concern shouldn't be about legal issues. If what Sandy knows gets out, I'll be ruined ... completely. So now my mouth is dry and my pulse is pounding. "I don't know ..." and my voice dribbles off. "Don't play stupid, asshole." Sandy's voice drips with disdain. "You're a shit, but you're not a stupid shit. You know what the situation is." "What do you want?" My voice is quavering now. I can't help it. I see my whole life crumbling. I knew I was playing with fire. That was part of the thrill—maybe a whole lot of it. But now that my life is getting burned up in the fire, I don't like it at all. "Oh ... I want a lot. And you're going to give me everything I want. Or you're destroyed. You decide." Sandy's voice is confident, almost smug. "First of all, we're going to change the dynamic a little." She paused and I had no idea what she was talking about. "Take off your clothes," she barked. "What?" "Oh, Jesus!" she says sounding exasperated. "You heard me. You've told enough girls to do that. And they did. Now take off your clothes. I mean it. Now!" I stand up slowly, trying to figure out some way out of the predicament I was in. Without success. As I begin undressing, I realize that it is incredibly embarrassing—humiliating, really—to undress at another person's command. It symbolizes complete submission to their dominance. "Come on ... hurry it up!" Sandy prompts. "I don't want you to put on some sort of a show. You're too disgusting for that. Just get your clothes off ... all of them." As I slide my boxers down, I find myself shaking slightly. I try to control it; I don't want to give Sandy any more satisfaction than she's already getting. "Now, put these on." Sandy pulls a wad of clothes out of her purse and tosses them toward me. As they fall on the ground, I see that she's given me a bra, panties, a garter belt and stockings—all in black. "Oh, this is ridiculous," I complain. "It's ridiculous, all right. But you're going to do it." She's determined. "And you're going to do it right now if you don't want to make me mad." Sandy smiles, "And I assure you, you don't want to make me mad." As I put on the lingerie, feeling even more humiliated, Sandy digs into her purse and pulls out some black high heel shoes. Shit! She's like some X-rated Mary Poppins with never-ending string of things she can pull out of her purse. "These, too," she says as I finish hooking the stockings to the garter belt. The shoes are too small, but I manage to stuff my feet into them. "You're flat chested," Sandy blurts out as if that's a surprise. Walking over to my desk, she pulls out lots of tissues from the dispenser and hands them to me. "Here, stuff your bra like a flat-chested teenager would." "Now practice walking ... a sexy girl walk. I want to see your hips swinging invitingly." Sexy girl walk, my fucking eye! I can barely stand up in these four-inch spike-heel shoes. But a few minutes of practice allows me to at least keep my balance if I'm very careful. As I'm practicing my "sexy girl walk," Sandy's setting up my cameras, one on the tripod and one that she's holding. When she thinks I'm walking well enough—and it's surely far short of a sexy girl walk—she begins recording me. She gives me directions about when and how to stop and pose or turn slowly for the camera. I don't need to see the recordings to know that I look ridiculous. I'm fairly slender and hot terribly hairy, but I certainly look like a man ... and, right now, like a man preposterously dressed in sexy women's lingerie. Sandy stops recording and I take the opportunity to ask her what she plans to do with these recordings. "Oh, don't you worry your pretty little head about that," she replies condescendingly. "I already have everything I need to ruin you. You know that. These recordings are ... well, let's say, they're going to be part of your road to redemption." I'm confused and she seems fine with that. "You know all about redemption, don't you. You know, sin and redemption—all that shit you preach about on Sundays." I guess I know as much as most about redemption, but I have no idea how these recordings will lead to my redemption. And Sandy has no intention of enlightening me now. "We have a lot to do so let's get started," she says, as if we haven't already gotten started on some path I don't understand at all. "I want the recordings of all the girls you took advantage of—and I mean all of them ... and every copy." I nod—maybe too quickly. "Oh, I know what you're thinking," Sandy said—and, as it turns out, she's right. "You're thinking, 'How will she know whether I keep copies for myself?' You're thinking, I can still have some fun reviewing hidden copies." That's right. That's exactly what I'm thinking. How could she know? "So maybe I'll have to use some 'enhanced interrogation techniques' on you. Maybe if I twist your balls in a vice grip, I'll get from you an honest answer about whether you've given me all of the copies. Maybe a jolt of electricity in a dildo shoved way up your ass would get me the truth. What do you think?" What I think is that I'd completely underestimated this bitch. What I say is, "I'll give you everything." I blather on in a rather undignified, but I hope effective, way, "I promise. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done this. I don't know what I was thinking. It was wrong." "Those are all good sentiments, of course. But I know I've got a foxhole Christian here. I know that, given half a chance, you'd go right back to exploiting naïve girls for your selfish pleasure." "No ... I promise. This was wrong. I won't do it again." "We'll see about that. I've got a plan. But first, I want every copy of every recording you've made of you raping these girls." "I didn't rape ..." She cut me off. "They consented to sex with an agent who would try to get them offers for movie deals and modeling. Are you that person?" I shake my head. "Then they didn't consent to sex with you. You're a fucking rapist." Sandy glares at me and I shrink from her gaze. "But I don't want to argue semantics with you. I want the recordings." "Okay, I kept them only on this laptop and this external hard drive. There aren't any other copies. Here, I'll show you where they are on." I navigate to the folder on my laptop's hard drive with all of the videos. They're carefully labeled with dates and names of the girls. "This is a good start. Show me the hard drive." As she's looking at the folder, she asks if I have all of the girls' names and contact information stored. I tell her I have the hard copies of the agreements they signed and a spreadsheet with all of that information. "You practice walking some more. You're really not very good at it yet. I've got work to do here." Sandy busies herself at my computer and I try to keep an eye on what she's doing while complying with her command enough to escape her attention. "Okay, you've got files on Google Drive and Dropbox. Give me your passwords." "I'm not going to give you ..." I start. "The hell you're not! The passwords, or your family and every member of your church gets to see the videos of your activities." Okay, she's got me by the balls, of course. I give her the passwords and she logs in and begins poking around my files on the cloud servers. "And were you going to tell me about these back-ups?" Sandy asks accusatorially. She knows that I wasn't. I told her the only copies were on the internal hard disk and the local external back up drive. I'd put the best ones up on Google Drive so I could watch them remotely whenever I had the desire and opportunity. Sandy deletes the copies on Google Drive and does to the trash folder to permanently delete them from that folder. She's not missing a trick. I see her put two thumb drives in my computer and begin copying files. Why two? When she sees me looking, she orders me to get back to my practice walking. While the file transfers are taking place—and I can see from the status bar that she's copying lots of data—Sandy gets up and walks to her purse again. "Oh, shit!" I think to myself, "What now?" What now was a large, realistic black dildo, complete with balls and a suction cup at the base. "That's enough walking practice for now. You need to practice some other girl skills." She licks the bottom of dildo and sticks it to the wall, just below waist height. "Get down on your knees and work on your sucking skills. You're going to need them." "What does that mean?!" "Never mind ... just get down and suck. And do it right, like you're pleasing a real cock." I get down on my knees, wondering when this exercise in degradation and humiliation will end. Sandy gets back to my computer to check on the progress of the file transfer. Satisfied, she comes back and starts recording my fellatio practice. She's again recording with both cameras, getting varied close-ups with the handheld one. She scolds me for being, in her words, "lackadaisical" about sucking "my lover's cock." I start trying to be more convincing in what I'm doing. Now that she's paying attention to me, she starts giving me orders to "lick his balls," "tease his shaft with my tongue," and "kiss the tip of his cock," in addition to sucking the dildo and pumping the shaft with my hands. It feels like this goes on interminably. Sandy goes back and checks the computer. When she sees that the transfer is complete, she tells me that I can stop for a while. She pulls out the USB drives, leaves one on my desk and drops the other in her purse. She goes back to my computer and begins typing. "You can get up and come over," she says as if she's being generous. I stand up, nearly falling because I'm not thinking about the high heels I have on. I walk toward the desk. "What the hell are you doing?!" I scream. The bitch is running a wipe disk routine on my hard drive. I see the progress bar as it reports scrubbing the hard disk. I lunge toward her with the ill-considered intention of stopping her. "Forget it," she barks. "First of all, you can't stop it now. But even if you could, you couldn't do it without me revealing your activities to the world." That freezes me in my tracks. I watch helplessly as all of my data is erased. "Hey, I did you a favor," Sandy says. "Before I wiped your disk, I copied all of the documents you had that were clearly not things you could use against your victims to the thumb drive. You'll just have to re-install your programs and you'll be up and running—minus your perverted recordings, of course." I stand there speechless, looking and feeling ridiculous in my black lingerie and still wobbling a bit on my high heels. "Now for some more fun," Sandy says with twisted cruelty. "What?" I say timidly, knowing I can't control what comes. She walks over to the dildo and pulls it off the wall. Pushing my chair out of the way, she sticks it to the carpet protector I keep under my chair. "What now?" "I'll tell you what now," she says. "What now is this. You've shown what you can do with your mouth. Now you're going to show what you can do with your ass." "No," I plead. "Don't do this." "Did you ever fuck any of the girls in their ass?" She looks at me accusatorily. She already knows the answer. "Did you?" she shouts and I nod in defeat. "Okay. Now let's see how you like taking it up your ass." She pulls a bottle of some sort of lube out of her purse. (Shit! Will that purse never cease to produce unwelcome surprises?) "Here, this might make it easier and more enjoyable." Easier, I believe; enjoyable, not at all. She hands me the lube and I get down on my knees to begin slathering it on the dildo. "Not yet," Sandy stops me. "First I want you to suck the dildo right where it is. Pretend that you need to get it hard to fuck your tight little ass." To comply, I have to stick my ass up in the air. Sandy seems to like this. She re-aims the camera on the tripod to record it and grabs the handheld again. "Take it all the way to the bottom." This makes me gag and cough at first. After a few tries, I'm better at it. I notice that she's behind me taking a close up from the floor, between my legs. "Okay, Sweetie," she oozes. "I think you got him hard and wet. Now it's time to use him for your pleasure." I get back up on my knees and grab the bottle of lube. I might have gotten the dildo wet with my mouth, but that wasn't going to be enough. I squirt some on my hand and spread it on the dildo. It feels like I'm jacking a cock off, though never having touched another guy's cock, I'd never experienced it from this angle. "Good girl!" She's feeling pretty powerful and clearly liking it. "Now stand up and pull your pretty little panties down to your ankles. ... Don't take them off," she cautions me as I pull them down. What could look more foolish and be more humiliating than to be dressed in women's lingerie and heels? To be dressed in women's lingerie and heels with your panties down around your ankles! "Okay, now squat down and take his cock in your ass." I hate the way she's talking about the dildo like it's a real cock and there's a real person attached to it. I hate the way she's referring to me as a girl, too. In fact, I hate everything that's happening. But I see no recourse for me. It turns out to be hard to squat down with panties around your ankles—harder still in the "fuck me pumps" Sandy had me wearing. (I guess "fuck me pumps" is a pretty apt name right now.) I have to hold on to my desk to keep my balance but I manage to squat down and I suddenly feel the cool, slippery tip of the dildo between my cheeks. Sandy moves behind me to get a close-up shot of this thing taking my virgin ass. It's a little difficult to line it up right while I'm squatting on these high heels but, a bit clumsily, I manage. As I lower myself down slowly on it, wincing as it opens me in a way I've never been opened before, I bite down on my lip to manage the pain I feel. "Oh," Sandy coos. "That's a good girl. You're a natural." It doesn't feel like any of this is natural; it feels very unnatural to me as I feel the head of the dildo press against my sphincter. I've engaged in ass play before. But this dildo is bigger, and more realistic, than anything I've put up my bum before. It hurts a little, but not too much. I can feel the ridge of the helmet push past my sphincter. It feels strangely erotic. For just a moment, I think about the fact that I've been missing something when I've toyed my ass with the smooth vibrators that my wife and I have used in our play together. "Now ride it like the little bitch that you are." Sandy's command draws my attention away from the feeling in my ass and focuses me again on the humiliation I feel. I go down as low as I can, squatting as I am in these high heels. Sandy decides I'm not going far enough and she orders me to stand up and take my panties completely off, then get down on my knees, straddling the dildo, so I can take it all the way in my ass. In this position, the only thing preventing me from taking it as far as she wants me to is the dull pain I feel as I lower myself down on to the shaft. For a while I can't take it all the way. But Sandy's taunts soon become more excruciating than the pain in my rectum. Tricked Pt. 02 "What's the matter little girl? Can't take it all the way? Oh, come on ... I know a little cock whore like you can do better than that." All this time, she's moving around to film me from different angles. Her favorite angle turns out to be from the front, shooting low between my legs. She urges me to move faster. She likes the way my cock and balls flop up and down as I ride the dildo. At first my cock is limp and flopping wildly. But as I ride the dildo, feeling it thrust into me and fill my ass, my cock begins to rise. This doesn't go unnoticed by my tormenter. "Oh, you like that, don't you?" Sandy coos. "Your little clitty is getting hard, isn't it?" Every male past puberty knows that you can't will away a hardon. And my embarrassment at Sandy's awareness at my arousal seemed only to feed it. Her humiliating patter just makes things worse-which is to say, it makes me harder. Soon, my dick isn't flopping limply; it's bouncing down against the floor and them up almost to my stomach. It's obvious that Sandy is loving this. She keeps me doing it for a long time, all the while taunting me. She's as eager for this to continue as I am for it to end. Sandy stands up, taking a break from her taping. That's fine with me until I see why she is doing it. She grabs the lube off the desk and hands it to me. "Now lube up your little clitty and play with it while you fuck your man's cock." I'm so fucking hard now that I actually look forward to jacking off. She can call it a "little clitty" as much as she wants, but my cock is rock hard and wrapping my lubed-up fingers around is a reminder of my masculinity. This might seem a strange thought from a man dressed in women's lingerie and taking a plastic penis up his ass, but the feel of my cock—hot and hard—reinforced my sense of myself as a man. Between the wonderful feeling of my wet, slippery fist stroking my shaft and the marvelous sensation of plunging on and off the dildo, it doesn't take long at all before I'm on the edge of an orgasm. "Now look into the camera," Sandy orders. Shit! I'd almost forgotten about her recording this. Looking at her filming me pulls me back from the edge. I slow down for a moment but Sandy urges me on. "I didn't say to stop, Sweetie. Keep pleasing that cock with your boi-pussy and play with your clitty till you spurt your little bit of cream." Sandy positions herself so she can get a full shot of me from the front. "Come on ... let's see that little bitty clitty blow. Oh, and I want you looking straight into the camera all the while." I'm quickly back on the edge again. The humiliation of the scene doesn't prevent my arousal—maybe it actually enhances it. As my orgasm becomes inevitable, Sandy keeps up the encouragement. "Oh, come on. That's a good girl! You're allowed to have pleasure as long as you're pleasing a cock." I'm almost there now. "Is that what you like, pleasing a man's big, hard cock with your tight little boi-pussy?" Her dirty talk pushes me over the edge. I roar out loudly—too loudly. (I hope no one in the office building decides to investigate.) And, even as I look into Sandy's camera, I can see my cum shoot up a foot from my pistoning cock. One, two, three ... four big shots of semen shoot up and fall back onto my cock, my hand, and my stockings. "Okay, you little cum slut. Now lick it off your hand." Sheeze! I haven't even come down from my incredible high. She could at least give me a few minutes to catch my breath. I raise my hand to my mouth and tentatively lick my cum off. I'd tasted my cum before, but being commanded to eat it in front of your tormenter is a whole 'nother thing. And cleaning my hand off isn't enough for Sandy. I have to wipe up the cum that's on my stockings with my hand and lick that up, too. "You missed some," Sandy says, pointing to the floor. Shit! She expects me to lick my cum off the floor. As I bend over to comply, the dildo pops out of my ass and I have an unexpected empty feeling. "Put that back in and thrust it in and out while you get the last drops of cum off the floor with your tongue." And that's exactly what I do. What else could I do? If Sandy reveals what she knows about me, my life will be over—career, family life, everything. I'm not happy about what she is doing to me but I don't see a choice. Sandy films all of this closely, getting me lapping up my cum from the floor and a close-up of me fucking my ass with the dildo while I do that. I don't know what she's planning to do with the recordings. I'm sure it won't be anything good. I've finished cleaning the floor of all of my cum. I pull the dildo from my ass and Sandy doesn't order me to put it back in. Maybe this is ending. "Put your panties back on, Sweetie, and let's talk about what's going to happen next." Her tone is ominous and I'm sure it's not misleading. I stand up, wobbling a bit on my heels, and pull on the panties. Sandy sits down at the table and I sit down in the other chair. "You did pretty well," Sandy says sweetly, but then adds, "for your first time." Shit! Well, I knew she had more in store for me. But, really ... what's the point? She's got her blackmail material already. Can she really get off that much on humiliating me over and over? As it turns out, her plan isn't to subject me to repeats of today's torment. It's much worse. "So, you know your little sexploitation scam is over, now. Right?" I nod. "But just ending it isn't enough. You need to make reparations—you know, "the road to redemption." And here's how you're going to do it." She pauses, I guess for drama. It's unnecessary. I'm hanging on every word, worried about what's in store for me. "You're going to send every girl you tricked $1,000. You're going to explain to them that you have gotten out of the adult talent agent business and you feel that, since you can't fulfill your responsibilities, you owe them compensation." "But that's like $30,000! I don't have $30,000 lying around." "Oh, you're not going to pay this out of some account you have squirreled away. And you're not going to pilfer it from the church coffers. You're going to earn every cent of this conscience money. And you're going to earn it in a way that helps you understand what the girls you tricked went through." I have no idea where Sandy is going with this. I get it that she's got some sort of eye-for-an-eye idea in mind, but I don't see what it is. My suspense doesn't last long. "You're going to create an account on Man Nation," Sandy says. I don't know what Man Nation is, but I can guess. "Well, actually, I'm going to create the account, using your information." I look aghast. "Don't worry, I'll use the phony ID information you created for your talent agent scam. As long as you do everything I require, you can continue to keep this separate from your 'respectable preacher' life." This is a relief, of course. But I know that what Sandy will require won't be easy or pleasant. "I'll create a very enticing profile for you using screenshots and video clips of today's practice activities. Your webpage will indicate how much you want to entertain men, in any way that pleases them. But it will also say that you can't do this for free. You'll explain that you feel like a woman, trapped in a man's body. You are attracted to men and you want to please them. You're pimping yourself out so that you can earn money to get a sex change operation." Sandy stops, clearly pleased with herself. I'm appalled. I've looked at gay porn on the Internet; it's not like you have to make a special effort to seek it out. I've had the sort of idle curiosity that lots of men have. But I've never yearned for gay sex, or even imagined doing it in any vivid way. "You're not going to earn the money quickly, I'm afraid." I doubt that she was really sorry about that. "But, if you're very good and get good reviews from the men you serve, you can raise your rates and finish sooner. It all depends on how fast you want to get this little chapter of your life over. You can do several men a day and charge extra for 'special services'. You know, some men will pay a lot to get to do disgusting things to you. It's all up to you, Sweetie." Of course, very little of what was to happen was going to be up to me. I'd say that Sandy has me by the balls, if I felt as if I had any balls anymore. "I'll send you the login information when I have your Man Nation page all ready to go live. Then you're ready to start your new secret activities. And, you're so good with recording all your activities, I expect you to keep doing that. I'll want to review the tapes. And you need to keep good records: what you do, what you get paid, all of that. I'll be auditing your activities from time to time to make sure you're on track." Sandy stands up, picks up her purse, and starts for the door. "Do everything right and this will all end with your marriage and career still intact. Mess up, and it's all over." She puts her hand on the door. "Oh, and you can keep what you're wearing. My gift to you. You'll want to buy more things, of course. Got to make yourself pretty for your customers, you know." She opens the door, walks out of my office but not, alas, out of my life. I sit in the chair, almost crying, just thinking to myself, over and over, "I'm fucked, I'm fucked," knowing that, unfortunately, I was going to be. ***** (To be continued. Future chapters will be categorized in Gay Male)