16 comments/ 61311 views/ 23 favorites I Hate Queers By: Cyanlot "YOUR A GODDAM FUCKIN QUEER. YOU SHOULD GO SUCK A COCK BECAUSE THATS ALL YOU GOOD FOR!!!" As I typed the words into the comment section after the story I'd just read, I felt a sense of satisfaction and relief. Maybe I should write to the editors of literotica.com to tell them to get this fucking gay shit out of other forums. I mean, it's not that the story was really about gay sex. But it was about a wimp-ass pussy-boy who got off watching his wife fuck other men. That's not the kind of thing that a normal man would write about. It's the kind of thing that a cock-sucking queer would think men would find exciting. Cause the cock-sucking queer was imagining himself in the role of the wife and thought the husband in the story should do the same. I was getting so sick of this shit showing up in every category. If we're going to have stories about cheating wives, let's have ones where the dude acts like a dude. You know, he comes home and grabs a gun and kills them both. First, he shoots the balls off the guy and then fucks his wife in the ass on top of the guy as he bleeds to death. Then he puts the gun up the bitch's cunt and just as he's shooting his load in her ass, he pulls the trigger. Then all he has to do is clean things up a little and call the cops and say, "I'm sorry, officer. I came home to this." That's the kind of cheating wife story that a real man would write. Well, I'd have to do that later. I was late for meeting George at the bar. I wiped the history in my browser so my wife, Marilyn, wouldn't accidently find out what sort of sites I visited. Then, I headed out to meet George. When I got to the bar, George was sitting by himself in a booth, nursing a beer. He's a big guy-about 6'3" and built like a tank. He's been in the construction business all his life, first as a worker and now he owned his own business building small strip malls and things like that. I liked George. He was a regular guy. You could talk with him without having to watch what you said. No political correctness. He was fine if you made a racist joke or called women "cunts". He didn't raise an eyebrow if you called a queer a "faggot". You could just say what you thought. I got a beer and joined George. He teased me about being late: "What were you doing? Yanking your crank because Marilyn won't give you any anymore?" I told him I lost track of time because I was reading a cheating wife story on literotica.com that really pissed me off and I posted an angry review. I could talk with George even about this. He read literotica.com, too. In fact, I think he was the one that told me about it. "You really hated it, huh?" "Yeah. It was another story by that faggot in hiding, Cinderblock. You know the guy. He writes about all kind of things but you can tell that he's really a queer that just can come to grips with the fact that he wants to suck a guy's cock." "Yeah, I've read some of his stuff. Doesn't bother me as much as it seems to bother you." "Are you kidding," I shot back. "The guy's a sick fuck. I haven't read one story of his that's just a straight, guy-fucks-the-living-brains-out-of-a-stacked-chick story. I mean, what the fuck? Does he think people like to read his twisted shit?" "Well, you read it." "Fuck you," I said. And, actually, I was a little pissed at George right then. "I read it because I keep wondering whether this guy will straighten his head out. But he never does. The faggot should just do the world a favor and fuckin' kill himself." George kind of chuckled and I could tell that it would be better to move on to some other topic. I didn't really know why this guy, Cinderblock, pissed me off so much. He was really pressing my buttons and I could tell from George's response that my reaction was over the top. I decided it was best just to let it go. The bartender brought us two new beers. We were regulars here and he pretty much knew to keep us stocked with beers until we stopped him. George went to take a piss and, while he was gone I got myself all worked up again just thinking about the stories that this asshole Cinderblock posted. But when I saw George returning, I resolved not to bring it up again. George had other ideas. First thing he said when he sat down was, "So, do you want to get this guy?" "Who?" I said, not wanting to make assumptions. "You know. This guy who's pissing you off. Cinderella or whatever?" "Cinderblock!" I corrected, knowing that George was just trying to provoke me. "What do you mean, "get him"?" "I mean, track him down and beat the holy crap out of him." George paused. "You'd like to do that, right?" "Would I! That would show him." I took a swig of my beer. "But there's no way to track him down." "Maybe. But maybe not." Now George paused to take a gulp. He had my attention. I'd love to teach this little sissy-boy creep a lesson. "If you're right," George continued, "I'll be I can get this Cinderblock to show himself. I mean, if he's really a faggot-in or out of the closet-I'll bet I can get him interested in a date." He took another drink of his beer. "Then, we can beat him to a pulp when he shows up for his date night." "Shit! That's fucking brilliant," I said, stunned by George's willingness to join in on this. "Of course, we'd have to be lucky enough for him to live near here. Who the hell know where in the world anyone on literotica.com really is?" "Well, we can see." And with that, we moved on to other topics. About three days later, George e-mailed me and told me that he'd gotten a response from Cinderblock. In fact, they'd been chatting up quite a bit in private correspondence through literotica.com. Turns out that Cinderblock lives in California. I suspected that it would be San Francisco, land of the queers and fairies, but it turned out he lived in Sacramento. That's a long way from Atlanta, where George and I lived. So, I figured that beating the shit out of Cinderblock would have to remain just an unfulfilled fantasy. But life is good and it turned out that the world was revolving around me. Not two weeks later, George e-mailed me another back-and-forth between him and Cinderblock. Ah, the fates were with me and George. Cinderblock was going to be travelling to Atlanta on business in just a couple of weeks. And, he was interested in meeting George (though George had been using the name Greg in the correspondence). I couldn't believe the luck. It was as if the universe, itself, wanted me to beat the crap out of Cinderblock and it was conspiring to bring him to me for that purpose. George kept me up on the e-mail from Cinderblock, who told "Greg" that his real name was "Ben". But who knew? No one told the truth about these things on the Internet. I decided to keep thinking of him as "Cinderblock". Cinderblock was the guy I'd come to despise. And it was Cinderblock, not some guy named "Ben", who I was going to beat the shit out of for being such a little cock-sucking faggot. Cinderblock wanted George to meet him at his hotel room in downtown Atlanta. That was great. We could go there, beat the crap out of Cinderblock and threaten to do it again if he kept writing his shit and posting it to literotica.com and leave him in his hotel room to nurse his wounds. George and I planned our attack on several different occasions over beers. "Planned" might be too grand a word. There wasn't much to plan, really: go to his room, beat the crap out of him, promise more if he ever posted another of his shit-ass stories, and leave. But it was fun to run the scenario over and over in our minds while sucking on our beers. Finally the big night arrived. I'd told Marilyn that I was going to a basketball game with George, so I had the whole night free. George and I drove to the hotel separately because he was coming from a building site the other side of town. When I got there, George was waiting in the lobby. He told me that Ben, as he called him, had instructed him to get a key at the desk-he'd left instruction with the receptionist-and come up to the room and let himself in. That seemed weird to me but, who knows, maybe this pussy-boy, Cinderblock, was planning on meeting his lover in a nightie, reclining on the bed. It's impossible to figure out what goes through the mind of a queer. I could feel my pulse pounding as we went up in the elevator. The prospect of beating the crap out of this guy was really energizing me. When we got to the door, George inserted the key card gently and opened the door quietly. He stepped in and I followed, closing the door silently behind me. I started to take a step down the entry toward the beds when I was pushed violently, head-first, into the wall. It all happened so fast that I couldn't process what was happening. I hit the wall so hard that I lost consciousness. I have no idea how much time passed. I came to slowly and I was pretty groggy for a while. I realized that my hands and feet were tied securely to the bed I was lying in. I was tied face down, but with enough slack that I could look around. The only person I could see was George, who was sitting at the desk, watching something on a laptop. "What the fuck?" I complained. "Oh, you're with the living again," George replied. "What happened? Did that little faggot shit Cinderblock jump me?" Then I realized how silly that was. George wasn't tied up. And why didn't he untie me? "He sure did," George said. Now I was more confused. If Cinderblock jumped me, where the fuck was he? And why didn't George untie me? I was still a bit addled but I suspected that I'd be confused under the best of conditions. "But I wouldn't call him "little". Of, for that matter, a "faggot shit". He's about 6'3" and a good 230 pounds. And, right now, he owns you." "What are you talking about?" I still wasn't getting it. My head was pounding and I'm sure my brain wasn't at its best. But this was all so confusing. "Well, Ken," George said calmly, "if you're so dense that I need to spell it all out for you, here goes." George paused, I think for dramatic effect. "You wanted to meet Cinderblock so you could beat the crap out of him. Well, you've known Cinderblock for years but I doubt that you could beat the crap out of him. Even on your best day and my worst, you're no match for me." Okay, this was really weird. It was like the truth was revealed but it was in a language that I couldn't understand. No, that's not right. I knew what George was saying. I just couldn't imagine the world being the way he was describing it. George was Cinderblock! That was ridiculous. Cinderblock was some little faggot pussy-boy-or at least a wannabe faggot pussy-boy. George was the epitome of a manly man. He had a beautiful wife and two kids. No one really knows what goes on in a person's marriage, but I was pretty sure that he and Claire had a terrific relationship, both physically and emotionally. And, I think I have pretty decent-maybe even overly sensitive-"gaydar". And I can assure you, George ranks a "0" on a scale of "0" to "100" on the gaydar. So, what the fuck was going one. I understood the words, but I couldn't think of the world being the way the words said it was. "What the fuck? You're not that faggot Cinderblock!" I said, knowing that it was false but challenging George to make things make sense. "Well, I am. But I'm not gay. I've never had sex with another guy. I don't even think about having sex with another guy, except sometimes when I'm searching for a story line that is really provocative. I think about lots of things that are disturbing, even to me. That's part of the point of fantasies, you know." George looked at me and seemed to be recalculating. "No, you probably don't know. You probably think the point of fantasies is to live out your secret yearnings. That's a pretty limited vision. But I think it's probably the one you have." "Untie me!" I said forcefully, not really wanting to engage George in a debate about the nature and purpose of sexual fantasies. "I will, but not yet." George got up, grabbed the laptop, walked toward me. "First, there are a couple of things I want to show you. I think you'll learn something tonight. One lesson can be learned just by watching. The second will be what teachers call 'experiential learning'." George set the laptop down on the bed next to my head. The media player filled the screen and, after setting it down, George pressed a button to start a video. The scene was a hotel room, much like the one we were in. A woman entered the room and sat down on one of the beds. It took a minute for me to recognize her. It was Marilyn. She kicked off her shoes and then hiked her dress up to roll down her stockings. Marilyn usually wore pantyhose or no stockings at all. She only wore thigh-highs, like those she was wearing on the video, for special occasions like when we had a "special date". Then she'd wear those stockings with no panties on. I thought through some of the times we'd gone out with Marilyn dressed like that. There had been sexual tension all through the night. I'd eaten my dinner with the vivid image of her neatly shaved pussy, bare under her dress. And then a man came into view. George! (Okay, I shouldn't have been surprised, but I still found it shocking.) He was unbuttoning his shirt as he walked toward Marilyn. When he sat down next to her on the bed, she said, "Here, darling, I want to show you something." Marilyn took his hand and pressed it up under her skirt. "Do you like it?" "Very nice!" George replied. "I did it for you, you know. Ken has been wanting me to shave my pussy for a long time but I didn't feel like doing it. But then I thought, if Ken wants this so much, maybe it would please you, too." "It does. But it pleases me even more than you did it just for me. I'm going to love licking this sweet little shaved cunt until it drips with wetness and you beg me to fuck you." "Well, that won't take long," Marilyn said, pulling George onto her on the bed. As they were pulling off each other's clothes, I did some calculating. Marilyn had first shaved her crotch for me over a year ago. I remembered it distinctly because it was so surprising. I'd wanted her to try that for years but she'd always said that she didn't want to have to deal with the itching and the stubble. Then, one day she came to bed with her pussy shaved as smooth as a plum. When I questioned her about it, she said that she'd been talking with her girlfriend, Louise, when they were out shopping that afternoon and Louise encouraged her to try shaving her twat just to see the reaction she would get out of me. My reaction was intense. I licked and kissed her clean little cunt no end that night. (At least, at the time I thought it was clean. I now realized that she'd come home that afternoon not from a day of shopping with Louise but from a day of fucking my friend George. Shit, even if she'd showered, she probably came home to me with some of his cum clinging to the walls of her cunt and dripping out as I coaxed her juices with my tongue.) We'd fucked like teenagers that night. I think it might have been the best sex I'd ever had with Marilyn, or anyone for that matter. Now, watching George's video, I realized that it was all a lie. While I'd been completely immersed in an intense sexual encounter with Marilyn, she was, in her heart, laughing at me and fantasizing about her afternoon with George. "You like it," George said, breaking me out of my dark thoughts. "You bastard! I hate your fucking guts!" "Probably. But not as much as you will." George seemed so confident and in control. I guess he was. "For the time being, just enjoy the video. I have a few things to do." George went around the corner into the hallway by the bathroom. I had nothing to do but bemoan my fate and watch me wife satisfy her lover, my friend (or so I thought), and get more pleasure from doing it than she'd ever gotten with me. I'd never seen George's cock before-and of course not when it was hard. But I could see on the video that it was big. I don't mean "hung like a horse" big, but it was a good eight inches and very fat. Its size wasn't lost on Marilyn. I had to listen to her telling George how big and beautiful his cock was. She said this while she was fondling it, before she put it between her lips, and several times as she was making love to it with her mouth. And she said it when she'd finished pleasuring George with her mouth and started begging him to fuck her with his huge cock. I watched Marilyn moan with pleasure as George entered her and gave her an intense fucking. She wrapped her legs around his torso and gripped him with her thighs. And, when she came, she screamed out loud urging him to fill her with his cum. I didn't have to review my six years of marriage and two years of dating Marilyn to realize that she'd never reacted to me with the same excitement and enthusiasm. The video ended and I suddenly realized that George was watching me watch the video. "She's a tiger!" he said. "I don't know that I've ever had a woman that was more enthusiastic or appreciative." George walked around toward the bed and I could see that he was carrying a tripod with a video camera on it. "The videos with Marilyn are easy. I just use the laptop's camera and she doesn't even know that it's running." I noticed that he said "videos" not "video". "But I need a camera tonight because I don't want to deprive you of the joy of watching your wife be truly sexually satisfied." George set the camera up so that it aimed toward the bed I was tied up in. Then he moved onto the bed and straddled my hobbled body. I tried to buck him off but to no avail. "You can fight if you want. But it won't help you. You might as well relax and watch the videos." I couldn't relax. That was impossible. But it also appeared to be impossible for me to turn my head away from the laptop-not physically impossible (there was nothing restraining me from just turning my head), but I still couldn't do it. So I watched a collage of scenes of George and Marilyn betraying my trust. I'd already deduced that their relationship had been going on for over a year. Maybe it had been going on much longer. But what stunned me now was the number of times they were together. It seemed like they must have been meeting weekly, maybe even more often. "Like what you see," George said as the video showed Marilyn on her knees sucking his rigid rod like it was the sweetest thing in the world. "There's lots more." I didn't like what I saw. And I liked even less what I felt. George was reaching around to unbuckle my belt and undo my pants. I struggled, but there was little point except to make it clear that I wasn't consenting. George had my pants undone and pulled down without much trouble. "You are a fucking faggot! You know that?" I screamed. "Well, maybe. I meant it when I said I'd never had sex with a man-never even touched one sexually. And, to tell you the truth, I don't find you attractive. In fact, I don't like your body any more than I like you twisted little bigoted mind." George untied one of my legs so he could get my pants and underpants completely off. I tried to kick him, but he handled me easily. "What I'm going to do to you has nothing to do with sexual attraction or lust-at least not mine. From my point of view, this is all about power and dominance. Well, and about teaching you a lesson. You're going to learn. And it will be a hard lesson." I guess he thought that was kind of funny. I heard him snicker. He had me completely exposed and vulnerable from the waist down now. Then he stood up, undressed, and turned on the video camera he'd set up. On the laptop, I could see Marilyn on her hands and knees being reamed from behind by George's stiff shaft and begging for him to fuck her harder. And then I felt drops of cold liquid on my ass. First, they splattered on my ass cheeks and then George focused them on my crack. I could feel myself being oiled up for his pleasure. I Hate Queers George positioned himself on top of me again. I could feel him sitting on my thighs stroking his cock to get it hard. And then I felt his cock pressing between my ass cheeks. This was terrible. I thought it couldn't get worse than this. But it did. "You think you're going to like my cock in your ass?" George asked rhetorically. "I know your wife does! Marilyn begs me to fuck her ass. She says she loves the way if makes her feel filled." George pushed his cock harder between my ass cheeks. "Oh, yeah. She told me that she never let you fuck her ass. That's your loss. She has a tight little asshole and she moves her ass wonderfully when you fuck her really hard." Shit! Will the humiliation never end? God damn it! I'd wanted Marilyn to try anal sex for years. She always denied me. Now I knew she'd been giving George her ass for some time. Was it all about humiliating me? Or did she feel like she couldn't be a "bad girl" with her husband but she could with her lover? I didn't know and I didn't see that it made any difference. She'd betrayed me with my friend. And he'd betrayed me. I'd never forgive either of them and, if I could, I'd make them both suffer as much as I was suffering right now. Visions of revenge soothe the soul, but they can't stop a determined cock from penetrating your ass when you're tied up and exposed. George's cock pressed hard against my well-oiled sphincter and, against my conscious will, my sphincter yielded to the pressure. His cock felt enormous, but it began opening my ass. Soon I could feel him inside me. I closed my eyes against the pain. But when George was buried deep in my ass, he said something that made me open them again. He told me that if I looked at the video, I could see Marilyn begging him to fuck her in the ass. And he was right. This looked like a different time. She wasn't on her knees. She was lying face-down on the bed. She had a pillow under her pelvis, holding her ass up slightly, and her hands were behind her, pulling her ass cheeks apart. And I could hear her saying, "Fuck my ass, George! I want you to fuck my ass." As I watched George take Marilyn's ass, I knew exactly what she was feeling but apparently she liked it much more than I did. I was forced to listen to Marilyn screaming out how good it felt to have George fuck her ass while I experienced how terrible it felt to have him fuck mine. Needless to say, it hurt like hell. I'd never put anything up my ass. And if I'd been inclined to do that as part of some sort of sick, sissy, sex play, I certainly wouldn't have picked something as big and hard as George's cock. But worse than the physical pain was the humiliation. And, maybe worse than even that was the fact that George was treating me like a faggot-a pussy-boy for his pleasure. After a few minutes, the pain subsided. It didn't completely disappear, but it became tolerable. Unlike the pain, the humiliation of being betrayed and used as a pussy was not tolerable. Still, there was nothing I could do about it. I resolved to get through this and then to seek my revenge when I could get the advantage. But George wasn't about to limit his torment of me. He may not have ever had sex with a man and he may not find me attractive, but he was certainly getting into getting into me. He began to taunt me. "You like this, don't you. I knew from the way you reacted to my stories that you were struggling with your desire to be fucked by a real man. No one gets that agitated by the mere description of a gay scene unless he's fighting urges in himself." All this time, George was working his cock in and out of me in long, rhythmic strokes. "It's okay. You can admit it-just between the two of us. Now that you've finally got a hard cock up your ass, you can admit that you've secretly yearned for cock-that this satisfies a need you couldn't admit, even to yourself." "FUCK YOU!" I screamed. George laughed. "Oh, you are. You're fucking me good with that tight little boy pussy of yours. You're getting into this, aren't you? I can feel your hips moving. You love getting fucked." Goddamnit! Were my hips moving? If so, it was only to try to get away from George's cock. Or, at least to minimize the penetration. It's not as if I liked this. Shit! I hate faggots. Even the idea of queers sticking their dicks in each other's asses makes my stomach turn. I couldn't understand how a guy could like to feel another guy's hard cock opening his asshole and thrusting deep into his bowels. I tried to hold very still. But George seemed to take that as a different sign that I wanted it. "Oooh," he cooed, "I see. You want it deep, don't you, you little faggot." And he rammed into me even deeper. "I'll give you the ass-fucking you've secretly wanted." Then with one hand, he reached around me and grabbed my cock. I was semi-hard when he grabbed me. That didn't mean that I was enjoying this. It was just that as George rammed into me with his hard cock, it made my cock rub on the sheets. And the friction was doing its job. But that didn't stop George from weaving my reaction into his sick, twisted tale. "Oh, look how hard your little clitty is! You're really getting off on getting fucked by a real man, aren't you?" When I started to protest, he lay his full weight on me, freeing his other hand to press all four fingers into my mouth. He started fucking my mouth with his hand while he continued ravaging my ass and stroking my cock. With the weight of both of us on it, George had to work to move his hand on my cock but, like I said, he's a strong guy. He was stroking me pretty well. Despite my best efforts, I was building up to an orgasm. George sensed it and rolled us both over on our sides a bit. The ropes on my arms and legs kept me from rolling completely on my side, but I was most of the way over. George was relentless on my ass and his jacking off of my cock was bringing me to the humiliating climax I dreaded. I could look down enough to see the purple head of my cock getting closer and closer to spurting its load every time George's huge fist completed a stroke. And then it happened. George was pointing my cock up in the air so the first jet of cum arced through the air, landing on the bed a good three feet away. Two more shots of jizz followed and then the last few squirts landed just inches from my cock. My orgasm had not only been forceful, it had been incredibly intense. I realized that you didn't have to like what was happening in order to have a mind-numbing orgasm. I was exhausted and I felt as if all of the energy had been sapped from my body. I went limp. "That's good. Now that you got that out of your system, you can just lie there and enjoy the feeling of satisfying your man." Well, I didn't have a man. And I hated what George was doing to me. I wasn't enjoying this at all. But I didn't have any choice but to lie there and accept it. "I never fucked a guy," George said as he fucked me. When he'd been working me to an orgasm, he'd been fucking me hard. But now he was moving slowly in and out of my ass. He was taking long, deep strokes. "It's not bad. I don't really like looking at your hairy ass, but you have a tight little butthole. Your ass doesn't look pretty, like Marilyn's, but it grips my cock pretty good." He fucked me for a few more minutes before he went on. "But you know what I really like about this. It's not the sex. It's knowing how much you're hating the fact that you're starting to like the feeling of my cock in your ass." "I don't like it, you fucker!" I immediately regretted calling him a "fucker". It was, at the moment, all too accurate. "Oh, I think you like it all right. You just don't like the fact that you like it." I grunted a dissent but George told me to shut up. He said he wanted to be able to focus on filling my ass with his cum. He pulled down a pillow and put it under my hips, then rolled me back onto my stomach. Now I could barely move. My ass was thrust up for his pleasure and I was completely at his mercy. He didn't start fucking me furiously like he had been when he was making me cum. He seemed to like a slower tempo. But I could feel his orgasm building. I could hear his breathing getting ragged and felt the way his huge hands gripped my rib cage as he worked up to his climax. From the sound of it, his orgasm was as intense as mine had been. Maybe he was telling the truth when he said he wasn't into gay sex. And, of course, I hate the very idea of faggots. But neither of us found our feelings about gay sex to interfere with the intensity of our sexual pleasure. George slipped out of my sore ass and lay next to me panting for a long time. After George had come down from his high, I told him to untie me, but he refused. It seemed he had some things to explain to me, first. That pissed me off. I was really not in a position of strength and I shouldn't have done anything to piss him off-at least not until I was able to extract my revenge. But I couldn't help saying, "You goddamn fucking queer!" Somehow it made me feel better to spit those words out at him. "You really don't get it, do you Ken?" George got up and went to the bathroom. When he came back, wiping his cock with a wet washcloth, he continued. "You see, I write stories about gay sex, about cuckolded husbands, about feminized men. And I write stories about fucked up people. Many of my stories don't have happily-ever-after endings. Sometimes the bad people get away with doing bad things. So what! Those are just stories I like to turn over in my head-things that might churn up some emotional turmoil. They're not diary entries or things I want to be diary entries. If I'd ever really wanted to have sex with a man, I would have done it. (I mean, before now.) I don't have a problem with gay sex. I just don't happen to get turned on by it." I don't think I'd ever heard George talk on for so long about anything except sports. But he wasn't through yet. "You, on the other hand..." He left a long pause here, probably just to be sure he had my complete attention. "You seem fixated on gay sex. The slightest gay sex in a story is more than you can stand. If a story is about a woman being demeaned or abused by a guy, you're fine with that. And you'd positively like one about some guy getting the crap beaten out of him for being gay. But a hint of man-on-man sex sets you off." George put the laptop on the desk and hooked the video camera up to it. He fiddled with the computer for a while, which at least had the benefit of shutting him up. But then, when he'd done what he wanted to do, he went on. "You know why that is?" I was considering different things I could say in response. But apparently a response from me wasn't needed. "It's because you're so fucking scared that you're gay!" "Oh give me a fucking break! I'm so fucking sick of this, 'Anyone who is against gay sex is a closet gay' shit. That's bullshit!" "Yeah, Ken. I agree." That surprised me. "But you're not just "against gay sex". You're positively panicked by the thought of gay sex. For you, it's not about thinking it's wrong. It's all about worrying that you secretly want it. And you think that by attacking it in every way possible, you can prove to yourself that you're not gay." "Fuck you!" "You did. And pretty well, too...for a first-timer." "Untie me!" "I'm going to. But first I have to explain some things to you." He started untying one of my legs as he "explained". "When I get you untied, you're going to want to kill me. You won't try it now because you know that I can beat the crap out of you with ease. No matter how much you think your anger will feed your strength, you know you're no match for me in any fair fight." He untied my other leg. "But you could hurt me with a weapon. You could kill me. And I'm imagining that, over the last hour, you've had thoughts along those lines." George paused and sat down on the other bed. Apparently my hands weren't going to be released until he was finished. "Trying something like that wouldn't be smart. You see, the video I just made is now uploaded on a site where I have lots of things I'd like to make public if anything happens to me. And, so, I've got it all automated. The website I've created, and just added our little video to, goes live in one week from my last log in. I keep logging in at least once a week, it stays private indefinitely. I miss a week, and it goes public. And when it goes public, e-mail invitations go out to everyone in my address book. In preparation for tonight, I added a lot of special people to my address book-a bunch of people from your work, the e-mail list from our church, as many of your relatives as I could track down. You know, lots of the people in your life." George went on with his "explanation", which he'd obviously thought through carefully. "And it's not just the videos of you. All the ones of Marilyn are up, too. You can say that what I did to you was rape, but do you want to have the whole world know that before I raped you, I cuckolded you for years? Do you want them to hear Marilyn beg for my cock and scream out that no one had ever fucked her the way I did? You think tonight was humiliating. It's nothing compared to what you'd bring on yourself if you tried to get back at me." I felt completely blocked. All the revenge scenarios I'd been thinking of seemed impossible now. I felt as powerless to right the wrong that had been inflicted on me as I'd been to resist George's assault. Maybe I'd think of something later. But for now, I was resigned to my terrible fate. "So," he went on, "just so were clear on this. I'm going to untie you. And when I do, you're going to ask me if you can please suck my cock. You're going to ask sincerely and convincingly. When you do, I'm going to let you do that. You're going to give me a terrific blow job. You're going to be eager to please me. And, after you do-after you suck my cum down and swallow it all-I'll let you go and I'll never try to force you to do anything again." He stood up and took a step toward the bed before he stopped to wait for my answer. "Do we have a deal?" I nodded. George untied my hands. I rubbed them for a few minutes. When I looked up, George told me to take off my shirt. That was the easy part of what I had to do. I could feel the lump in my throat as I thought about it. I didn't know whether I could bring myself to say the words that George had scripted for me. But, really, what choice did I have? "Can I ..." I stumbled. In fact, I stumbled three times before I managed to blurt out, "May I please suck your cock?" George didn't like the way I said it and he made me say it again. It was easier the second time, but it wasn't until the fourth time that it met George's standards. He said "yes," and positioned me right where he wanted me-on my knees on the floor. He stood directly before me, with his fat, soft cock inches from my face. I screwed up my courage and reached up to touch his cock-the first time I'd ever held another man's cock. It felt strange. Because of his size, it felt heavy in my hand. And it felt big. It was warm and the skin was very soft and smooth. Even as I brought it to my lips, it began to harden. I put my lips around the head of George's cock and began sucking on it while I jerked on his shaft. I gagged and felt my stomach wretch, but I managed to keep my mouth around his now rigid cock. I was determined that this was going to end as quickly as possible, so I pumped furiously while I sucked on the head of George's cock. Surprisingly, given how recently he'd shot his load in my ass, it didn't take George long to start working toward a climax. My stomach wretched again and I had to struggle to keep his cock from hitting the back of my throat and making me gag. And then he blew his load. He was loud, and forceful. I could feel the streams of semen filling my mouth. I had to swallow as he was still spewing. And then I swallowed again as he was finishing. My stomach was trying to push back up what I was trying to swallow down, but I managed to keep from throwing up. George backed away and sat down on the chair by the desk for a minute. I got up and went to the bathroom. Fortunately, there was a bottle of mouthwash there. I gargled twice, finishing off the little bottle. Then I sat on the toilet, trying to expel the cum from my ass. It took a while but finally it dribbled out. I wiped and headed back to get my clothes. George was fiddling with the computer but I didn't pay any attention to what he was doing. I just wanted to get dressed and out of there. Then I had to figure out some way to forget everything that had happened, or at least to put it behind me. As I was putting on my clothes, George started up again. "You know what? I'm kind of sorry that I promised you that I'd never make you do anything again." I ignored him and worked on getting my pants on. "I mean, for a guy who doesn't like even the idea of sex with a guy, you give a hell of a blow job. I wouldn't mind getting one of those from time to time." George went on with his ruminations. "And, you know what, I could probably get you to do it. After all, now I've got the video of you asking to suck my cock and then taking my load." What the fuck? I knew I saw him turn off the video camera. George saw my confusion. "I used the camera on the laptop," he said with a very self-satisfied smirk. "Oh yeah," he continued, "I got the goods on you. And the goods are pretty good. When I looked at the video before I uploaded it, I saw that you had a hardon when you were sucking me off." I couldn't believe it and George saw the disbelief on my face. "It's true...you really did. It's clear as can be on the video. But I'm a man of my word. I said I wouldn't make you do anything ever again. And I'll stick by that." I was almost finished getting dressed. Soon I could leave and never hear his voice again. "But, you know what?" George said brightly. "I don't think I'll have to force you." I just wanted to get out of there. I started for the door. "I think you'll go home and try to put this all out of your mind." He was certainly right there. "But you won't be able to. You'll find yourself thinking about what my cock felt like in your ass when you're drifting off to sleep. You'll find yourself thinking about sucking my cock when Marilyn is sucking yours. You'll find that when you masturbate, you might begin by thinking of fucking some beautiful woman, but as you get close to shooting your load, you'll be thinking of taking my load in your mouth or having my cock split your ass cheeks." George smiled, "that's what I think." "Well, you're fucking wrong, you goddamn cock-sucking faggot. If I ever think of this again, it will be when I'm planning some way to really fuck you up despite your little doomsday machine. If you think that I'm going to come back for you to suck your cock or let you fuck me, you're a fucking moron. That will never happen!" I left the room, slamming the door behind me and repeating in my mind, all the way to the car, "That will never happen. That will never happen. That will never happen." I was wrong.