Blacmailed

All participants are over 18 years old. This story contains scenes of non-consensual sex.

*****

A lot can happen in two years.

Just twenty-four months ago, I was a regular working guy, underpaid and undersexed. One day, things changed.

My co-worker Mitch photographed me nude in our workplace locker room. The pictures clearly showed my baby carrot-sized dick. Mitch threatened to make these photos public if I disobeyed his summons to attend an event the next night. It turned out I was the main attraction. Mitch and his friends decided to make a video in which they took turns reaming my virgin ass and fucking my mouth. I cooperated out of fear that if I failed to do so, Mitch would release the photos. After they were done with me, I looked like the melting man: I was covered in cum. In that state, Mitch had me tell the camera that I gave consent to everything that happened to me in the video, but in a moment of frustration mixed with a shameful desire for humiliation, I rashly gave every man in the world licence to take my mouth or ass whenever it pleased them.

Mitch promised he would keep the video a secret. Instead, he had it professionally edited, copied it to all my friends and co-workers and posted it on the internet. I was clearly on display sucking and being fucked for the length of the video, and my hands-free orgasms were shown from multiple angles. It was easy to recognize me in the video, but the editing had carefully and skillfully avoided giving any glimpse of the Mitch and the other men's faces.

In days, the video went viral.

Having heard my stated consent on the video, men all over my home town took me at my word. The police detective investigating the creation of the humiliating video said he'd do his best on the case; then he bent me over a table in an interview room and fucked my brains out. Several co-workers used my mouth and my ass at their leisure. When I went to HR to complain, the manager told me to suck his cock, forcing me to leave his office with his cum on my face and hair. I quite honestly enjoyed a lot of the sex—I had more sex in the first week after that video was posted than I'd had in my whole life—but even I had some pride. I quit my job.

My lawyer cost me the last of my savings, but she was able to get a severance package from my former employer. That money paid the rent for a few months but it would soon run out. I needed a job. But with my new notoriety, who would hire me? Nobody in my home town, that's for sure. Gay they might have tolerated, but a shameless slut as well?

My mind was on my financial concerns when I received a letter from The Pleasure Palace in the big city nearby. (Actually, the letter was delivered by Drew, the postman who stopped on his route every day to shove his big cock in one of my holes, so my mind was at least partly on that.) The letter was a job offer tailored to the particular traits I displayed in the video: submissiveness, stamina and potency. I wasn't a hot athletic type, but Mitch's video was still getting a lot of play and a lot of likes online. Apparently, I was a celebrity now.

I took the job. What else was I supposed to do? I began in the gloryholes sucking random cocks in front of a small audience. The management liked what they saw and decided to give me a headlining act in the gay part of the establishment. Three nights a week, I relived the making of Mitch's video over and over again, with men coming on me and in me for hours on end.

But something special happened. Far from being traumatized, these shows empowered me. I started to feel my own distinctiveness and value. I had a rare talent for giving men pleasure and driving audiences wild; that, in turn, gave me pleasure (as my frequent hands-free orgasms seemed to demonstrate). I came to terms with the fact that whatever I was when this started, I was gay now. The performances were heartfelt, honest and earthy.

Another special thing happened. I found love with my manager, Mason. He had started out manning the gloryholes too and along the way he had developed a fetish for small cocks. Since I was naked whenever I was at work, he found me quickly. He turned out to be as much a slut as I am. Within months, we were in a committed relationship. Obviously, this excluded my work at The Pleasure Palace.

In the meantime, my thrice-weekly shows were being recorded and The Pleasure Palace cobbled together some "best of" videos to stream on their exclusive website. These were uncategorical hits and, even though they were widely pirated, they still performed well on streaming platforms. Even the DVDs made money.

And I got a share of that money, on top of my wages. Let's just say I'm not a millionaire, but I could easily take a few years off and not worry about money. There seems to be plenty of appetite out there for more of my work. My future is set.

But I'm not satisfied, even with so much going well.

I'm not satisfied because Mitch is still out there.

I hired a private investigator to look into him. She found out that Mitch had been fired from work shortly after I quit. The official story was that he was late for work one time too many, but the investigator learned that the employer had been waiting for a chance to cut him loose ever since I implicated him. That meant they believed my story from the start but didn't act because they didn't have enough proof; it was just my word against his. Typical H.R..

So he lost his job. Good.

The investigator confirmed that Mitch had been out of work for eighteen months and was now living with his mother.

Better and better. But it wasn't good enough. He could still walk down the street and not be spat on or bent over and fucked.

Now working at The Pleasure Palace, a place surprisingly free of judgement, I had made friends who didn't care about my humiliation. We all had histories. I hadn't had real friends in a long time and I leaned on them now. I explained my problem with Mitch. We put our heads together and we hatched a plan.

A few weeks later, Kamal (whose dick was up my ass every Monday and Friday night at The Palace) was parked on the old street in my home town where Mitch lived with his mother. He was watching the house. Stefan and Carlton (both part of my Wednesday night line-up) were watching from other sides, ensuring that all exits were covered.

When Mitch came out of his mom's house, Kamal quietly walked up behind him as he started to open the garage. There was an ancient station wagon inside.

"Mitch," Kamal said.

Mitch turned right into the chloroform-soaked cloth. Stefan had known what to do as soon as Kamal got out of his car. He pulled up into the driveway and helped Kamal get Mitch into the trunk. It was all done in a matter of seconds. You might have thought we were professionals.

A couple of hours later, Mitch began coming back to awareness. He was secured to a chair with duct tape. He was under a bright spotlight. He was also naked.

He began screaming blue murder. We let him do that for a while.

When he was tired of screaming, I stepped halfway into the light. He didn't recognize me.

"Please," Mitch said. "Don't hurt me."

"We have no intention of hurting you."

"Thank God... what's this all about?"

"You're here to balance the scales."

Mitch noticed he was surrounded by cameras and realized what this scene reminded him of.

"Oh, no..."

"Yes."

Mitch lied through his teeth. He recognized me now. He swore he had not done anything to me. He had not photographed me. He had nothing to do with that video. It was his friends' idea.

"Do you believe me?"

"No."

It took a few hours. He was not threatened with anything worse than perpetual captivity if he did not comply with our demands. The first hour of the interrogation was wasted in more lies. In the second hour, he admitted to the photographs, but refused to implicate himself in the making of the video. Later, after he caved, he tried to justify his actions. He didn't mean any harm; he was only trying to reveal to me my own true sexuality. Hadn't he done me a good turn by making that video since it had made me a rich star?

The son of a bitch. I had to hand it to him. He thought he did me a favour by making me the unwilling guest of honour at a bukkake party. When he said that, my resolve to see this through grew stronger.

Mitch looked desperate now. He was sweating profusely. I have to admit, setting aside what he did to me, Mitch is the kind of man with that confident swagger that I might easily have fallen for. A real bad boy. And, I still remembered the tingling in my ass when he fucked me that first time. Seeing him like this, humbled and helpless, wasn't entirely a pleasure.

Now that he had established his own guilt, Mitch was released from the restraints. He was ordered to read for the camera a confession stating that he had blackmailed me with nude photographs in order to obtain my participation in a private sex video. He confirmed that my statements of consent were therefore given under duress. Mitch read it with tears falling. His nose was running. I almost wanted to wipe it for him, but if I started feeling sorry for him now, I couldn't possibly appreciate what was going to happen next.

Mitch spoke up. "Okay, I gave you your confession. Now let me go."

"You will be free when you fulfil all our demands."

"What more do you want?"

"Can't you guess? You're a naked man, confined to a hidden location after pissing off a victim you turned gay. How do you expect to balance the scales?"

"Oh, no!"

I laughed. It was not a sound he ever heard before.

"Please, I'll give you money!"

"You don't have any."

"My mother does! I'll get it from her!"

"You disgust me."

Stefan, naked as the day he was born, stepped forward into the light. His nine-inch cock was already halfway hard and it shivered level with Mitch's face.

"No, no, I can't."

"Stop your whining. I told you we won't hurt you. You have to give your consent for anything to happen."

"Well, that will never happen," Mitch said with a touch of feigned defiance.

"Then you will never, ever leave here."

Mitch's face was a mask of anxiety as he wrestled with his choice. He was determined not to give in at first but the hours whittled away at him. We expected him to make a break for the door, but he never did; he must have realized he had no chance against all of us. He was tired, thirsty and hungry. It had been hours and his mother would be worried.

After four hours, he croaked at the darkness. "Okay."

I once again stepped part of the way into the light.

"What's 'okay'?"

"I will do it. I'll give consent."

"No, wait. I want this just right. Look into the camera over here. Now, speak."

"I give my consent to these men—"

"Stop. You give consent to all men."

"No!"

"Are you sure? Think about your situation. You're outnumbered and overpowered. Dehydration will be setting in. You'll have a headache and experience weakness. The hunger won't help; we've had you eight hours now. What will you be like after twenty-four hours? Forty-eight?"

Mitch sobbed. "Okay, I'll start again."

"Good. Do it now, and say your name."

Mitch cleared his throat. "I, Mitch Powell, hereby give my perpetual consent to all men to use my mouth and ass for their pleasure, starting with these men here. I am not being forced in any way to say these things."

We let him rest for a few minutes. Then we kicked the chair out from under him. He collapsed in a boneless heap. He looked up at us fearfully. The lights were very bright. He couldn't really see us very well.

The cameras were still on. The video editor would reshape the footage of a half-dozen cameras into a slick production.

The video only needed one more thing. The main event.

Stefan took the chair away. Carlton placed a sports mat down in the middle of the circle of light and directed Mitch to kneel in the middle of it.

"It would be a shame if we let such a nice piece of ass go after he's given us consent to use him as we will."

"Oh, God, no, no, no..."

Kamal came into the light. His big dick swung like a pendulum. He circled around behind Mitch, looked down at him and said, "I don't mind if I do." Kamal knelt behind him and pushed Mitch gently so he fell forward, propping himself on all fours. Kamal told him to stay that way. Kamal steadied himself by putting his hands on Mitch's shoulders. Then he pressed his cock into Mitch's ass-crack and just touched Mitch's anus.

"Mother," Mitch whined. We all laughed. That was going to be in the final cut for sure.

The next few hours played out very much like the party Mitch threw for me, right down to some of the surprising details. Mitch had been horrified to see that when Kamal penetrated him, he had an instant erection. We made sure he knew it and we made sure the camera saw it.

"Noooo..."

When Stefan put his dick in Mitch's mouth, he couldn't help but notice that Mitch's cock was leaking pre-cum.

"I think our boy likes it," Stefan said to Kamal.

Kamal kept hammering his ass and after a minute or two, Mitch arched his back and began to groan loudly. Stefan was well out of the way for the cameras when Mitch's untouched cock spewed its cum all over the sports mat. It was a big load. Mitch moaned in a helpless ecstasy I understood very well.

Honestly, I was satisfied there and then, and could have stopped when we captured his humiliating hands-free orgasm, but then again, I did promise the guys their fun.

Carlton took a turn on his ass and so did my mild and loving Mason. They both pulled their cocks out of his arse before they came so they could hose him down with their cum.

Finally, it was my turn. My tiny organ wouldn't even be felt in Mitch's newly-stretched ass so I shoved my one-inch dick between his lips while Kamal fucked his ass again. He was already well enough trained that he knew to how to suck with vigour. I held his head by the ears and rotated my hips as he tongue-massaged my strawberry-shaped cock.

He looked up from his work without stopping. In his eyes, I saw contrition and regret. I truly believed he was sorry for what he had done to me.

It was only a matter of two minutes or so before I exploded in his mouth. I have to admit he made nearly as good a beginner as I did two years ago. He swallowed more of my huge load than he wore.

When we were finally finished with Mitch, he was covered in cum. We had him look into the camera and say "thank you". Then we chloroformed him again, setting him down in the old station wagon in his garage. Nobody saw us steal him and nobody saw him put back again. I imagine he woke up an hour later with a severe headache. He would have wondered how he could sneak into his mother's house without being seen, particularly since we left him naked and covered in cum.

The next few days must have been worrying for Mitch as he wondered if we would out him as he outed me. They were slightly worrying days for me too. There was always the chance that Mitch might call the police. If so, given our history, the police would definitely investigate me as the ringleader of his kidnapping. I was prepared for the worst; at least, I knew my skills would enable my survival in prison, even if I might be a bit overworked. But the police didn't come. In the meantime, the raw video recordings were in the hands of one of the best editors in the business, who had been well paid for her work, and well paid for her silence.

When the video was posted online and links sent out to many of our mutual friends and former co-workers, I didn't hear from Mitch. I had my private investigator checking up on him. He really never did go to the police; he must have figured it was too late to do any good and would only subject him to greater humiliation; given my experience with that detective, Mitch was probably right. I also think that maybe part of Mitch knew he deserved this.

In some ways, it seemed Mitch's outing experience was surprisingly like my own. The investigator showed me digital pictures of Mitch on his knees sucking cocks belonging to former friends of his. There were also stills of Drew the postman ploughing Mitch's ass.

She also had some video of him working in his mother's yard. He was twitchy and watchful, like he expected someone to erupt out of the bushes and yank down his drawers. He had lost that confident swagger that had set him apart; now he was just another chunky, middle-aged balding man trudging toward the grave knowing he was nothing but a piece of ass to be used as any man saw fit.

Mitch was as ruined as I was, but I would make sure he didn't get the same break I did. I had enough clout in the industry now to make sure Mitch never worked in the adult entertainment business anywhere in this country. But I didn't realize how ruined Mitch actually was until I was shown amateur porn videos he had uploaded online himself.

Where I capitalized on my newfound gay talent and found success despite my inauspicious beginnings, Mitch wallowed in his submission. He fucked and sucked anyone and everyone who would take him. He had no pride at all. Doing what I do, I know how easy it is to lose your pride, but I found it again. While I was on the upswing, Mitch was despairing. It often looked like he was going to cry in these videos.

I watch them often, with great satisfaction.