Horns of a Dilemma

This story contains non-consensual gay (M/M) sex and other things that may offend.

*

After a mostly sleepless night, I spent the day at work alternating between the duties of the job and trying to think of ways out of this hell I had created for myself. I considered different options.

I could call his bluff and refuse to continue on, but I didn't think he was bluffing.

Telling Laura wasn't an option. Not only would the betrayal shatter our relationship, she was raised in a strict Baptist house. She has a gay brother that her parents disowned and she barely speaks to.

I quickly ruled out going to the police. It was my word versus his and he had email evidence supporting his claim that I freely invited him over to give him a blowjob. A homophobic Texas cop would chalk it up to buyer's remorse. Even if I could get some traction with the police, going this route could see this whole tawdry story play out in a public trial.

If I could dig up something on him, maybe I could use it to get him to stop. A guy this sleazy has to have secrets that he doesn't want out in the light. I couldn't hire a lawyer or private investigator, though. Laura counts paying the bills among her household tasks and I couldn't come up with a plausible explanation for spending that much money on a lawyer on an issue that didn't involve her also. Still, this was the best idea so far.

I got through the work day with these thoughts rattling through my head and, after a light dinner, sat in my room waiting for what was to come. At 7:00 PM sharp I heard a knocking at the door. I quickly went over to open it and saw him standing outside, smirking.

"How's it going," he said as he walked in.

I closed the door and turned to look at him. He was wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants, both of which were soaked through with sweat, and carrying an oversized gym bag slung over his shoulder. The sweatpants were out of place given the 90 degree heat.

"I just spent an hour on the treadmill and I need to clean up," he said.

"Go ahead and use the shower. I'll wait," I replied.

The smirk got bigger. "Lay down on the floor," he ordered.

I did as he said, not comprehending why he wanted me to lay down while he showered. As I was complying, he did what was becoming the norm for him - he set up his little tripod and adjusted the lights.

He kicked his shoes off, stood over me with his groin over my face, and started undressing. I guess he intended for me to have a show before his shower.

The t-shirt came off first, followed quickly by the sweatpants and a pair of tight blue briefs that were soaked through with sweat. He set them aside and began to lower himself down to my face.

"Now why would I take a shower when I've got a perfectly good mouth and tongue to clean up with," he asked. "Don't worry, I showered after I shit this morning, but I have been pissing all day."

"He couldn't possibly mean for me to..." my thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of his balls resting on my closed lips and a foul smell wafting into my nose.

"Say ahh, slut."

I laid there with my lips pursed, refusing to open, but was stunned by a slap to the face.

"Open up that cunt mouth, bitch before I beat the shit out of you," he snarled.

My cheek was just starting to register the stinging pain of his slap. I opened my mouth and immediately he dipped in one of his wet, sweaty balls, filling my mouth with a disgusting acrid flavor. The taste was a mixture of sweat and urine and, combined with the smell, was almost too much to bear. I started to gag and retch.

"Go ahead and puke, cunt," he said, "I'll make you clean that up too."

Surely he wouldn't, but I knew that he would. I willed myself to hold my dinner down.

"Use your tongue."

I swirled my tongue around the testicle, earning bursts of the disgusting taste. I closed my eyes, trying to distract myself from the horror, but reopened them when directed to do so. I looked up and around his stiffening cock, which rested on my nose, and saw glee in his eyes and a malicious grin on his face.

He shifted position and switched testicles, forcing me to lick the other one clean too. After a few minutes of this, he switched positions, this time turning around so that he was facing away from me. He rocked back slightly and planted his asshole right on the tip of my nose. I felt a clammy wetness on my cheeks and was hit with the funky smell of all that sweat trapped in his narrow asscrack. He told me to keep licking and my tongue lapped at the sweat on his perineum.

I tried to breathe through my mouth to spare myself from the musky smell of his ass, but he noticed what I was doing and commanded me to breathe deeply through my nose. The smell was overpowering and this time I vomited a little bit in my mouth, but I swallowed it back down without thinking.

I knew the sadistic bastard had worse in store for me and he didn't disappoint. After a few minutes of using my tongue to clean his taint, he shifted his body down.

"Lick up and down the crack. Get it nice and clean." He was laughing as he said it. My revulsion deepened as I did what he said. He got impatient and started thrusting his hips causing the crack of his ass to rock back and forth on my tongue. At one point, he slowed down, grabbed my head with both hands, and positioned his sphincter right on my tongue while simultaneously pressing his ass to my face.

There was no escape. The thinly carpeted floor was unyielding and his grip was too strong to break, even if I hadn't feared the consequences of trying.

"Work that asshole good, bitch. Does Laura sit on your face like this?"

Once again hearing my wife's name caused my cheeks to redden with shame. I kept licking at his ass, but he repeated the question. I stopped licking long enough to truthfully answer "no," but my response was unintelligible with his ass on my face.

He kept me in this position for quite a while, alternating between riding my face and stopping to have me focus my attention on his puckered asshole. He also changed up the pace - sometimes he would go back and forth slowly, forcing my tongue to trace a long path from the taint to the tailbone, and other times riding fast. The odor diminished over time, although I wasn't sure whether that was because I was getting used to it or my tongue was cleaning the offending sweat from these dark crevices of his body.

He finally grew tired of this and repositioned himself, turning back around so that his cock, which was rock hard and leaking precum, was over my mouth. He told me to pucker up and he squeezed the shaft, forcing out a big dollop of precum. It dripped from the slit on his head and down onto my closed lips, leaving a stringy trail back to its source. The precum puddled up between my lips, which were closed too tight to allow it to enter.

He pushed the head of his cock around my lips, leaking more precum along the way. When he grew tired of this he said, "Open," and I did. The salty precum dripped into my mouth, followed by the head of his cock. He pushed it in a little further, stopped to enjoy the swirling action of my tongue, and then went a little further still. Then he pulled back and pushed it back in. He repeated this motion and then did it again. He started fucking my mouth in very short, shallow strokes. His thrusts would occasionally go a little deeper, triggering my oversensitive gag reflex, but he made no deliberate effort to invade my throat. Nor did he issue any fresh commands. He was content with this gentle face fucking.

I was glad that he wasn't going further, but ashamed at the thought that my mouth was nothing more than a hole for him to use. I could tell by his ragged breathing that he wouldn't last much longer. He suddenly stopped thrusting and expertly held just the tip of his head in my mouth. He held that position for a few beats and then I suddenly felt a hot liquid jet into the back of my throat. The force with which it hit caused me to cough and push my head up a bit. Two more weaker spurts shot out and coated my tongue, once again filling my mouth with the vile taste of his cum. This was followed by a few dribbles. As has become his custom, he pushed his cock further into my mouth as it deflated and ordered me to suck out all of my "prize," as he put it.

He straightened up on his knees, with his limp dick dripping my saliva on my face, and said, "I'm wiped out. I'm ready to go home and go to bed."

I gave a little sigh of relief. I was going back home tomorrow. My ordeal was over until I returned. I knew this would give me more time and a new perspective from which to devise a way out of this.

He laughed and said, "You wish I was leaving, cunt," sat his ass back on my face, and resumed his grinding motion from earlier.

"I can do this all night," he said and I knew he was right.

My relief gave way to a new wave of despair. Everything seemed hopeless. There was no way out of this. I was doomed to be this sadist's sex slave for as long as he wanted. I'd already sucked his unwashed, sweaty balls, licked his sweaty ass, swallowed a total of three loads of his cum over the past two nights, and now was laying back and letting him ride my face for the second time tonight.

Unlike earlier, he was facing me this time and his balls were dragging across my nose and cheeks while he was rocking back and forth. When he stopped to have me focus on his asshole, his sack would block my nostrils. He'd keep me in that position for 20 or 30 seconds and then start moving again, allowing me to catch my breath in ragged gasps. When he wanted more attention on his wrinkled sphincter, he'd hold his balls up and allow me to breathe.

The other difference from the first time, was that his cock was right in front of my eyes. After at least 15 minutes of hard riding, his cock stirred. He continued until his cock was once again at full attention. As before, he shifted position and resumed his shallow facefucking. This time, however, he as talking as he used my mouth to work out a second load.

He repeated his earlier warnings about Laura finding out I was a 'cocksucking, faggot whore', as he put it, if I refused to submit or tried to hide the fact that I was in town. He reminded me that I was to respond with proof of my location within two hours of receiving any text.

Next, he started explaining the rules for when I returned to town. I was to answer the door normally as though I was welcoming a friend or colleague, but I was to address him as "sir" or "master" at all times after the door was closed. Unless instructed otherwise, I was to strip him naked and greet his dick, balls and ass with long, passionate kisses. Once done with that, I had to ask him how he wanted to use my mouth. He interrupted his monologue periodically to ask me if I understood, to which I would mumble 'yes,' through my mouth full of his cock. At one point he withdrew his dick, stroked it with his right hand, and asked me to repeat everything. He warned me that I would regret forgetting any part of this little ritual.

Once he was convinced I knew what I was supposed to do, he put his dick back in my mouth and resumed thrusting until, finally, I felt his cum filling my mouth and the now familiar rank flavor assaulting my tastebuds. When he was satisfied that my lips had milked out the entire load, he pulled his dick out, wiped it on my face and stood up.

"Now I really am done, but I want you to lay there. We have something else to discuss," he said.

He retrieved his phone from the tripod and stood over me filming my face. At the same time, he started the process of retrieving something from his phone. He found what he was looking for and started reading my Craigslist ad back to me. I was ashamed to hear my own words put to voice and asked myself yet again why did I get myself into this.

He got to the stats. "5 foot, 10 inches. 220 pounds." He stopped and looked down at me.

"How much do you really weigh?"

"I don't know, maybe 230," I replied.

He gave me an accusatory look and told me to get up and strip to my boxers. As i started doing so, he went over to his gym bag, which was still sitting on the bed, and opened it up. I saw him pull out a compact digital bathroom scale and watched as he proceeded to the hard tile floor of the bathroom.

When I finished undressing, he pushed a button on the scale and ordered me to stand on it. The numbers flashed 241.

"Not only are you a liar, you're a fat liar," he said. "But I'm here to help you out. I'm going to give you some incentive to get down to 200.

"It's safe to lose about 2 pounds a week. You're going to step on the scale on the first night every time you come back in town. If you've met the goal of 2 pounds per week, then no problem. If you haven't met the goal, then you'll get some extra motivation.

"Now, you're coming back in a week and a half, but I'm going to be nice and set your goal at 2 pounds."

"I can get down to 239 pounds by then," I said.

He adopted a mocking tone. "I don't think you understand. You have to get down to 218. Your ad said you weighed 220. If I let you start at your real weight of 241 I would just be rewarding your lies. What kind of person would that make me?"

I hung my head as I listed to what he said. "What happens if I don't make it," I asked.

"I'm going to let that be a surprise, but trust me when I say that you don't want to find out."

With that, he packed up the scale, put on some clean clothes he had in his bag and left me to ponder my fate.