Junk Mail
Being a single horny guy I started ordering things by mail to sate my cravings. Magazines, sex dolls, and various toys. Most of the boxes were nondescript brown, but a few had obvious return addresses and a couple even indicated the contents.
The magazines came through the slot but the packages would be left in front of my door. I never worried about them being stolen or the neighbors seeing because the way my condo was laid out my doorway was around a little corner and very much out of sight. No one would know what was delivered except for the mailman.
One Saturday the metal door on the slot clinked, followed by the sound of mail hitting the floor.
I went to get my Hustler and Beaver Hunt. This month's issue was dedicated to blackmail as indicated by the coverlines and the lead article which read: "You Know Her Secret and She Can't Say No."
I sorted through the third class mail, and a little package, which actually fit through the larger than average slot, when the metal cover clapped against the hole again. Through the hole I heard a voice, "I know YOUR secret too."
"Who is this?" I demanded.
I know who your mother is too 'Jon Anderson'. Well, that's the name on your smut mail anyway. But your bills are addressed to Mike Chesnea, except for the ones from your employee which are addressed to Michael Chesnea."
"What do you want?" I demanded louder, holding open the little brass door so I could hear and be heard clearly.
He ignored me, "I know you have a fleshlight and a sex doll. I know you want to be subjugated by a dominatrix, and I know you get one bi magazine every month too."
"Go away! Whatever you want I'm not playing your game."
"You will if you want your secrets to stay secret. I don't want much. And you can easily give me what I want. Why, I think you even want to give me what I'm expecting from you."
Then he said two things that sent chills through me, "3124 Manchester" and "Brian Walker, 98 W 32nd St." These were of course my mothers address and my boss's name and address.
"OK." I relented, "What exactly do you want?"
"It's easy Mikey. Just take care of my junk mail." Saying that he stopped speaking through the wide slit, and a moment later his penis came through the gap intended only for mail.
It looked a lot like the peni I stare at in my magazine when I grow tired of the straight stuff. His voice was far away now, "I've got a special delivery for you. Now suck it!"
I'd thought about sucking cock lots of times, but when it was time to jerk off I always switched to fantasies of boobjobs and girl's lips wrapped around my organ.
"Touch it or I'm sending pictures of your packages to you-know-who." I didn't know which one he meant, but it really didn't matter.
Hesitantly, I reached down and took hold of his cock, discovering it to be warmly dank. It grew quickly, and soon felt felt hot and moist. It was my first time touching another man's dick, did they all feel like this?
It stared at me with bad intentions and I hated that I was being blackmailed into this. Under other circumstances...
He knocked on my door's window and I heard his muffled voice, "Come on. I'm waiting."
Did I have to please such a disgusting man? Not that it was a disgusting dick. In fact, it looked a lot like my favorite dick pic that I often look at. But any guy who would do what he was doing to me didn't deserve the ecstacy of a blowjob.
Was there a way out of this? It looked kind of tight, lodged in my mail slot like it was. Suppose it got stuck? When the ambulance came his lecherous plans would be exposed to the light of day. But then again, my secrets would be revealed too.
I fell to my knees in front of the disembodied dick. Then I skimmed the foreskin down. The head looked pretty tasty. What was I thinking? This was still blackmail. If I had to suck him I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing I enjoyed it.
There was some white stuff around the glans. It turned me off at first until I remembered it was smegma. The supposedly cheesy substance had always fascinated me, and I'd always thought that if I ever started sucking cocks I would want to suck one with smegma at least once - just to know what it was like. The internet said it was normal and I imagined it would taste of cream cheese.
But not now! I used my shirt to wipe it off. I opened my mouth, then closed it again, uncertain of the best course of action. I tried again, sticking out my tongue too. But chickened out a second time.
I've spent many hours looking at pictures of penises online wondering what it would be like to give a blowjob, and now that I had the chance it was being ruined by an asshole on the other side of my door.
Again he knocked on the window impatiently. Shit! I was too conflicted. Was I a cocksucker or not? And even if I were, would I give in to blackmail? He taunted me, "You can't escape me. I extort lots of supposedly straight guys and they all pay in cash - or in your case, in trade."
My knees hurt, making me wish I had a welcome mat. My mind drifted, it could say, "Come in." In my mouth, of course. I could get a mat, but that would imply that I was going to be sucking lots of cocks kneeling just inside my front door. I would like that. I just didn't like this one at this moment.
He banged again, "Get busy faggot or you're gonna pay the price." I hated him more and more. I was no more a faggot for wanting to suck a cock than he was for wanting a man to suck his. We were equally gay if anything.
