Mel Taes My Manhood

Standard disclaimer: this story is a very over the top work of fantasy, and it contains extreme humiliation, blackmail, and unsafe, non-consensual sex practices. If that's not your thing, please don't read it. Otherwise, enjoy!

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This strange new state of affairs continued. Everyday I would report to the gym, strip to my jockstrap, and Cliff, my self-appointed personal trainer, would put me through a gruelling workout with my bare ass on display. Men knew to watch, and many of my workouts were photographed and recorded. I eventually found videos and photos of myself online, "jockstrap public workout." My exposure was now immortalized.

Often Cliff's friend Hal, who had led the assault on my nuts in the locker room, would watch while discreetly stroking himself in his shorts. He would then take me back to the locker room for a butt-fucking and a ball-beating . Though Cliff was aware of these sessions he never took part himself, content to get his kicks by forcing me to work out bare ass naked and bossing me around on the gym floor. Nonetheless Hal had his way with me about once a week or so, which meant on a weekly basis I had to gingerly step back into my underwear and suit, then hobble back to the office, reminded with each step of the swollen agony of my shattered balls. "Leg day?" A colleague might ask, seeing me limp.

At work I was becoming more and more of a wilting violet. Distracted, embarrassed, paranoid that the other men knew what was up. Steve Kennedy, my boss, continued to tease me and joke that I was a chronically addicted masturbator, and I just pathetically went along with it, feeling unable to speak up for myself when the truth was so much worse. More and more Mel would pull me out of work in the middle of the day to have this way with me.

One lunch break he caught me leaving the court house and forced me with him, not telling him where we were headed. He led me to a rundown movie theater, one of the last sleazy old porno theaters in the city. A smirking, oily looking old clerk winked at me at Mel, who slapped my back, gesturing at me to pay for our tickets. In a place like this, two men in suits with about three decades between them had to stick out. I meekly avoided the man's amused gaze. It knew it was apparent that I was Mel's bitch.

"Enjoy the show, gentleman." He said with a smirk, his voice a mocking sing-song. Mel collared my neck with his big hand, forcing me inside. The man's raspy laughter followed me through the double doors.

We were the only two people in the darkened theater. Mel produced a bottle of whiskey from his brief case and had me take several long draws. Soon my head was spinning. The film was a nasty cuckold ganging - both the hotwife and the cuckold were getting reamed out by a group of men.

I looked over and saw that Mel had his cock out of his pants and was openly masturbating. I watched is rough hand pump it up and down - as always his penis had the power to mesmerize me completely.

"Come on. Sit on Daddy's lap." He beckoned me to him. I sat up and moved onto his seat with him, lowering my hips to sit upon his lap. His hands went to my belt, swiftly opening it and then unbuckling my pants. He pulled my suit pants down to my ankles, then kicked my dress shoes off my feet with his. Next my underwear was at my ankles, stomped on by his shoe and off my legs. He even leaned down and yanked both my socks off my feet, tossing them carelessly several rows in front of us. I heard my phone and keys clatter on to the floor.

The sticky concrete floor felt revolting against my bare feet - my soles crunched over cigarette butts and a syrupy film I could tell was a layer of dozens of men's semen, spilled carelessly on the floor. At his direction I stepped my bare feet down on to his dress shoes, my legs over his. A perverse thought bloomed in my mind, that this was how I used to sit only my father's laps when I was a little boy, lap o this lap, legs on his legs, and my dainty feet atop his. And soon enough I was on Daddy's lap, his big cocked poised to pierce deep in me. He hocked a loogie in his hand and rubbed it between my cheeks.

I yelped as he forced me down on him. His huge gnarled key unlocking me as always, as he squeezed my waist. Inch by inch, me huffing and puffing to try to outrace the pain, until his mighty rod was firmly entrenched in my guts. I planted my heels on his shoes, bottoming out.

At this point, the foreign invasion of his cock in my guts was something I could handle, and shamefully, very much enjoyed. I grunted, pleased with the enormous pressure of it so deep and thick inside me. Looked down between my naked legs, and saw that my pecker was hard, bursting up from out of my smooth-shaven crotch. I rocked my backside back and forth, grinding into his crotch, so that his impaled rod could better stimulate my package. I looked around the theater and noticed that a couple of men had entered the theater. They were watching me get sodomized, their shoulders jerking furiously as they openly beat off.

I felt ridiculous, pantsless in this scummy theater, naked from the waist down. Mel was apparently dissatisfied with my level of undress as he fucked me, and in one motion ripped open my dress shirt, popping all of the buttons off at once. He squeezed my waist, then grabbed the neck of my undershirt, pulled down, and ripped the front half of the shirt off completely. My bare belly and chest was now exposed to his rough, greedy hands, which quickly attacked my nipples. I tried to stifle my moans as he played with my tits and kneaded my stomach, bouncing up and down on his lap eagerly. He cackled in my ear, delighted by the aphrodisiac effect his abuse of my nipples had on me.

For about thirty minutes, the old bull rocked me back and forth on his lap, staying as hard as stone. The stamina of this man always blew me away. I leaned my head back on his shoulder while his tongue assaulted my ear and neck, lapping and chewing. I closed my eyes and thought of how back when I had been a man and used my cock as my primary sexual organ, I could never last in a pussy past the six minute mark. Yet here this old, out of shape man had the endurance and skills of a master cocksman. His thick, rigid cock sawing against my prostate had me singing with pleasure.

I looked to my left. Three strangers in the dark had gathered, masturbating while watching my public defilement. Their cocks were nowhere near the size of Mel's but still drew my rapt gaze. The filthiness of being masturbated over, the violation of it, turned me on even more.

Mel had me perch myself over him in a four point stance, my feet now on his suited knees and my hands gripping the backs of the seats in front of us. It was from this precarious spot that he brought it home, bucking his hips wildly and groaning like a boar as he sodomized me to completion. He held my hips tight against his groin as I felt his prick pulsing, alive, once again spewing its steaming seed in my guts. I whimpered as I tried to keep my balance, my hand reaching onto his thigh, which was slick witt sweat.

Mel kept growling in my ear as he came, grabbing me in a tight embrace, holding my knees and together so that I was balled up over his lap. Completely in his arms atop him, helps. He then lowered his mouth and sank his teeth into my neck below my ear, biting down painfully. Below me his hips kept bucking up, pumping his cock into me. He kept his fangs on my neck like a a dog holding his mate in place while he rutted. He sucked as he bit down painfully, and I knew from experience that he was bestowing an enormous hickey upon the back of my neck.

When all was said and done, he pushed me off of him and I tumbled down onto the floor. I scrambled on to my hands and knees, finding my keys, phone and wallet that had fallen beneath the seats.

"Can we come on him?" They hissed at Mel for permission.

"Knock yourselves out." He said with amusement.

A man's hand pushed on my suited shoulder, keeping me on my knees. Three hairy crotches crowded into view, their pants pulled own to their thighs. In the blue light of the projector their bobbing, vein-covered erect cocks and wrinkly ball socks seemed alien, monstrous as they surrounded me. One man's cockhead batted onto my cheek as he tossed himself off.

The men shuffled a bit and a thin, uncut cock stepped right in front of me, illuminated by the movie screen. His legs straddled me, and his hand pumped it a few times before it blasted on my face and neck. Four strands of thick spooge splattered all over me, then he dried off his dickhead and hanging foreskin on the top of my head, wiping the last driblets of fizz into my hair.

Another man stepped forward, he was quite short and skinny, his hairy crotch at my chest level despite my being on my knees. He stroked off his little boner and ejaculated all over my suit and face. Two more men shot their loads, both overweight with round, hairy bellies and stout pricks, aiming squarely for my face. Mel laughed cruelly from behind me as my suit jacket, as well as my hair, face, neck and bare chest was doused with the stranger's semen.

I wiped the jazz from my eyes, my vision blinded by the stinging seemed. The men walked away as I got down on all fours, trying to recover my belongings from the floor.

Mel watched me dress - all he needed to do was put his cock away. He then snapped his fingers to hurry me, then grabbed my hair and pulled me to my feet.

"Mel, please, let me use the bathroom, I have to clean up, I have to go back to court." I whinged with panic, realizing the mean old bastard intended to force me out of the theater in this state.

""No boy, I want my seed to stay in your pussy. What the fuck do I care if it's leaking down your leg? I want my hormones in you. Remember, we're still trying to get you pregnant." He yanked me by my ear once my pants were on, then pushed me up the aisle to the exit, kicking my well-fucked butt back into the lobby.

I was dragged out of the theater, half-dressed and disheveled, a wet spot on the seat of my pants. I squinted in the harsh light of the afternoon, buzzed from the half bottle of whiskey he had forced us to share. As I he pulled me from the theater, I saw myself in the reflective windows of a neighboring shop. I looked completely ridiculous. I had my shoes on but no socks, my bare ankles exposed beneath my pant legs and above my untied shoes. Worse I was bare-chested - I was wearing a suit coat but my dress shirt and undershirt had both been torn open, exposing my cum-splattered bare chest and belly. My suit coat, once navy blue, was now striped with robes of what was clearly drying cum. The pants were likewise stained with scum - I knew the whole thing was ruined. Mel had let the strange men turn my $600 dollar suit into a cum rag. My eyes were red from getting jizz in them, and my hair was caked with semen. The side of my neck, just below my ears was a huge, saliva-soaked purple bruise, a clear bite-mark. The telltale placement of the hickey notified made it clear that I had been butt-fucked, further evidenced by the cum-soaked stain at the seat of my pants.

Men on their lunch break guffawed at my disgrace, elbowing each other, pointing me out. Again Mel had made a spectacle of me. A sneering businessman stepped in front of me, making no attempt to hide that he was taking my photo. I just lowered my head in shame as I texted a colleague to cover my case, feigning that I was sick. I walked home in a daze, and the doormen at my building even shook his head at the sight of me.

My frequent and abrupt absences began to have consequences at work.

Steve Kennedy, the partner I worked for, was mostly content to continue to razz me more and more about what he steadfastly believed was a compulsive masturbation habit. Every interaction I had with him, he found a way to crack some off collar remark about me choking the chicken or make some obscene gesture. He was fond of sending me cheesy jokes in emails as well, vulgar little cartoons or limericks about jacking off. Eventually though he began to have me pair up with other attorneys. Without officially saying it, I was being demoted.

"Petey, Bob's gonna take the lead on this one. You help him out with whatever he needs." He proclaimed, not even looking up from his phone at me.

I was so distracted by Mel's torment of me that I could have accepted this new humiliation. But Bob Huston was my least favorite colleague - it wouldn't have been a stretch to call him an enemy. I had always been perfectly friendly with him, but since he joined the firm a year ago he had decided he resented me. This was clearly because at about 50 years old he was around 18 years my senior, but I technically outranked him due to my seniority.

Bob always just seemed like a miserable prick to me. Divorced, heavy drinker and smoker, overweight, receding hair line, just an unpleasant slob. He made no attempt to hide that he loathed being dictated to by "some snot nose brat who was still wet behind the ears." Outside of the grumbled comments about me having only been recently potty-trained or weaned off my mother's tit, he had mostly swallowed his contempt.

But Mel's impact on me had made me meeker, and Bob had picked up on this. In these last few weeks, Bob had been emboldened, openly mocking me any chance he got and pushing me around.

Once Steve had started in with the chronic jack-off talk, Bob eagerly piled on, claiming he had heard me stroking it behind the stall door in the bathroom, and had even walked in on me a couple of times in my office with my trousers at my ankles, "pecker in hand." He also had a recurring gag where he would sniff around me theatrically and announce that he smelled the unmistakeable smell of jizz. Mel had turned me into too much of a wimp to even stick up for myself. I just laughed along at these, essentially ceding the fact that I did smell like cum, or that Bob had caught me, pecker in hand.

But aside from the jack off jokes, Bob had begun to engage in a behavior that I could recognize as "domming" me. And due to Mel's conditioning of me, I was pathetically receptive to it. During meetings in the conference room, he would be sure to sit next to me. Then mid-meeting, he would drop a pen or pad from the table, and order me to pick it up for him.

"Hey kid, reach down and pick that up for me." Without protest I would lean under the table and grab the item, which was invariably between his legs, and around his big dress shoes. It was degrading enough to have to root around this man's feet as the other men at the table snickered. But then he would pile on.

"Hey kid, while you're down there, do me a favor and..." He would let the innuendo trail off, but when back above the table he would wink or even make a blow job gesture, his fist near his mouth and his cheek bulged.

This would send the men, including Steve Kennedy, into hysterics. Now I wasn't just being branded as a compulsive jerk-off addict, but a cocksucker too.

So when our boss announced that Bob would be supervising me on a project, a client I had handled on my own just three months ago, my face dropped while his beamed, adopting a true shit-eating grin. He actually grabbed me to his side and I just flinched, letting myself get manhandled.

"Don't worry Steve. The kid'll be in real good hands." Bob crowed triumphantly, clamping his hadn't down on my shoulder and squeezing it roughly.

"Kid! Get your little butt to the conference room and start putting the files together. That seems about your speed." He sent me on my way, his hand releasing my shoulder only to deliver a stinging, thunderous crack against my backside. I just shuffled off, having been spanked by my work rival and sent to do menial grunt work.

With our boss's blessing, Bob turned me into his lackey. Pretty soon I was getting his coffee, taking his lunch order, he even sent me to get his dry cleaning. I would just lower my head and nod at each increasingly degrading demand.

Bob had a way of communicating his demands that were degrading in of itself. He would snap in my face to command my attention, and took to exclusively calling me "kid" or "kiddo." He would send me emails that just said "my office" in the subject line and "now," in the body. He really liked throwing his weight around and I just accepted it. It was one such brusquely demanding email that send me scurrying to his office like a well-trained dog.

"Close the door." He ordered, not looking away from his computer screen. He finished doing whatever he was doing, taking his time, making me stand there self-consciously like a dolt. I watched him as he worked. His large hands and long fingers typing away. His receding curly brown hair, gray at the edges. His big broad face and the glasses he wore. Finally he looked up, smiling at me maliciously.

"Kid, I've found a job I think even you can handle. My shoes need a good shine." Bob smirked at me, gesturing to an old-fashioned shoe shine kit on his desk. I hesitated, feeling my face go red before I answered. As with all of his other demands, I felt completely incapable of refusing him.

"Ok, sure thing. Where are the shoes?" I asked, expecting to at least be able to do this in the privacy of my office.

"Where do you think they are, dumbass?" Bob snapped his fingers, pointing down beneath his desk. I walked around to see him pointing at the large pair of black florscheims on his feet. He wanted me to shine his shoes while he wore them, me kneeling down like a shoe shine boy at the train station.

I did just that, getting down on my knees and getting to work. Bob had big feet. I first cleaned off the dust and dirt from them, then applied the polish. I used the different brushes and rags in the kit make his old pair of shoes look like new. I felt compelled to do as good a job as possible, to please this man who hated me.

Bob had me toiling for him for about 20 minutes. He made a few calls during my job, ignoring me as I served him. It felt strange being so physically close to a man I had such a bad relationship with. Acquainting myself with his strong smell. I was often between his beg legs as I worked. I had the added benefit of getting a view of his ample crotch. He filled his suit pants well, and I knew with a strange pang of jealously and lust that Bob Huston was a well hung man.

"Don't forget the spit shine finish." And he welled up a big wad of salvia in his mouth and spit it down on to his shoes, the strand of it passing just inches from my face. I sighed with resignation and got back to work.

"Good job, kid. I knew you were born to shine men's shoes." He gloated, patting my head and messing my hair up before kicking me out of his office.

It was that evening while ordering dinner, pulling a late night, that Bob revealed just how much he knew about me.

"How about some peach pie, kiddo? I hear that's your favorite." The middle-aged man was leaning back in his chair, his feet propped up on the table cockily. I stood before him. He grinned at me cockily, then licked his lips.

"Yeah, sweet peach pie, right? I noticed you've spending a lot of time with Melvin Krimholz, that slimy old bastard. Going around with him. What's up with that, kid?" My throat went dry.

"We're just... friends." I mumbled weakly. Bob laughed and slapped the table, ignoring my ineffectual excuse.

"Horseshit. You sure don't look like friends, when I see you two together. That old shark's all smiles, but you always look nervous as hell. Like he's got something over you." He kept going, beaming at me evilly.

"Plus he's got his hands all over you in court. I even saw him squeeze your ass! And you just let it happen. Almost like you're... more than friends?" The conference room was thick with his smirking innuendo, and I felt my heart pound and my face redden further. All those times Mel had messed with me, harassed me, took liberties pushed the limit in a public place. I was always terrified someone had been watching it, paying attention. And someone had.