"Everyone hates the guy that blackmails his classmate to do his homework," Angela said confidently. "However, when the leverage involves something that violates their own social mores, most people will actually side with the blackmailer. As you are about to find out. Chad, send one picture of Debbie eating my pussy to her grandmother."
"No!" I begged, as I heard his phone swoosh.
As it turned out, when Chad sent the photo of me eating Angela's pussy to my grandparents, and then invited me to call them to explain, initially I was unable to pick up the phone.
"Call them," he goaded. "Tell them that you were being blackmailed. I sent it to them using the Confide app, so the picture will disappear permanently sixty seconds after they open it. They won't forget seeing it, but won't be able to prove its existence to any one else."
As he taunted me about the disappearing photo, my phone rang. Chad grabbed my phone and glanced at the screen.
"You should probably answer that," he said cheerfully, "it's your grandmother."
I knew they weren't going to let me off the hook, so I reluctantly took the call. Understandably, my grandma was very confused about what she had seen, although since the photo had already disappeared, she wasn't opposed to my suggestion that it was a scam.
"Oh, thank God, Debbie," she said, the disgust evident in her voice. "I was worried sick, I thought that you were with a woman."
Once I hung up the phone with her, I realized how much leverage they had over me. Mainstream America had largely accepted same-sex relationships, but there remained small pockets of bigots scattered across the country. Largely limited to rural small towns, and religious communities, these old school die-hards viewed same-sex couples as an abomination, and unfortunately for me, my entire family fell into this category.
Compromising photos of me eating another woman's pussy, with a huge smile on my glazed face, were the last thing I needed in my life. Angela having access to my entire contact list just made things so much worse for me. For this reason, as the day drew to a close, and Angela reminded me that she still wanted to ass-fuck me, I climbed up onto the pile of pillows, bent over it so that my ass was ready for the taking, and remained there passively, as she selected which strap-on to use.
Angela knew exactly what she was doing, having taken many an anal-cherry in her life, from both willing and unwilling participants, male and female. She started off with a very thin flesh-colored strap-on, no wider than a lipstick container, and using plenty of lubricant, managed to open up my sphincter with ease. As she progressed slowly, slightly increasing the diameter of each subsequent phallus, she loosened me up to the point that Chad could take what he wanted. Angela left the room shortly after that, as if to give her little brother some privacy to expand his horizons.
When it was his turn at bat, Chad savagely sodomized me, first with his erect cock, and then after he came deep inside my anal-passage, he selected the large black phallus that I had eyed with such trepidation, upon seeing it for the first time. Having removed the limitations posed by inevitable ejaculation from the equation, he was able to give my ass a protracted fucking, rendering me incapable of sitting down for nearly two days. To add insult to injury, when he finally pulled the huge black phallus from my ass, he made me suck it clean.
At the time, I considered this the biggest indignity of my life, the low point of my interaction with men. It was just so demeaning to have to perform ass to mouth for his perverse enjoyment, especially as it was a sexual activity that I hadn't even had the stomach for in porn movies. Unfortunately, for me, Chad's quest for revenge continued to move the goalposts, even after I had almost thrown up, gagging on the strap-on cock. He moved back behind me, and if I hadn't just observed his flaccid cock, I would have assumed he was planning to fuck me again.
I felt the bed compress as he climbed back on it, and stood behind me. My eyes darted around the room, and as I saw the remote to the shock-collar, his leather belt, and the cat of nine tails, laying on the bedroom floor, I breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever, was next, wasn't going to hurt.
Well, while it didn't physically hurt, it had a considerable long-term affect on my psyche, when Chad began to urinate on my ass and lower back. I couldn't bring myself to look back at him, as I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing the look on my face, which was a combination of revulsion and defeat. He expelled a steady stream of urine onto my lower body, without saying a word as he defiled me. In fact, he remained silent, preferring to let the unmistakable sounds of his piss splashing against my skin, sink in.
After a few seconds, he moved towards me and began pissing into the back of my hair. I felt the wet strands of hair sticking to my skin, and smelled the foul odor of his urine start to permeate the room. Finally, as I felt his knees either side of my ribcage, he adjusted his aim, and finished up urinating on the top of my head.
He let me shower several minutes later, after keeping me posed in the doggy-style position, as his piss dried on my skin and in my hair, while he took a few more photos.
The following day, I had to stand for the entirety of my 9am morning work meeting, although I blamed it on severe cramps, to save face with my co-workers. In addition to that indignity, I also ended up staying a second night in the hotel at my own expense, unable to face the two hour drive home. I called in sick to work on Monday, and drove home late in the afternoon, after requesting a late check-out. My ass was still very painful for nearly a week after they sodomized me, but thanks to Angela's gradual increase in the diameter of the strap-on, I was able to avoid any long-term injuries.
That experience shaped me into the submissive that I am today. My fiancé is a dominant man, and likes to force me to submit to him. However, even though we
trust each other implicitly, I am unable to share my deepest desires with him, which is to be thoroughly abused, on occasion. For this reason, I find myself reaching out to Angela once in a while, a habit that I am trying desperately to kick, as I am afraid it will affect my relationship with my fiancé.
It's not just the chemistry that Angela and I share, that threatens to derail my upcoming marriage. In addition, as the sexual violence between us increases, I am left with a litany of physical injuries, that are becoming increasingly difficult to hide from my fiancé. The bruises, ligature marks, and riding-crop wounds heal fairly quickly, but Angela has threatened to cut off all ties with me, unless I allow her to mark me permanently. I am not sure if she intends to brand me or tattoo me. However, if it comes down to a choice between allowing her to do so, or never seeing her again, I already know the answer. It frightens me to no end, to think how my fiancé will react to the mark of another, permanently visible on my body.
