This 20,000 words story will be posted in three parts over the next few days. Those who would prefer to binge-read the complete tale may choose to postpone starting it until the third part has been posted. It's a work of fiction but is based on a real person I used to know. Trigger warning: there is a fetish known as forced-bi where a straight person (usually a submissive male) is 'forced' to perform a homosexual act with somebody of the same sex. It's a staple of cuckold fiction. However, a lesser known fetish is forced-straight, where a gay person is similarly 'made' to have hetero-sex. If such a kink might offend you, please read something else. This story is dedicated to Nikki.
PART ONE
1. THIS EVENING
I can tell the guy's about to cum in my mouth.
I recognise the signs. I may be lesbian but I've sucked off enough cocks by now that I'm well aware what those tell-tale nasal snorts and twitching hips mean. You don't have to know a particular person to be familiar with what any old trouser-snake feels like, throbbing in your mouth, banging against your palate, when it's about to spit its venom down your throat.
I know the moment's close. Even though he's a complete stranger, we've only just met and I've never even spoken one single word to him, yes, I can recognise that his orgasm's close.
So, it's time to raise my face buried within his thick clump of pubic hair and look up admiringly into his lust-filled eyes, exactly as I've been taught to do.
As I remove my own eyes from his hairy thighs, I'm now able to see my pregnant girlfriend too, in my peripheral vision. She's to my left, studying my performance, her belly swollen, a slight smirk on her face.
Next, I twitch my eyes sideways, to my right. And now I can see my fiancΓ©. He's kneeling, watching closely, his gaze glued like hers to this sleazy scene.
That's right. It's hard to wrap your head around, isn't it? I'm properly gay. Not even bi. I'm lesbian. Yet here's some anonymous dude about to blast his pungent semen down my throat, while the woman I love, and the man I'm engaged to, both watch closely.
And - not for the first time - I ask myself ...
How the fuck did it ever come to this?
2. SEVEN AND A HALF YEARS AGO
To understand, I have to take you back over seven years to my first few weeks at college, sharing with Stella. To say I was obsessed with Stella would be an understatement. I lusted after her, worshipped her, and fell helplessly in love with her.
My allocated roommate epitomised everything I'd always longed to be. She was effortlessly cool, stylishly chic, clever and popular, funny and pretty. Guys chased after her like a pack of lovestruck dogs all sniffing after a bitch on heat. Meanwhile, Girls were all desperate to be her friend. Or more. Because, as it turned out, Stella was bisexual.
She relished the best of both worlds.
It also turned out that she was a manipulative and dominant bitch. But that only made her even more attractive to me. I willingly became her servant. In fact, I encouraged her. She was a shark and I was but a trail of dripping blood in the water.
At first it was 'apartment-stuff'; I did all our dishes, picked up her clothes, washed and ironed everything, made her bed and tidied her room each morning. That quickly evolved onto more 'personal stuff'; I ran errands for her, bought her things, massaged her body and pedicured her perfect feet.
And, soon enough, it became 'sexual-stuff' too; those massages turned intimate, with happy endings for her, not for me. I was a willing student. She gradually turned my cunnilingus into an artform. Sometimes I knelt at her feet or hunkered between her legs. Other times she rode my face. She taught me how to worship her bottom exactly as she liked it. And she spiced things up with spankings, bondage and humiliations that steadily evolved into degradations.
I loved every second. Well, mostly. I did whatever she asked, usually willingly. Of course, deep down I knew that our relationship was a selfish one-way street. My love for Stella was pure. But for her, I was just a game. A toy. She never reciprocated sexually. I'd lick her pussy without receiving any reward. After a while she started insisting that I could only orgasm with her prior permission.
"Now-now, Nicole," she'd scold me, if my fingers wandered while I was pleasuring her, "don't play with yourself. Too many orgasms are bad for a slut like you."
Worst of all was the inequality regarding our seeing other people. Even socially. I had to remain 100percent loyal to Stella. Over the weeks, I'd slowly managed to develop a small group of casual friends, my own circle of oddballs and misfits. Nice but uncool.
However, I was only allowed to see them in the evening or at weekends, and only with Stella's prior consent. I had to ask her if it was okay to meet someone for a coffee, tell her where, and how long I'd be. Sometimes she said no. Meanwhile, not only did Stella socialise with her own large collection of popular, sporty, fashionable friends, she started dating freely too.
She was tall, leggy, with classically beautiful features. She had green eyes that lured you in, sculpted cheekbones and a toothpaste advert smile. Her skin was like peaches and her hair was naturally blonde but she changed it often, sometimes citron-yellow and other times dyed the colour of dark honey or even Goth-black. She wore it long in a ponytail and would then suddenly turn up with it cut short and chic. Naked, her breasts were much larger than you'd expect. Not huge, but a perfect, gravity-defying handful.
And what of me? Well I was far from ugly back then. But I certainly wasn't Stella. At 5' 6", I'm several inches shorter than her, more curvaceous, with a roundish face that some people might describe as 'girl next door' looks. My hair's mousey brunette with a tendency to frizz in humidity. My own boobs are actually smaller than one would expect given my rounded figure. I'd always bought myself C-cup bras but would never quite fill them properly.
Her first couple of boyfriends remained oblivious to Stella's relationship with me. She demanded my discretion. I had to be welcoming to her dates, laugh at their jokes, then disappear to my room to read quietly and do homework. No TV or music. The next morning I'd casually make coffee and even prepare breakfast for the three of us.
But after they'd left, Stella would beckon me over to eat her out. She told me the guys were useless and they hadn't made her cum, even though I'd heard her crying out loudly, apparently in orgasm, overnight and again in the morning. She flattered me, told me that I was much better at giving head than any boy was.
She used condoms on those first few dates. But then she started doing it what she called 'bareback'. I'd never heard the term before. She wasn't interested when I told her I was only attracted to girls and I'd never once been with a boy or tasted semen. She'd sprawl on our sofa and spread her knees and order me to clean up her fetid, overflowing pussy.
Then came Jed, her third boyfriend, during that hot Spring of 2016. One morning, I'd made them both breakfast and he just blurted it out.
"So, Nicole, you're Stella's bitch, huh?"
I was more embarrassed than annoyed. I just blushed and nodded.
"Let's see you go down on her."
Jed was a strapping guy, on the sports teams. He was physically imposing. In fact, he was almost as cool and popular as Stella.