All participants are over 18 years old. This story contains scenes of non-consensual sex.
*****
A lot can happen in two years.
Just twenty-four months ago, I was a regular working guy, underpaid and undersexed. One day, things changed.
My co-worker Mitch photographed me nude in our workplace locker room. The pictures clearly showed my baby carrot-sized dick. Mitch threatened to make these photos public if I disobeyed his summons to attend an event the next night. It turned out I was the main attraction. Mitch and his friends decided to make a video in which they took turns reaming my virgin ass and fucking my mouth. I cooperated out of fear that if I failed to do so, Mitch would release the photos. After they were done with me, I looked like the melting man: I was covered in cum. In that state, Mitch had me tell the camera that I gave consent to everything that happened to me in the video, but in a moment of frustration mixed with a shameful desire for humiliation, I rashly gave every man in the world licence to take my mouth or ass whenever it pleased them.
Mitch promised he would keep the video a secret. Instead, he had it professionally edited, copied it to all my friends and co-workers and posted it on the internet. I was clearly on display sucking and being fucked for the length of the video, and my hands-free orgasms were shown from multiple angles. It was easy to recognize me in the video, but the editing had carefully and skillfully avoided giving any glimpse of the Mitch and the other men's faces.
In days, the video went viral.
Having heard my stated consent on the video, men all over my home town took me at my word. The police detective investigating the creation of the humiliating video said he'd do his best on the case; then he bent me over a table in an interview room and fucked my brains out. Several co-workers used my mouth and my ass at their leisure. When I went to HR to complain, the manager told me to suck his cock, forcing me to leave his office with his cum on my face and hair. I quite honestly enjoyed a lot of the sex—I had more sex in the first week after that video was posted than I'd had in my whole life—but even I had some pride. I quit my job.
My lawyer cost me the last of my savings, but she was able to get a severance package from my former employer. That money paid the rent for a few months but it would soon run out. I needed a job. But with my new notoriety, who would hire me? Nobody in my home town, that's for sure. Gay they might have tolerated, but a shameless slut as well?
My mind was on my financial concerns when I received a letter from The Pleasure Palace in the big city nearby. (Actually, the letter was delivered by Drew, the postman who stopped on his route every day to shove his big cock in one of my holes, so my mind was at least partly on that.) The letter was a job offer tailored to the particular traits I displayed in the video: submissiveness, stamina and potency. I wasn't a hot athletic type, but Mitch's video was still getting a lot of play and a lot of likes online. Apparently, I was a celebrity now.
I took the job. What else was I supposed to do? I began in the gloryholes sucking random cocks in front of a small audience. The management liked what they saw and decided to give me a headlining act in the gay part of the establishment. Three nights a week, I relived the making of Mitch's video over and over again, with men coming on me and in me for hours on end.
But something special happened. Far from being traumatized, these shows empowered me. I started to feel my own distinctiveness and value. I had a rare talent for giving men pleasure and driving audiences wild; that, in turn, gave me pleasure (as my frequent hands-free orgasms seemed to demonstrate). I came to terms with the fact that whatever I was when this started, I was gay now. The performances were heartfelt, honest and earthy.
Another special thing happened. I found love with my manager, Mason. He had started out manning the gloryholes too and along the way he had developed a fetish for small cocks. Since I was naked whenever I was at work, he found me quickly. He turned out to be as much a slut as I am. Within months, we were in a committed relationship. Obviously, this excluded my work at The Pleasure Palace.
In the meantime, my thrice-weekly shows were being recorded and The Pleasure Palace cobbled together some "best of" videos to stream on their exclusive website. These were uncategorical hits and, even though they were widely pirated, they still performed well on streaming platforms. Even the DVDs made money.
And I got a share of that money, on top of my wages. Let's just say I'm not a millionaire, but I could easily take a few years off and not worry about money. There seems to be plenty of appetite out there for more of my work. My future is set.
But I'm not satisfied, even with so much going well.
I'm not satisfied because Mitch is still out there.
I hired a private investigator to look into him. She found out that Mitch had been fired from work shortly after I quit. The official story was that he was late for work one time too many, but the investigator learned that the employer had been waiting for a chance to cut him loose ever since I implicated him. That meant they believed my story from the start but didn't act because they didn't have enough proof; it was just my word against his. Typical H.R..
So he lost his job. Good.
The investigator confirmed that Mitch had been out of work for eighteen months and was now living with his mother.
Better and better. But it wasn't good enough. He could still walk down the street and not be spat on or bent over and fucked.
Now working at The Pleasure Palace, a place surprisingly free of judgement, I had made friends who didn't care about my humiliation. We all had histories. I hadn't had real friends in a long time and I leaned on them now. I explained my problem with Mitch. We put our heads together and we hatched a plan.
A few weeks later, Kamal (whose dick was up my ass every Monday and Friday night at The Palace) was parked on the old street in my home town where Mitch lived with his mother. He was watching the house. Stefan and Carlton (both part of my Wednesday night line-up) were watching from other sides, ensuring that all exits were covered.
When Mitch came out of his mom's house, Kamal quietly walked up behind him as he started to open the garage. There was an ancient station wagon inside.
"Mitch," Kamal said.
Mitch turned right into the chloroform-soaked cloth. Stefan had known what to do as soon as Kamal got out of his car. He pulled up into the driveway and helped Kamal get Mitch into the trunk. It was all done in a matter of seconds. You might have thought we were professionals.
A couple of hours later, Mitch began coming back to awareness. He was secured to a chair with duct tape. He was under a bright spotlight. He was also naked.
He began screaming blue murder. We let him do that for a while.
When he was tired of screaming, I stepped halfway into the light. He didn't recognize me.
"Please," Mitch said. "Don't hurt me."
"We have no intention of hurting you."
"Thank God... what's this all about?"
"You're here to balance the scales."
Mitch noticed he was surrounded by cameras and realized what this scene reminded him of.
"Oh, no..."
"Yes."
Mitch lied through his teeth. He recognized me now. He swore he had not done anything to me. He had not photographed me. He had nothing to do with that video. It was his friends' idea.
"Do you believe me?"
"No."
It took a few hours. He was not threatened with anything worse than perpetual captivity if he did not comply with our demands. The first hour of the interrogation was wasted in more lies. In the second hour, he admitted to the photographs, but refused to implicate himself in the making of the video. Later, after he caved, he tried to justify his actions. He didn't mean any harm; he was only trying to reveal to me my own true sexuality. Hadn't he done me a good turn by making that video since it had made me a rich star?
The son of a bitch. I had to hand it to him. He thought he did me a favour by making me the unwilling guest of honour at a bukkake party. When he said that, my resolve to see this through grew stronger.
Mitch looked desperate now. He was sweating profusely. I have to admit, setting aside what he did to me, Mitch is the kind of man with that confident swagger that I might easily have fallen for. A real bad boy. And, I still remembered the tingling in my ass when he fucked me that first time. Seeing him like this, humbled and helpless, wasn't entirely a pleasure.
Now that he had established his own guilt, Mitch was released from the restraints. He was ordered to read for the camera a confession stating that he had blackmailed me with nude photographs in order to obtain my participation in a private sex video. He confirmed that my statements of consent were therefore given under duress. Mitch read it with tears falling. His nose was running. I almost wanted to wipe it for him, but if I started feeling sorry for him now, I couldn't possibly appreciate what was going to happen next.
Mitch spoke up. "Okay, I gave you your confession. Now let me go."
"You will be free when you fulfil all our demands."
"What more do you want?"
"Can't you guess? You're a naked man, confined to a hidden location after pissing off a victim you turned gay. How do you expect to balance the scales?"
"Oh, no!"
