Findommed Through Fiction Pt 01

My pulse quickened as I scrolled, each spin of the mouse wheel bringing more heady, sweat-filled scenes. All of the details I had provided him were rendered in the story, twisted by his words into obscene eroticisms. My cock was pulsing painfully against my trousers, pressed harshly between the meat of my upper thigh and the rough denim. It had stiffened with blood as soon as I had seen the story title, but our pledge forbade me from masturbating to the story for the first 24 hours. I didn't then know exactly where the Writer was based, but I guessed nowhere close... the car reg he had forgotten to blur in one of his photos suggested Europe. Even knowing he was probably half a world away, I was still strangely afraid that he would know if I even adjusted my package. All I allowed myself was a slight rocking on my chair, rubbing my hardness backwards and forward against the denim as I read about the depraved pleasures inflicted upon my fictionalised body.

I was half way through the story, a dribble of precum leaching into my jeans, when I noticed something that drained the colour from my face. I had been reading so fast that i initially hadn't noticed it, but when i skipped back a few lines it was right there...

... what are you going to do on Monday little man,

when you cant even sit at your fancy desk on account of my fat cock ripping your hole apart? What are you going to tell your fancy banker pals?

"I don't know sir," he groaned.

I slapped his gaping hole roughly with my cock. He yelped in pain, but his own cock thickened and pulsed in reaction.

"Try again," I said.

"I'll tell them that I'm a pathetic cock-hungry slut."

I showed him my approval by teasing his hole with my pre-cum slick cockhead."

"I'll tell them that I'll do anything to have a real man use and abuse me. And that I spent my weekend getting..."

As he trailed off I thrust my cock spearlike into him, forcing its thickness completely into his once-tight hole."

"FUCK," he screeched, the girlishness in his voice revealing itself. "FUCKED," he panted, "I spent my weekend getting fucked."

I hold my cock deep inside him, flex the muscle under my prostate to pulse and thicken it. He pants, sweat soaked, as if he had just run a race. I lean in very close to him, pressing the last, thick inch of meat slowly into his hole. I bring my face close to him and ask, "What are you going to tell Susie, when she asks why your cunt is bigger than hers?"

A small detail in his exquisite humiliation of me, tucked into a description of my hole being forced apart by his heavy, thickly veined cock... a detail I had specifically not requested. Something that could identify me. My wife's name.

My heart rate had made the subtle shift from aroused to freaking out, a change which my cock, an iron bar, had not yet picked up on. Even as fear drained the blood from my face, I could feel it foolishly pooling in my cock, making it impossible hard. The ridge in my pants seemed huge, bigger than ever, and I was desperate to release it. By his instruction, I hadn't touched myself in days, and my balls were bloated with cum, some of which was wetly visible in blue denim.

I pulled focus away from the throbbing in my crotch. That fucker had betrayed me. Outside of my name and some physical details, the pact dictated that no identifying features make it into any story. Now it wasn't just these weekly stories of David being fucked by Goliath, but David, the 5'8" banker married to Susie, having his hole rent open by Goliath.

For the past 6 months, I had been paying stupid sums to the Writer to degrade me in his stories. Not just degrade, either, but utterly destroy and humiliate, and to do it on a pedestal. All of our stories were public, some of them travelled quite far through the erotic portions of the web. Findom fantasies where I was the Writer's manager, and also his sex slave, sold particularly well on Amazon. On erotica sites and message boards, the regulars knew that the abused protagonist was someone on the website who paid for the privilege. They also knew that the Writer had the exact equipment needed to dole that punishment out. The pictures in his profile showed the muscles hugely swollen under clothes and a crotch bulging obscenely in tight leather: a Tom of Finland drawing brought to life. A few donations tended to procure more pictures, where the clothes had fallen to reveal the thick chorded domes of his pecs, and a tight trail of abs, shadowed by curls of dark hair that rose thickly from his crotch. More generosity might result in a video of a hand reaching into leather chaps, and emerging with a pale, heaving python, bursting with thick veins and capped with fat, dripping cockhead.

6 months ago, I had outbid someone called Derek, who had previously paid to be in my place. When I took over the contract, I pledged quite a lot to the Writer, and he pledged very little to me, other than a few short rules, one of which he had broken. My eyes flicked to the scroll bar. Only half way through. Would he go further? Was it just playful, or was it a threat? Just a part of the domination, or something more? And how much, in our occasional chats, had I divulged to him?

And why was my cock still so fucking hard. I continued reading.

"What are you going to tell Susie, when she asks why your cunt is bigger than hers?"

He gasped, partly from the sharp thrust that I used as punctuation, partly from the name. I wasn't supposed to bring her up, but he wasn't supposed to give me rules. I eased my cock slowly out of him, felt him shake as each inch left him. I stopped when the only thing still inside him was my cockhead, thickly pressing against his prostate. I leant forward, took each nipple between barbell-calloused fingers, and squeezed tightly. He moaned, confused from pleasure, pain and the dropping of that name. I started thrusting again, just short, sharp stabs, focusing on teasing his prostate with the girthy round of my cockhead. Underneath me, he was red faced, dripping sweat, shaking.

"What," I whispered, "are you going to tell your lovely wife?"

Another thrust, another moan, and suddenly a fountain of cum spraying upwards from his dick. Another spurt hit his face. I twisted harder at his nipples: I hadn't given him permission to finish. But, I was close too, the pressure of my own cum like a lake behind a dam.

His hole was loose now, so I continued to fuck him long-dick style, pulling my horse cock almost fully out of him before slamming it back inside.

"That's," he panted "... ugh .. so .. good."

I didn't think he had any more in him so I was almost impressed. Under me, he was soaked in his own sweat and cum. He must have been exhausted, not just from being fucked, but by the weight of my massive body slamming down on him again and again.

I picked up one of his hands, let him feel how small it was inside mine as I lead it to my nipple. There, I left him stroke my pec weakly, flexed the hard muscle under his hand, bounced it for him. He took the nipple between thumb and forefinger, as he was trained, and teased it. I glanced at his other hand and he moved it quickly to my other nipple. I rarely let him touch me like this.

I dialled it up a notch and brought my right arm to side before splaying it out and flexing, pressing my fist into my shoulder and sand inflating my bicep into a massive, straining ball of muscle.

"What's that?" I asked.

He moaned, forgetting to tease my nipples and instead spraying his hand over the domes of my chest. I bounced the muscle under it, my coarse tangle of body hair harsh against his soft hands.

"A real man," he answered.

Quickly broad my arm down on him, shoving my hairy pits into his face as I flexed.

"And what's that?"

He sucked air and pheromones in greedily.

"A real man's smell."

I started thrusting again. He was hard again, his dick bouncing against his cum slicked stomach with each of my thrusts.

"You ready to cum again?" I asked him.

"Yes sir. Please."

More thrusting, the wet noise of my cockiness and out, the slap of my balls, him whimpering.

The dam burst and my orgasm drove me deep into him, spraying cum deeper inside him. I bucked a few times, blind, animal pleasure, still fucking his worn out hole. I slapped his hand away from his own dick, took it in my massive hand instead, where it disappeared. A few jerks and he sent out another thin spurt of cum. I spayed another torrent inside him, emptying my massive sack into his undeserving hole.

Pulling myself out of him, I felt that load drip out, spatter on the floor. I wiped the cum from my hand onto his face the. let him look at me for a half second, my muscle limned in sweat and curls of dark hair, my cock, impossibly big, hanging from me like a threat. I hefted it for a second, felt its weight, then slapped it loudly against the thick muscle of my thigh, before strolling over to the bathroom and a hot shower, leaving him to clean up.

I read the last few lines again before looking down and realising that the real me is covered in cum too. At some point, I dropped my pants to my feet and allowed myself to finish. I had no memory of it ... or, I did, but it was wrapped up in the story. I had a memory of being fucked into oblivion by him, ... mixed up with one of jerking off to the story.

I went back to the lines with Susie's name. Maybe it wasn't such a big deal. How many Davids had married Susies... surely no one could identify him from this. Not yet anyway.

I turned my attention back to myself. The smooth skin of chest was slick with cum and sweat. The monitor showed a dim reflection of me peering red faced from behind the black lines of the story. I made to stand, planning to join the Writer in a hot shower to clean off. Half off my seat, I felt pain spike up my backside, pressing me back into my seat. A ping announced a message in my inbox.