All characters are over 18.
*****
A few days after my encounter with Mr. Temple, there was a knock at my apartment door and, for a change, I was neither naked nor jerking off. I approached the door with anticipation, thinking of the seduction that had taken place the last time I had a visitor.
I opened the door on Mary Miller: neighbour; stunning goth girl; object of my crush and, like me, a willing slave to the bachelors who lived in the brown bungalow down the street. I was curious why she was here since she had never expressed anything for me but contempt.
She came to the point without a greeting. "Carlo has called a meeting at the house and we're to attend."
Mention of Carlo turned my legs to rubber. The black man had talked me to my knees and into taking cock in my throat and up my ass. Mick and Marty, his roommates, had likewise filled my holes to my great satisfaction. I'd been dealing with the transformation I'd made from straight boy to biddable queer bottom-boy over the past few days and not without difficulty, but I had no real religious hang-ups and pleasure had won me over. I was starting to accept that I was bisexual.
It was a warm day, so I was fine to go out in the shorts and t-shirt I was wearing. I slipped into my sandals and locked my apartment door behind us. As we headed for the sidewalk, I questioned Mary.
"What's the meeting about?"
"You'll see," Mary said.
The brown bungalow was only a few doors down. We were there in a little over two minutes: not enough time to talk to Mary about how she was adapting to life as a convenient whore to the three bachelors. I would hardly have asked in a judgemental fashion; after all, I was in the same position. She might have been seduced, but her whole notion of her sexuality hadn't been turned over as mine had been. A few days ago, I was confidently straight. Now I was giving my ass to any man who demanded it. My thoughts lingered on my encounter with Mr. Temple, who lacked the obvious sex appeal of the younger men but fired me up anyway.
As usual, Carlo, Mick and Marty were sitting out on their porch, filling the ratty old sofa which was the only comfortable place to sit. Mary and I would be expected to sit on cardboard cases filled with empty beer bottles alongside four other people I didn't know. Carlo introduced everyone. There was a curvy thirties-ish MILF with red hair and freckles named Wanda; a forties-ish buttoned-up woman in a plaid skirt and glasses with her brown hair pulled back in a bun who for all the world looked like the stereotype of an old-time spinster librarian and who name was Leni; a vivacious, curly-haired blonde named Jessica who might have been fifty, who was dressed like a country music singer, right down to a flannel shirt which was partly unbuttoned to show off an ample bosom; and finally, Dennis, a slightly chunky, heavily-built man of perhaps thirty, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt.
"Okay," said Carlo. "I called this meeting because a problem has been brought to my attention. Do any of you know this man?" Carlo turned his cellphone screen-out toward the group. The screen capture was not high-resolution, but the rounded edges of the figure were clear enough, as was the leering face.
I recognized him immediately as Mr. Temple, who lived across the street from the brown house. He had also banged me into oblivion the other day. I was reluctant to admit to this in a group made up of masters and strangers in almost equal measure.
"I know him," Mary said. The disdain was strong in her voice. For some reason, her admission made me confess.
"I know him too. It's Mr. Temple."
None of the rest of the group spoke up. I wondered about them. If they were called to this meeting, were they all willing slaves like Mary and me?
"How do you know him?" Carlo asked me.
The whole truth came out despite my reluctance. I told them how the man appeared at my door a couple of days ago and blackmailed me into sex using video of me with the bachelors, which he claimed he would send to all my contacts if I didn't do exactly what he asked. Some of the other willing slaves looked at me with a touch of interest, as if that was something they might like to have seen.
"And Mary?" Carlo prompted her.
"He came banging on my door this afternoon, and demanded I have sex with him or he would send a video of me with you guys out to all my contacts." She held up her phone and played the full video from her porch security camera. It was clearly the source video for the screen capture Carlo had shown. There was no sound but Mr. Temple was quite aggressive, attempting to grab Mary and managing to tear the neck of her t-shirt, exposing a naked breast, before she shoved him away from the door and slammed it in her face.
When Carlo was satisfied that none of his other willing slaves had been accosted by Mr. Temple, he dismissed Wanda, Leni, Jessica and Dennis, reassuring them that Mr. Temple would not become a problem for them.
When those four were gone, Carlo said it was time to visit Mr. Temple.
"Do you want us all to come?" Mick asked.
"No need. He won't want to talk on his doorstep about any of this and if we come in force, he might be alarmed. I'll bring him back here." Carlo turned to face Mary and me. "Come with me."
Mary and I followed Carlo across the street to Mr. Temple's house. I would never have had the nerve to go there by myself, but in Carlo's shadow, I was filled only with curiosity. How would the bully take his own medicine?
We mounted the steps to Mr. Temple's porch and Carlo confidently knocked at the door. After a moment, a woman answered the door. She was probably about fifty-five. Her black hair was shot through with a little grey. She wore an apron over her dress. She was the picture of feminine domesticity from a bygone age.
"Mrs. Temple?" Carlo said.
"Yes." Her answer was tentative. She may have recognized the black man from the notorious house across the street.
"I've come to see Mr. Temple. Is he in?"
"Yes, of course." It was subtle but I thought I saw a flicker of disappointment on her fact that this solid, handsome man did not have business with her and once more I marveled at the charisma of Carlo and his friends. She turned into the house and called once for "Gus".
Mr. Temple filled the doorway from behind. He was a former jock gone to seed. He wore a loud shirt of many colours and a pair of shorts. His wife seemed to have locked eyes with Carlo. Mr. Temple cleared his throat and his wife realized he was there.
"Thanks, Elke," Mr. Temple said. "I got this. You can go back to peeling your carrots." I took this to mean she was making supper. The time of day was about right.
"Yes, dear," she said. She gave Carlo a little nod of courtesy and retired deeper into the house. Mr. Temple spoke in a harsh whisper when his wife was out of range.
"So, what do you three want?"
"Mr. Temple, we haven't been properly introduced. I'm Carlo." The black man did not match the older man's whisper; he spoke openly in a voice that carried. He held out his hand to the plump blackmailer but Mr. Temple did not reach back. "I believe you know my friends here."
"I know who you all are. What do you want?"
"I want to talk about blackmail."
"For Christ's sake, keep your voice down." Mr. Temple stepped out of the house and closed the door.
"I'm not going to whisper. I intend to be heard. If you can't speak freely here, come across the street and we'll settle it over there."
A flash of fear crossed Mr. Temple's face, but he quickly saw that he had no choice. There were sandals on the porch. Mr. Temple slipped them on. "Alright then." He opened the door and stuck his head in the house, calling out to his wife. "I'm going out for a while. Keep my dinner warm." There was an agreeable, if weary, acknowledgement from the kitchen.
Once situated in the living room of the little brown house, Mr. Temple had a chair of his own, but found himself surrounded. With Carlo, Mick and Marty, plus Mary and me, he was pretty isolated and maybe he realized that he was in over his head. He tried to bluff his way through with a courage that seemed, even to me, a trifle forced.
"So, you heard I got a piece of your action, and you're pissed, is that it?"
"No," said Carlo. "We don't own anybody. They can screw whoever they want, like we do. And we do it by persuading them they want it until they can't resist it. You, though, you're a blackmailer. You force people into having sex with you."
"Ah, we're not so different. We both take what we want. We're alike."
"We're nothing alike." Carlo gestured to Mary and she played back the security camera footage of Mr. Temple's assault on her. Temple winced. He clearly had not known he had been acting out on camera. Carlo pointed to me and recounted in summary what Temple had done to me. I have to admit I felt conflicted, because though I'd been blackmailed, I enjoyed every minute of satisfying Mr. Temple's lust.
"So, what do you want me to say? I won't do it again? Fine, I won't do it again."
"That's a good start. We're making progress. Now we need to deal with what you've already done. Mary, how much does he owe you for that torn shirt?"
"Sixty dollars."
Carlo looked expectantly at Mr. Temple. The older man sighed and pulled out his wallet. He counted out sixty dollars and passed it to Mary.
"Now, there's the tricky matter of what to do about what you did to him." Carlo pointed at me.
"Aw, give me a break," Carlo said. "He loved it."
"Yes, he said he enjoyed it. That's the only reason we're not going hard on you. That wouldn't be so tricky. What we need to do is level the playing field. The only way we can trust you not to put your blackmail threat into action is if we have some equal leverage against you. Mutually Assured Destruction, as they used to say. Normally, I would never force anyone into anything uncomfortable but for a blackmailer, anything goes. I suggest you go along with us."
"What--what do you intend to do to me?"
