Straight Man Taught a Hard Lesson

I was working from home when the doorbell rang. It was Ken, a friend of my oldest son, a guy he'd played basketball with in high school. He was wearing a suit and tie. I wasn't sure what he was doing here. My son had his own place now.

"Hey Ken," I said. "You looking for Brian?"

Ken shook his head. "Came to talk to you, actually."

"OK," I said, and opened the door. He walked right past me like he owned the place, went into the living room, took off his suit coat, tossed it over the couch and sat down in the middle of it. Weird. I sat down in a chair across from him.

"So, what's up?" I asked.

He smiled, but it was a creepy, predatory smile. Ken was part black, had that mocha skin, tall guy, probably six foot six, broad shoulders, narrow hips, shaved his head these days.

"You know what I do these days, right?"

I shrugged. "Something with computers," I said. "Brian always said you were a bit of a tech wizard."

Ken just nodded, didn't say anything. I was getting really uncomfortable.

"Um, look, Ken, I've got work to do, so-"

He cut me off. "How's Sara?"

That threw me. Sara was my mistress, my latest one, anyway. See, I'm pretty good looking for a guy pushing 50. I work out, take care of myself, got a George Clooney vibe I'm told, and I've always had a way with the ladies. And it's not like my wife, Mary, was enough for my sex drive. She always took that Catholic shit too seriously, more so the last several years. She hadn't given me a blow job in better than a decade and she sucked at it then. Now it was the missionary position maybe twice a month if I was lucky.

"Sara?" I said. "Sara who?"

"Sara you fuck her a couple times a week at her place over on View Street Sara," Ken said

I tried to tough it out. "I don't have a clue what you're talking about, Ken."

He shrugged again. "If that's how you want to play it. But see, that computer shit? It's not just work. I love to hack for fun, just pick somebody, get into their system, check out all their secrets. Decided to take a peek at you a couple days ago. That gmail account you keep, the one you use to arrange your fun with your girlfriends? User name is BigRichard, right? Password is King1918?"

I was fucked. If he'd been in that account, then he knew all about Sara. And probably all about the last couple girls, too.

Ken leaned forward, his arms on his knees. "Can't figure the wife'd be too happy about any of that, would she? Especially seeing as she's all like miss Catholic nun these days. Man, what would she think about Cindy? She used to babysit for you guys. She's like what, 20 maybe? Those picture she sent you? Man, and that thing where she's talking about you fucking her up the ass while she's bent over your kitchen table?"

I couldn't think of anything to say. Ken went on.

"But the real problem is what is your father-in-law going to think. He do love his little girl, don't he? And you may be the big-shot president at the company these days, but he still owns it, right? Man, word of this gets out, I'm betting you're divorce and unemployed in about 48 hours. And pretty much broke, too."

Well, I thought, maybe not 48 hours, but yeah. I'd be ruined.

Ken sat back, put his arms along the back of the sofa and smiled that creepy smile again. Time to see what I could do here.

"Well, it looks like you have me in a corner here, Ken. But you're here talking to me, so I'm guessing you want to work something out. I'm guessing you're looking for money."

"Your first guess is right," he said. "Your second guess is wrong. I'm about to close a deal with Google on a new ap. Soon as the lawyers get it papered up, I'm looking at seven figures, and the first one ain't a zero. I don't need your money."

"I don't understand," I said.

"You don't need to. You just need to do what your told. Now strip."

I paused, trying to make sense of that. "What?" I said.

Ken help up his cell phone. "I've got a PDF file with everything I downloaded off your system in my phone. It's attached to an email to your father-in-law that lays everything out for him. All I have to do is hit send. I said strip. Now."

I didn't know where this was going, but I didn't see a way out. I stood up and unbuttoned my shirt, took it off. I stepped out of my shoes, then opened my belt.

"Take that belt off and hand it to me," he said. I did.

I dropped my pants and stood there in just my briefs.

"Strip means naked bitch," Ken said. He'd bent my belt double and was holding it in his hands. I took off my briefs and stood in the middle of my living room totally naked in front of this black guy half my age.

He stood up and walk over to the end of the sofa.

"Get over here and bend over the sofa," he said.

I felt like a zombie, like I had no control over my body. I walked over to the sofa and bent over the upholstered arm.

I heard a swish, then felt the belt smack across my ass. I gasped and reached back to protect myself.

"Keep your face in that cushion and your arms stretched out in front of you," Ken said. "You move, you reach back again, you do any damn thing accept take your whipping and I hit send. And stick that end of that throw pillow in your mouth. I don't want to hear your little bitch screams."

I stuck the corner of a throw pillow in my mouth and bit down, then stretched my arms forward. The belt swished again and smacked across my ass. And again. And again. The pain was terrible, the bitting sting of each blow, the incessant burning. I was screaming, but my screens were muffled by the pillow. Tear ran down my cheeks.

Then the blows stopped. I straightened up. I wasn't sure what Ken's game was, but if I got off with an ass whipping I guess I should count myself lucky. But Jesus, I'd have to make sure Mary didn't see me naked for at least a week – I caught just a glimpse of my ass in the mirror and it was mottled with bruised welts.

"OK," I said. "I've learned my lesson."

"You ain't learned shit bitch," Ken said. "Get on your knees."

I knew better than to resist. I knelt. Ken walked up so that he was standing directly in front of me, his crotch almost touching my face.

"Now take off my pants," he said.

I hesitated for just a moment. He held the phone in front of my face. I could see the email program open, my father-in-law's address in the TO field, Ken's thumb on the send button.

"I said take off my pants."

I reached up, opened his belt, undid the button, pulled down the zipper and slid his pants down his legs. When they got to his ankles, I took off his loafers and then slid the pants legs off over his feet. As I knelt up, I could see a huge bulge running down his boxers.

"Take off my shorts."

I took the waistband of the boxers in my hands and pulled them down and off.

Like most guys, I've measure my cock. It's eight inches, slightly thicker than average. Most women I've been with say it's the biggest they've ever had. They hadn't been with Ken. His was at least nine and a half inches, and much thicker than mine. And, while it was swollen, it wasn't all the way hard yet.

I knew what was coming. I knew he was going to tell me to suck him. I was almost sick at the prospect. I've got nothing against gays, but I wasn't one of them. Wasn't one of these guys who'd "fooled around a little in college." None of that shit. The thought of another man's cock in my mouth made me want to throw up.

"Get it in your mouth bitch," Ken said.

I looked up at him. "I'm not gay. I can't do this."

"I'm know you're not gay. What you are is my bitch. Now suck it or I hit send." He put his thumb back on the send button.

I reached out, took the base of his cock in my hand. It was hot to the touch. I closed my eyes, lifted it, opened my mouth and leaned forward. I had to open my mouth wider to get it in. I smelled soap. At least he had washed. I just knelt there with this black cock in my mouth.

"I didn't say put it in your mouth, bitch," he said. "I said suck it."

I'd have my own cock sucked enough to know what that meant. I started to work my mouth up and down his shaft. As my saliva coated it, it got slicker and slid a little further into my mouth. Soon I felt the head of his cock hit the back of my throat. My hand was still wrapped around the base of it. There were at least four more inches not in my mouth. I could feel the cock swelling, getting hard, thicker, longer.

As I moved my mouth up and down his shaft, he started to pump his hips, trying to force his cock deeper into my mouth, ramming it hard against my throat, chocking me. I took my hand off his cock and put it against his hip, trying to push him back.

He slapped my hand away and pulled out of my mouth. "Ain't gonna be none of that bitch," he said. "Stand up."

I did. He took of his tie and his shirt. His pecs and abs were rock hard and clearly defined.

"Turn around and put your hands behind your back," he said.

I did. He tied my wrists together tightly with his tie. No way I could get them loose. Then he picked up his boxers, folded them, stretched them around my head and tied them into a blindfold. I was blind and helpless.

"Now turn around and get back on your knees."

I knelt. He took my head in both is hands.

"Open your moth all the way."

I did. He crammed his cock in. When it hit the back of my throat he kept pushing. I gagged and retched.

"Throw up on me and I'm gonna use the belt again bitch. Don't fight it. Tilt your head back a little and relax that throat."

I did as he said and felt the head of his cock slide an inch or so into my throat, pull back out, slide in again a little deeper, back out, in again deeper still. Each time it slid out, I gasped for as much air as I could get. I felt as if my tonsils were being sheared off, as if my throat would rupture. Salvia streamed down my chin, dripping onto my chest and onto the floor. Still he thrust his hips, with each thrust his cock sliding deeping into me, the pain worse with every fraction of an inch.

Finally he made one more savage thrust and I felt his scortum pressed flat against my spit-soaked chin. With his cock now lodged all the way down my throat, he shortened his thrusts, just moving it a half inch or so each time, very quickly. I couldn't breathe. Just when I felt like I was going to pass out, he pulled out far enough for me to breathe. I gasped for air. Then the cock went back in, harder than before. Now he was taking long, savage thrusts, pulling back until the tip of his cock rested on my bottom lip and then slamming it all the way in as he roughly pulled my head forward with his hands. I strained against the tie trying to get loose, trying to fight him off, but it was useless. I don't know how long this went on.

Finally, he pulled out. Had he cum? I couldn't tell. My mouth and throat were both burning and numb. I had chocked on so much spit and flesh that I had no idea what else I might have swallowed.

"Back over the couch, bitch,": he said, pulling me to my feet and throwing me down over the arm of the sofa. When I felt his hand spread my ass cheeks, I kicked back once with my leg, trying to catch him in the balls. This was enough. He could hit send if he wanted to.

His fist slammed into my kidney. The pain was so bad that my vision grayed up for a second.

"You hold still bitch or you get more of that. In fact you reach own and spread those cheeks for me."

I was helpless, broken. I stretched my tied hands down and opened my cheeks.

"Now beg me to fuck you."

"Fuck me," I said weakly.

The fist slammed into my kidney again.

"FUCK ME!" I screamed. "Shove that black cock up my ass! Please make me your bitch! Just don't hurt me anymore."

I felt the tip of his cock press against my asshole. The only lube was my spit on his dick. "Oh," he said. "I'm going to hurt you. I'm going t hurt you bad."

With all his strength and weight, he leaned into me. The head of his cock forced its way through my anus with a tearing, burning pain. He eased back, then drove forward again and again and again, each thrust driving him deeper into my bowels, each thrust feeling like a rod ringed with nails was being hammered into my ass. I felt something warm running down my leg. Blood, I assumed.

Maybe the blood helped, I don't know, but soon his cock was sliding more easily, sliding deeper. The pain was not as bad, then not bad, then gone. The sense of fullness and pressure started to feel almost pleasant.

And I realized I was getting hard. So did he.

"Well well," he said. "Looks like you really are a little bitch."

Something broke and turned inside my mind. I knew that I was now on the other side of a divide that I would never cross back over.

The thrusting stopped. I tried to push back against him to regain the feeling.

"Beg me for it bitch. You want it, you gotta ask for it."

It wasn't out of fear now, it was out of twisted desire. "Fuck me, Jesus God please fuck me, fuck me as hard as you can. Fill me with your cock...""

He started fucking me again, hard and deep and fast and I kept right on asking for it, begging for it, feeling my own cock twitch and grow as he drove into me, and the pounding went on and on and on.

Then he pulled all the way out, yanked me from the couch and back onto my knees. I knew what he wanted and I wanted nothing more than to provide it. I opened my mouth wide, tilted my head back and accepted the gift of his meat. I could smell my own blood and filth on him and did not care. His cock slid back onto my throat, the pain and pressure I had felt last time now a perverse pleasure. He rammed his cock down my throat, rammed it so hard that it felt like those hard abs might break my nose. I didn't care.

The speed and intensity of his assault built until finally he drove fully into my throat and clutched my head tight against him. I felt his scrotum tighten against my chin, felt the meat of his cock pulse, felt the jet of his cum in my throat once, twice, a dozen times. And I felt my own cock spasm as I came, gushing onto the carpet. He held me there, gagging and swallowing, some of his load leaking out my mouth and down my chin until the spasms concluded.

He pulled his slackening cock from my mouth and yanked the boxer blindfold from my head. Four other black men stood naked in the room, stroking their cocks. A couple of them might even have been bigger than his. I didn't know when they had arrived, what they had seen. I didn't care. All I cared was that it wasn't over, that there were more cocks, that there was more cum.

One of the men laid back on the couch, his cock sticking up right where my face would have been when Ken was fucking me. The man stroked the cock that was waiting to fill my mouth.

"You gonna take all of this, you white bitch?"

"Yes,": I said.

Another man now stood at the arm of the sofa, a cock longer and thicker than Ken's hanging down.

"And all of this?"

"Yes."

Ken shoved my face down into the puddle of cum I had pulsed onto the carpet.

"Lick that up bitch. Then get back over that couch. You got work to do."