My Fantasies Ch. 06

I couldn't believe my ears!

"Rick, please, I'm not gay, alright?" I said softly.

"Johnny, I know boy's like you very well...I know what you fantasize about when you masturbate," he said calmly.

"Rick, I don't want to hear it -- let's talk about something else!" I protested again.

"Just hear me out, okay, and I'll never bring it up again," he said.

I guess he took my silence as consent.

"John, I'm going to tell you about this guy I once knew...he was smart and funny -- pretty sharp, too, when it came to important matters...anyway, his name was Ron and he was undergoing an identity crisis -- a rather severe crisis -- he began to question his own sexuality, and when a guy does that, his whole worldview can come crashing down on him -- not to mention the destruction it does to his self confidence...anyway, one day Ron was surfing for porn and he came upon his favorite photo - a girl on her knees, her lips wrapped around some guys cockhead, one hand grasping the shaft of the cock, one hand holding the guys balls..."

I stared at the floor while Rick continued talking.

"...now Ronny was a good looking guy who could pretty much get any girl he wanted except for two things: he was shy and had a problem speaking with the ladies, and, it's a big AND -- he had very low self-esteem -- you see, he wasn't very well endowed and began to believe that even if he could talk to a girl, he would never be able to satisfy her with his scrawny little dick...it became an obsession with him - a huge distraction...anyway, there he was jerking-off to his favorite photo when suddenly his fantasy changed -- instead of thinking how great it would be to shove his dick in-and-out of the girls mouth -- he stared at the guys cock and wondered what it would be like to have that beautiful hard-on moving in-and-out of his own mouth...anyway, he got so excited picturing himself on his knees sucking that gorgeous cock he had the single greatest orgasm of his life..."

Somethings wrong here -- how does Rick know about that photo?

"...well, Ronny was a chronic masturbator -- three, four, as many as five times a day and from that orgasm on, whenever he starred at photos of a girl and a guy, he always pictured himself as the girl no matter what she was doing to bring off the guy...using her hands or mouth or bending over for the guy, Ronnie fantasized it was him doing all those things for a guy...he told himself they're only fantasies -- it doesn't mean he WANTS to do those things -- it doesn't make him gay to simply dream about doing those things...he even rationalized since he never went to gay porn sites, or jerked-off to photos of two guys together, that proved he was straight...after all, he was still looking at photos of girls and guys -- he simply pictured himself as the girl..."

My throat was parched -- my hands slightly trembled. Something felt wrong but I couldn't for the life of me figure out what it was.

"...most of the time when he masturbated he didn't look at photos or videos -- no, he didn't have to -- he had such an active imagination he dreamed about different scenarios where he was being forced to service men - he was being blackmailed into gay sex -- he lost bets to guys and would have to either blow them or give them handjobs -- he was being bribed by unscrupulous older men in exchange for sex -- it was never his fault he had to give men sex -- it was never his desire or intention to enter into homosexual acts, and since he was innocent while committing these imaginary acts -- there was no way he was gay!"

I found myself saying, "Well, yeah, he wasn't choosing to do those things with men -- he was forced into it -- he had no choice!"

Rick gave me an odd look and continued: "He gradually accepted the fact that he just might be bisexual which was okay because he would never act on those impulses -- he'd die before he would actually touch a guys dick much less take one in his mouth or ass...no, that was a secret he would take to his grave...he began drinking five-six, sometimes seven nights a week...he couldn't get a hard-on when he was drunk which meant he wouldn't fantasize about gay sex...but then one night he found himself in his car next to a park that was famous for gay hookups after dark...he sat in the car horrified he was actually there, but if he didn't do anything it would be okay...he drove there three nights in a row and stayed inside the car, but on the fourth night he got the courage to actually go down to the walking path..."

Oh my God, how does Rick know this story? Have I gotten so drunk with him that I accidentally blabbed it to him one night? Oh my God, nooooo...

Yes, all right, I admit it - it did happen! I did go into the park -- yes, a guy approached me and I followed him into a cluster of trees -- yes, I heard him open his slacks -- yes, when he found my hand in the darkness, I admit it -- I took hold of his hard-on and stroked him until he shot his load...and yes, when I jerked-off later that night, I could still feel the soft flesh and the heat -- oh my God THE HEAT of his cock in my hands!

And no, I don't know why I made a change in my fantasy while stroking myself...I imagined a whole different scenario: when he stopped beside a tree he snarled at me, "Get on your knees, bitch!" and when I obeyed him, he barked at me: "Open my pants and take out my cock, you little faggot!" I was nervous - my hands were trembling but I managed to obey the order, and in my fantasy, instead of using just my hands on him, he'd said to me: "Suck my cock, fagboy, and suck it good!"

And yes, in my fantasy I not only suck his cock, but I also swallow every drop of cum he spurts inside my mouth.

***

I couldn't bear the humiliation of Rick knowing what I had done with another guy. I avoided him at work, refused to talk when he approached, and went straight home after work ignoring his pleas and his phone calls.

He finally gave up but I stay away from bars so I won't run into him. That doesn't mean I quit drinking. No, I pretty much get blitzed every night at home. Yes, it is very lonely...

I still masturbate a couple times a day. Once in the morning, and when I get home from work before I start drinking. I have settled into my favorite fantasy to use while I stroke myself, but I won't bother you with the details.

I don't know what to do with myself. I have no friends and don't want any. After I shoot a load I fire-up the computer and sit in front of the screen until bedtime. I get so drunk I sometimes don't remember going to bed. Yes, it is very lonely...

***

"What do you think, John, Rick has a new boyfriend!" said one of my co-workers.

"I wasn't his 'boyfriend' -- we were just friends!" I snapped at him.

"Hey, chill-out, dude, I didn't mean anything..." he said then walked away.

Yes, I've spoken with Jessie a couple times. He seems like a nice enough kid. Some other co-workers like to point out how much Jessie and I look alike. I don't see it myself. Sure, we're about the same height and weight and our hair is styled the same, but he acts kinda faggotty around Rick.

I've noticed that Jessie now rides to work with Rick. I've also noticed that Jessie sits right beside Rick in the car. That's kinda sick, isn't it?

I time it so I leave work just before they do. I park far enough away so they don't notice me, but close enough so I can see inside the tinted windows.

Three days in a row, once they're safely inside the car, they have embraced and kissed. It turns my stomach.

Today is no different except the kissing seemed to go on-and-on. When they were done and pulled away from one another, I was about to start the car and leave when I suddenly saw Jessie's head disappear from my view. Rick sat back, his head leaning against the headrest.

What the hell? I wondered.

Rick closed his eyes; his mouth curled into a smile.

Don't tell me -- is that little twink blowing Rick right here in the parking lot? That's disgusting! The expression on Rick's face was one of pure bliss. I swear, a couple times I saw the top of Jessie's head before it disappeared again.

I couldn't help myself. My prick was so hard I opened my pants to release it. No one was around so I stroked it. Jessie's head rose-and-fell more quickly -- I timed my stroking to the rhythm of the boy's head. This was sooo deliciously wicked I knew I wouldn't last long...and I didn't.

When my balls exploded I had to muffle myself from being too loud. My sperm and semen erupted upward like a volcano. Oh-my-God -- that was the best ever!

***

The following Monday Rick was absent from work. A co-worker said he saw Rick and Jessie shouting at each other in a bar the night before. Jessie left, and Rick proceeded to get sloppy drunk before the co-worker drove him home.

Rick looked miserable the following day. Yes, he was hung-over, but it was more than that. I could see heartbreak written all over his face. I felt terrible for him.

As usual, I left work just before he did but instead of going to my car, I stood beside his waiting for him.

I watched him approach. He saw me and a puzzled expression crossed his handsome face. When he got closer a feint smile spread on his lips.

He came up to me and I said, "I think about you."

"Huh? Pardon me?" he said.

"The answer to your question, 'What do I think about when I'm masturbating' is I think about you!" his eyes flew open wide. "Can I sit with you in your car?"

He silently opened the car door for me and I slid into the middle. He sat close beside me and I gazed into his beautiful blue eyes.

"I think about you, too," he said almost breathlessly.

We moved our heads closer until our lips were pressing together. We kissed for the very first time.

When I opened his slacks and lowered my head, he stopped me and said, "You don't have to do this..."

I kissed his cheek and said, "I want to live-out my favorite fantasy."

I wet my lips, slid them over his purple cockhead then deeply inhaled his musky, manly aroma. My prick stiffened. Stars danced before my eyes.

When my tongue lathered his hot flesh we moaned in unison.

I think to myself: You're a foolish boy, John, you could have been doing this for him all along.

***

Paying My Dues

I go to Jeffrey's bedroom the same time every night to pay my dues.

As usual, I am naked save for the panties he has chosen for me to wear. Tonight, I am in the sheer, yellow nylon ones, my hard prick tenting-out the crotch.

The bedspread and sheet are cast aside revealing his sculpted, naked body. His cock is always ready for me. He is a large man, a strong man, with a cock so big I shiver every time I see it.

I must stand beside the bed, hands on hips, posing for him until he speaks. The haughty look of derision on his face makes me feel even smaller than I am. Tonight is no different than any other night. He slowly shakes his head in disgust and finally says, "Get on the bed and kneel between my legs, you little sissy!"

From then on neither of us speak. I position myself between his wide-splayed thighs and wrap my smallish hand around the base of his erection. My fingers do not fit around his massive, manly cock. My other hand disappears between his thighs and finds his scrotum -- his balls are the size of small oranges and equally as heavy.

I have to stroke his horse-cock slowly, he considers this foreplay. He likes to last at least fifteen-minutes before he allows me to finish him off.

Once I have a firm grip on his cock and begin to move my hand up-and-down, I must stare into his eyes until he climaxes. This might be the most daunting aspect of it all -- the smugness, the arrogance of his taunting brown eyes. He has no respect for me. His steely, hard gaze is one of disdain and contempt.

And of course, to complete my humiliation he has me wearing women's panties underneath all of my clothes. Worse yet, he accompanies me to Victoria's Secret when he buys them for me. He makes a big fuss before the salesgirls and customers. He makes me hold up each pair of panties in front of me to decide whether or not he likes them.

I think of him as mean and petty and vindictive. He feels like a powerful man by ridiculing guys like me who are beneath his social strata. He thinks guys like me were born to be used by alpha males like him.

You may ask why would I choose to live like this? How can I possibly find his contemptible behavior acceptable?

I'll get to that later.

I move my lips to his bulbous cockhead and begin kissing it. My eyes never leaving his eyes -- that's part of his power-trip - to lord over his control of me, I must stare into his eyes to acknowledge his superiority.

Once I have worshiped his manly cockhead with kisses, I am allowed to use my tongue on his salty flesh.

I have been a Personal Assistant for five-years working for both men and women. I prefer men. Women are too frivolous and their mood swings unpredictable. Also, my dick is too small to satisfy them so I am forced to use my lips and tongue. I hate going down on women. Their wet and sloppy cunts scare me. I am afraid I'll drown down there.

At least with men, you can actually see what you're dealing with. And, once you know their likes and dislikes, they don't give a running commentary about your performance, like where to kiss and what to lick.

When Jeffrey begins moaning, that is my signal to perform the Herculean task of stretching my lips wide enough to accommodate his cockhead. My greatest fear is that I will suffocate so I concentrate hard on breathing thru my nose.

My hand moves faster and harder...up-and-down -- up-and-down...up-and-down...my tongue laps up copious amounts of pre-cum.

When he begins thrusting his hips upward, trying force as much of his cock into my mouth as possible, I know he is about to climax. I plant my tongue on his slit, stroke him faster, and wait for the first hot spurt of sperm and semen to fill my mouth.

Men are simple creatures. Just about every man I've been with has either shouted "OH-GOD-OH-GOD-OH-GOD" or "YES-YES-YES" while shooting their loads.

When I hear Jeffrey cry out, "YES-YES-YES" I am ready for him. He cums directly on my tongue making it easier for me to lap it all up and swallow his entire load.

Afterwards, when I'm finished licking his now-flaccid penis clean, he taps me on the back of my head. That is the signal he is done with me for the night.

As I crawl off the bed, he says "Wake me up at 6:30" and rolls onto his side for sleep.

"Yes, sir," I reply.

My mornings begin the same way my nights conclude.

My prick and balls are throbbing inside the panties. I love the feel of the material on my flesh. I hurry back to my room and flop down on the bed on my stomach and furiously grind my panty-covered prick into the mattress until I explode and soak the panties with spurt-after-spurt of my pent-up lust.

***

At the country club, I have become a favorite golfing partner of Mr. Acheson. He's one of the wealthiest men at the club, and to be honest about it, I've been doing everything I can to convince him he needs a Personal Assistant. I want to quit working for Jeffrey, but I can't afford it until I get a new client. Mr. Acheson would be ideal.

Since I am not a dues-paying member, I have limited access to the club unless I am with a regular member. So one day after finishing golf, I say to Mr. Acheson it would be nice to be able to shower but I am not allowed and lo and behold, he tells me to follow him.

My plan was a risky one: I would somehow find a way for Mr. Acheson to 'catch' me wearing the panties Jeffrey had chosen for me that day.

It was a huge gamble. I figured it would go one of two ways: He would either be intrigued or totally repulsed. I could lose everything if he reacted badly.

The men's showers at the club are separate cubicles. One small dressing area connected with a private shower. Mr. Acheson and I were in cubicles next to one another. I stripped to my diaphanous pink panties and wrapped a towel around my waist.

I hid the soap in the shower then loudly exclaimed, "Darn it, there isn't any soap in here!"

Mr. Acheson called out, "I have an extra one in here!"

"Oh, great!" I said.

With the towel around me I went into his dressing area. I was pleasantly surprised when he seemed to admire my hairless chest and on cue, I 'accidentally' dropped the towel to give him a glimpse of not only the pink panties, but my hairless crotch and legs, too.

I feigned embarrassment but not-too-quickly picked up the towel and wrapped it around myself and said, "Thanks!" and went back to my area.

I was stricken with nervous anticipation while I showered and dressed. I was tying my shoes when I heard him call out, "Johnny, meet me in the bar -- I'll buy you a drink!"

"Okay, sounds good!" I shouted.

My heart skipped a beat. What does this mean? I wondered. He wouldn't offer to buy me a drink if he was disgusted with me, would he?

The lounge was quite dark. Four people were seated at the bar but I didn't see Mr. Acheson. His voice startled me, "Johnny, over here!"

He was seated in the corner in a semi-circular booth. I sat a respectable distance from him. A glass of red wine before me.

"I hope you don't mind, I took the liberty of ordering a bottle of our best cabernet," he said.

"I don't mind at all," I said and raised the glass and we toasted.

"So tell me, John, what kind of a personal assistant are you?" he asked softly.

I smiled and said, "I do whatever it takes to make my employer happy."

"Whatever it takes, huh?" he repeats.

"Yes, sir, whatever it takes!" I said.

ONE YEAR LATER:

I dry my hair while the bathtub drains then step back into the tub and turn on the shower. I wash off whatever hair follicles remain on my body then spray the tub clean. I towel myself dry then walk naked into the master bedroom.

I laugh out loud when I see the slutty outfit he wants me to wear: a red, babydoll nightie, sheer red panties, black nylon stockings and a red, lace garter belt.

My prick stiffens the moment I slide the panties up my soft and smooth legs. It takes some time to carefully roll the stockings up each leg. I pull up the garter belt and fasten the straps to the stocking tops. I then pull the nightie over my head and smooth it in place.

I check myself in the mirror, comb my hair, then caress my puffy aureoles until my elongated nipples are hard and poking at the sheer material of the nightie.

I carefully step into my two-inch stiletto heels and slowly walk to the living room. Mister A is seated in the overstuffed chair. He smiles briefly when he sees me then suddenly frowns.

"Joanie, did you forget to vacuum today?" he asks me.

"No, daddy, I vacuumed before you got here, really I did," I said defensively.

"Joanie, I know when you are lying, make your punishment easier on you -- tell me the truth!" he said frowning.

"I, uh, I'm sorry daddy, I forgot -- I'm so-so sorry daddy!" I said frantically.

"You're a naughty girl, Joanie, what happens to naughty girls like you?" he asks me.

"Oh daddy...naughty girls like me deserve a sound spanking," I said.

"Get over here, naughty girl, and lay across my lap!" he said firmly.

"Yes, daddy," I replied.

My stiff prick began to throb and pulsate inside my red panties as I arranged myself over daddy's lap.

***

Silly-Billy

I smile to myself when I see Billy sitting in the shadows on the front porch waiting for me. When he is sure that I saw him sitting there, he gets up and moves into the darkness beside the house.

It is exactly seven steps into the darkness to reach the loveseat. I sit beside him and my hands begin lightly massaging his upper thighs.