Southern Blackmail

The corded phone rang, and Robert picked it up on the first ring.

“He–Hello?”

“Where’s my fuckin’ cash, faggot?”

Robert cringed at the sound of the Gabe’s deep southern twang on the other end of the line,

but knew better than to try and hang up the phone at this point–he wouldn’t be able to. “I don’t…I mailed it out last week, I hoped it would have gotten there on time, like always,” Robert said. None of what he’d said was a lie, of course, he couldn’t lie to Gabe on the phone. It had gone out last week, but later than usual, because it had taken him an extra day to scrounge up the funds.

“Bullshit, what aren’t ya tellin’ me faggot?”

“I…I didn’t have the money, Gabe. I got it out a day late. Please, you’ve already emptied my savings, I don’t have anything! I had to pawn my watch, and sell some of my electronics on Craigslist–”

“Faggots don’t need tah tell time, ‘n ya could use a little less time on those disgustin’ porn sites a yers. Well then again, maybe ya do need a watch, since ya can’t figure out when tah pay me.”

“Ye…Yes…I’m sorry, I just didn’t have the money, please–I’m sorry,” Robert said, with a gulp. He was in trouble, not that he hadn’t already been in trouble for months now. Robert lived in the deep south, and worked for an ultra-conservative baptist church as a bookkeeper–and he was gay. Sure, he was conflicted about it, but he’d really just fallen into the position there before having his personal, sexual epiphany, and in his small community, he was cornered. The internet was too risky, so he’d turned to highway rest stops, writing his barely used home phone number on the wall, asking for hook ups. It had worked well, until Gabe had called one day.

They’d hooked up–or rather, Gabe had come over one night, shoved Robert down on the wood floor at the front door and had his way with him, calling him a worthless faggot and worse the whole time, before getting up and leaving without a word, and Robert had been glad to see the backside of him–but the redneck was smarter than that. When he’d fucked Robert–he’d done something to him–he could control him using his voice, even through the telephone, and after one more conversation, he’d learned all of Robert’s secrets–and had then threatened to force Robert to out himself at work if he didn’t send Gabe five hundred dollars cash in the mail every week. He didn’t make much at the church, but he’d been able to rely on his savings for a while, but now even that was dry–and he had no idea what Gabe was going to do now that Robert couldn’t make his payments.

“Well since ya can’t be a good little faggot and pay me on time, Ah guess yer gonna have tah be punished. Strip faggot.”

Robert couldn’t resist the order, and he put down the phone, pulling off all of his clothes before sitting back down, “Please, you don’t have to do this, I can get you the money on time from now on,” he pleaded.

“Do ya got a butt plug or a dildo, faggot? I bet ya do, all ya faggots gotta have those nasty things.”

“Yes, but please–”

“Shut yer god damn trap, ‘r we’re gonna have a real fuckin’ problem, faggot!” Gabe shouted through the receiver, making Robert whimper, “Ya got it?”

“Yes…yes, sir.”

“Better. Go get it, ‘n put it up yer hole. Tell me when it’s there.”

Robert again put down the phone, went into his room, and retrieved his six inch long, flesh colored dildo, the only one he owned. He’d bought it while on vacation up north, but didn’t use it very often, so working it in was hard, especially since he couldn’t find his lube. Still, he had to obey Gabe and get it up there, and soon the plastic balls were against his hole between his legs, and he walked oddly back to the phone. “It’s in.”

“Good. Now, here’s what yer gonna do, faggot. From now on, yer gonna wear that dildo in yer ass to work, all day, everyday. Yer gonna fuck yerself on it when yer alone, ‘n at least once a day, ya gotta go intah the bathroom ‘n jack off while ya fuck yerself, ‘n eat yer cum, got it?”

“No, please–”

“What the hell did Ah say ‘bout talkin’ back, bitch?”

“But–but what if someone catches me?”

“Then ya better beg them tah keep quiet–ya can even offer tah suck their dick off in exchange fer not tellin’. Yer a faggot, men love a hole tah fuck, if ya seem desperate ‘n worthless enough.”

Robert was speechless. Even worse, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to resist the order. Tomorrow, he’d march into work with a six inch dildo up his ass, and there would be nothing he could do to stop it.

“Ya there faggot? Ya got all that?”

“Yes, yes I got it.”

“Good. Now, we’re gonna have tah figure out a way fer ya tah get some more money tah pay me with, ‘cause this job ain’t gonna cut it alone. So how about this. How about ya start rentin’ out those faggot holes a yers, tah any roughneck lookin’ fer a hole? How’s that sound?”

“No…No, I’m not going to–please don’t make me do that!”

“No? Then how come yer cock’s all hard from thinkin’ ‘bout it, faggot?”

Shit, he was hard. “I’m not going to do it.”

“Go on, jack off yer cock faggot, it’s alright. Think about how much ya’d love tah be used ‘n abused by big roughnecks like me fer hours ‘n hours. How ya’d beg ‘em tah plant their seed deep in yer hole, how ya’d finish the night wit’ a ass ‘n face plastered wit’ cum. Jack off too, ya faggot, Ah know ya can’t resist.”

Oh Jesus, it really was turning him on, wasn’t it? Robert felt his hand wrap it’s way around his cock and start jacking it, while his mind pictured him bent over the bed or the couch, while a long line of bikers, truckers and trailer trash lined up behind him to use his holes.

“Ah can hear ya faggot, gettin’ all excited over there. Hear ya pantin’ like a bitch ‘n heat. Go on, ya can admit it. It’s yer ultimate fantasy. It’s got ya so excited yer gonna cum, ain’t ya. Ya can’t hold it back bitch, I know ya can’t–”

“Fuck! Fuck oh god damn it!” Robert hollered as he came all over his belly, cum shooting all the way up to the phone cord.

“Nasty fuckin’ faggot,” Gabe said, “Since ya want it so much, maybe Ah shouldn’t let ya do it. Maybe Ah should make it so ya can’t even cum!”

“No! Please, I’ll do it, I’ll do it, please,” Robert said, unable to stop himself. The fantasy–it had been so hot. He did want it, he really did, even though he knew deep down that he shouldn’t. That he’d fallen into one of Gabe’s many traps once more.

“Oh, like Ah’m gonna do what a faggot asks me tah do. Forget it.”

“No, look, I’ll…I’ll send you all the money I make–and pictures! Or video, whatever you want!”

“You disgusting piece of trash!” Gabe shouted, “You think I’m a gay boy like you? Fuck no, I don’t want any pictures of you taking another man’s cock up your hole, it’s disgusting!”

“I’m sorry, but please…please let me do it sir, please.”

“Alright, fine. Since yer bein’ such a whiny bitch. But Ah got a few conditions. One, Ah’m in charge a yer schedule, ‘n yer appointments. Ah set them up, set the prices ‘n the men pay me directly, since ya can’t be trusted tah send me mah payment on time. Two, ya do anythin’ a man asks ya tah do on the clock–no refusals. They can fuck ya raw if they want. They can piss on ya if they want. They can make ya dress up like a bitch before they fuck ya if they want. Lastly, ya don’t cum, ever, when yer servin’ a man. Yer job is tah please their cock, not yers. Got it?”

“Yes…Yes I–I understand. I’ll do it.”

“Good. Now, ya better get ready. Ah have six guys scheduled fer half hour blocks startin’ in fifteen minutes. Now yer gonna go unlock the front door, greet every client naked ‘n on yer knees and kiss their boots when they come in, then do anythin’ they want.”

“Wait…six? Six? I can’t, I don’t have time–”

“Hey faggot, yer only pullin’ in twenty bucks a session. It’s gonna take at least, what, twenty five sessions a week tah make yer payment? In fact, might as well up yer payment tah me, since yer gonna be enjoyin’ it so much–so get ready, yer gonna be workin’ those holes a whole lot from now on. Now have a good afternoon faggot.” Gabe said, and hung up before Robert could say another word.

He’d been played–the entire time, Gabe had been setting him up for this…and he didn’t care. He wanted to be a whore for rough, dirty men, it had become his ultimate fantasy the moment Gabe had said it. He couldn’t have been the first one he’d done this to. Gabe probably had a network of men like him on call. He got up and undid the deadbolt on his front door, before getting down on his knees, head bowed, staring down at the same floor he’d been forced down on when Gabe had stormed in and raped him, the same floor he’d licked his cum off of when Gabe saw he’d cum just from getting fucked–or had any of that happened? Was he just imagining, and justifying, his new wants and cravings? But he was a faggot, wasn’t he. Gabe was right, and this was where he really belonged.