Commission – Bottom-Up Selling

This was a commission from last year I’ve been sitting on for a bit, but wanted to finally share it. It was commissioned and edited by J. Swartz. He’s a very fine author himself, and published a book called “The Initiate” a few years back that I was quite fond of. If you like bears, bondage, BDSM, and some sexy artwork to go with it, I’d recommend taking a look! You can find it over on amazon here, if you’re interested. Hope you enjoy!


John looked up at the clock and sighed. These last couple of hours were always the worst part of the shift. He loosened his tie a bit and straightened up the desk. Noah, the night auditor, was a stickler for neatness, and if the front desk wasn’t just so when he arrived to relieve John at  eleven, there would be passive-aggressive notes left in his mailbox the next day. Still, the job  wasn’t that bad, in the grand scheme of things. John had started here a couple months back, on a recommendation from one of his professors, Dr. Farnham.  

Having been accepted to UCLA on a football scholarship. John wasn’t the best when it came to school work. As such, he was pursuing a relatively easy business management major. Farnham had recommended the position to him as a good way to bulk up his relatively weak resume, and was offering him extra credit too. That was handy since John hadn’t been doing great in Farnham’s Psychology class either. Working on the weekends sucked, knowing he couldn’t be out at the bars having fun with his college friends. Still, LA was an expensive city, so he wasn’t going to complain about his generous compensation. So three evenings a week, John was planted behind the hotel front desk, checking folks in mostly in the afternoons. By the time evening rolled by, aside from the occasional late businessman, there wasn’t much to do. The door chimed, and an older fellow in a suit walked up to the front desk, rolling a suitcase behind him. “Welcome to Windell Suites,” John said, “Do you have a reservation?” 

The man smiled and shook his head. “No reservation, I’m afraid.”  

“No worries, I have some vacancies,” John said, and pulled up the available inventory on the computer. “Okay Sir, you’re in luck! I have a single queen, lake view, available for $120 a night–”  

“Oh, that won’t do,” the man frowned, “I’m going to require the executive suite.” John was taken aback at this, and the businessman cleared his throat. “And quickly, if you would, young man.”  

“Oh, well…” John muttered, wondering if he could come up with a good excuse. The manager hated it when the executive suites got reserved first. They cost more, sure, but they took three times as long to clean, and it was cheaper to leave them empty until the end of the night, selling the less expensive suites first. Bottom-up selling, his professor had called it once, he thought.  Trying once more to steer the guest away from the top level of the hotel, John explained,  “Sir, I assure you, our smaller rooms are quite comfortable.”  

The businessman’s smile hardened and his tone became icy. “The suite is available, isn’t it?”  John gulped at this. Apparently, he wasn’t going to be able to talk his way out of this one. “The executive suite is available, yes Sir. It runs $540 a night.”  

The businessman chuckled. “Actually, I’ll be getting the specialty rate.”  

John winced. “Excuse me?”  

Nodding towards the back office, the guest explained coolly, “You’ll find my name on the VIP list. Kip Walker, friend of the owner’s family.”  

John resisted the urge to grumble, slipped into the office, and checked the owner’s personal VIP list. Sure enough, there he was. Closing his eyes, John rubbed his forehead and let out a sigh.  Not only was this guy going to be a high maintenance guest, he was buddies with upper  management. John had to give Mr. Walker what he wanted, and there was nothing he could do  about it.  

Masking his annoyance with a cheery smile, John re-emerged from the office. “Sorry about that, Mr. Walker,” he said. “Let’s get that reservation straightened out.” John took the guest’s credit card and created his room key. All the while, he kept getting a rather peculiar vibe from the older fellow. He wasn’t particularly imposing, an average frame concealed in a suit, glasses, short  haircut, mustache, but the way he kept looking at John was unsettling. Relief washed over the  him as Mr. Walker made his way to the elevator, and especially thankful he’d only reserved the room for one night. He’ll be the night auditor’s problem soon enough, John thought.  The rest of the evening was smooth and dull. Noah arrived on time as always, and John filled him in on the shift’s events, including the odd businessman in the executive suite. Noah just nodded, like he was familiar with this particular customer, but didn’t share insight. John was about to clock out, when the front desk phone rang. Noah answered it, then handed it to John. Wondering who in the hotel would ask for him, John took the receiver, listened for a few seconds, and hung up.  

Without saying anything to Noah, John clocked out. However, instead of heading for the parking lot, John entered the elevator and rode it to the top floor. Noah just chuckled. He should have known the new guy was one of Walker’s boys, it made sense now. Noah got the receipts in  order and began working on balancing the accounts for the day, while John got ready for a party he didn’t know he’d been invited to, where he was going to be the main attraction.  

***  

“Well Al, I must say you have out done yourself with this one. Truly one of the nicest specimens you’ve brought to our little club to date.”  

John shook his head, and tried to remember what had happened. The last thing he clearly  recalled was picking up the phone at the desk, and then…nothing. Now, he was standing in the  middle of a room that he slowly recognized as the executive suite, the one he’d given to that  strange businessman earlier in the evening. Sure enough, Mr. Walker was in the room with him,  along with his professor, the one who had gotten him the job here to begin with. Al Farnham was  a taller fellow, mostly slender but with a bit of a gut. Now in his sixties, he’d had a rather wild  youth, before going straight. Farnham’s hippie roots still shone through, and his theories about  psychology were rather unorthodox, but what was he doing here, with Mr. Walker? And why was John here at all? John started to ask, but then caught sight of himself in the mirror across the room, and a more pressing question posed itself. What the hell was he wearing?!  

John’s hotel uniform was gone, and on his legs clung a pair of black stockings, attached to silk garters, pulled up over his hairy calves, and strapped to a belt around his waist under his gut,  which left his crotch and ass exposed. Or at least, it exposed the black lace panties he’d been  squeezed into at some point while he was out. The fabric was cutting into John a bit, especially at the parts of him where he had a little extra weight; his ass, under his gut, and around his thighs. John’s thick cock was bulging out, and his muscular ass had the material stretched thin. He had a silk and leather harness buckled around his chest, with a cut out for his pecs. The material seemed to actually push them up and out, making them even more prominent than they usually were. His hands were bound above his head, and then the rope was wound into an intricate weave between his upper arms and around his shoulders, before reaching above him to a beam in the ceiling. It was effective at suspending him upright, and the rope had been pulled tight enough that he couldn’t quite rest easily, forcing him to keep his heels raised up and standing on the balls of his feet.  

“I should have gone a size up, didn’t expect him to be quite so thick,” Farnham mused, as he groped John’s ass with one hand, squeezing his cheek through the silky, thin panties.  

“What–what the fuck is going on? What the fuck did you two perverts do to me?” John slurred, peering at the two older men in the room.  

“Us? Perverts?” Walker exclaimed, “Why, we’re not the ones wearing garters and strung up like a piece of meat, panty boy. If anyone here is a pervert, it would seem to be you.” 

His mouth agape at the businessman, John turned to Dr. Farnham. “Professor, what is  going on? Why…why can’t I remember anything?”  

“Now Johnny, don’t worry your pretty little head about any of it. Just enjoy yourself tonight–I have no doubt that you will put on quite the show. After all, I’ve been training you for it for a month now,” Farnham said, but his usually kind smile seemed quite a bit darker than usual.  

John tried to figure out what he meant by that, and he realized, slowly, that he’d been visiting Farnham’s office hours regularly for about a month. But he’d been working on his classwork, hadn’t he? He’d been doing poorly, but why couldn’t he recall what they’d talked about there? Had…had he been hypnotized, or something? He struggled harder, but the professor stroked John’s bearded face, gave him a little shush, and said, “Relax now–we can’t have you getting all worn out before the main event. Relax.”  

John moaned, and felt some of the fight go out of him, and he slumped slightly into the ropes holding him. “But…why am I here? What are you doing to me?”  

“We’re hosting a party tonight, for one of the city’s most exclusive clubs. You, John, are going to be our full service boy. You remember what that was from your hospitality classes, don’t you? Don’t tell me you fell asleep during that lecture too.”  

John gulped, figuring he had a good enough idea, but Farnham just stroked his cheek, imploring him to relax again, his voice growing softer.  

“That’s it sissy boy, just relax,” Farnham said, dropped his hand lower, and groped John’s sizable cock through the panties he was wearing. At that moment John realized, with some horror, that he was semi-hard. “Just relax and enjoy yourself,” Farnham whispered. “You want this, don’t you? Aren’t you excited, and you don’t even know why?”  

John shook his head, but moaned loudly when the professor kept teasing his cock, causing him to leak into the front of the panties.  

“Quit playing with him already,” Walker snapped, and handed Farnham a masquerade mask, just enough material to hide his identity. Walker was already wearing one. “The other guests are starting to arrive. We should get the cameras rolling.”  

“Cameras?” John asked in a stupor, and struggled a bit, but found it hard to put that much effort into it. His body just felt so slack and at ease. He had to fight, but it was difficult to convince his body to agree with him.  

Professor Farnham smiled at this. “Well of course, Johnny. We always tape our sessions here. Now, you will only refer to me as Mr. White, and Mr. Walker as Mr. Grey, until I say otherwise,  you will forget we have any other name. Better yet, you don’t really need to say anything at all.  We take the confidentiality of our clients very seriously.” The white-bearded man then pulled a  small remote out of his pocket, and turned the various cameras installed around the room on.  Together, they would give a complete record of everything that happened in the suite that night,  but most of them were pointed at John, to capture him at every angle.  

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Walker opened it and welcomed in another masked man, also wearing a suit. For the next ten minutes, a steady stream of other men followed. Most of them arrived alone, but some arrived with young men at their side, also masked, many of them wearing rather skimpy, sexy attire–leather, rubber, silk–all of them clinging to their older date’s arms rather happily. Every guest greeted Mr. White and Mr. Grey, and then came to admire the newest addition to their collective stable.  

They gathered around John, running their hands over his body, groping his cock, squeezing his ass, and while John pleaded with them all to stop, begged them to let him go, they all would just laugh and continue on, before congratulating Mr. White on his latest catch from the college. John realized, then, that the only person unmasked in the room was him, and the men were all using his first and last name. Everything was on camera! What if the team saw this? What if his parents did?! He struggled against the bonds, but he also knew it was too late. The only thing he could do was get through this, and figure out how to destroy the footage after, maybe.  

When all of the men had arrived and been poured a glass of champagne, Mr. White got their attention and gave John a proper introduction. A sophomore football player, a rather impressive tight end (bringing laughs from the men, and a blush to John’s cheeks), and of course, a secret sissy with a rather humiliating collection of fetishes that they would be displaying for all of these men this evening. “One of those fetishes is hypnosis,” the professor said, “please take the panty boy’s protestations this evening with…a grain of salt. He asked to be made unaware of the fact that he had asked for this–or rather, begged for it, repeatedly. I’m sure that by the time we’re through this evening, he’ll remember perfectly well just what kind of slut he is.”

John looked at the professor in confusion. That couldn’t be true, could it? He wouldn’t…want this to happen! “That’s not–I didn’t ask for this!”  

The men all laughed, and John’s face burned hotter still.  

“Now, Mr. Grey put up the initial investment for John here, and so, as usual, he will have the honor of breaking him in. After tonight, John will, of course, be available to all members through the usual avenues. Now, Mr. Grey, if you would,” the professor said, and bowed off to the side while Walker stepped up next to where John was suspended. The men clapped, and he took a bow.  

“Now, Mr. White here has asked me to demonstrate a few of our newest boy’s proclivities, which I am more than happy to do. First on the list, is that the sissy boy loves to be disciplined, don’t you?”  

John started to object, but not before Walker brought one of his palms down on John’s pantied ass, making him gasp in surprise. The sheer fabric did nothing to disguise the pain of the slap, but what surprised John most was that it felt…good, somehow. Not that it didn’t hurt, but that with the slap, there had been some strange burst of perverse delight in his mind, making his lip curl, and cock throb in the front of his panties. Walker gave his other cheek a smack, and this time, John groaned audibly, swinging out slightly from the force of the impact, and the men around them laughed.  

“You were going to say something, sissy boy?” Walker snarled.  

John panted, and then heard himself bleat, “M-More Daddy, please…I’ve been a naughty sissy boy.”  

“Yes you have, going around the school, pretending to be a big *smack* strong *smack* butch *smack* football player, all the while thinking about dressing up in panties and having a mean, old Daddy bend you over his lap and give you a proper spanking, you slut.”  

Walker fell into a rhythm after that, alternating cheeks, bringing out a collection of whimpers, moans, and shudders from John that horrified him, and yet felt so completely natural.

The suspension only increased his predicament, as he swung out slightly with each blow, only to come back as Walker brought his hand back down on his ass again. He stopped, and John  came to rest again, and then heard him pick up something behind him, step around, and hold up  a thick, wooden paddle.  

“What do you think of this, you little spank slut?! Think this will teach you your lesson?” 

Part of John was terrified, but all that escaped from his mouth was a moan, followed by, “Yes, Daddy.”  

John didn’t know how hard Walker was really swinging it, but each connection stung, and made John let out a scream. He twisted a bit further now, trying to evade the paddle, only for gravity to drag him back into position for another strike. Too late, he felt his cock throbbing, harder and harder with each blow, and with a loud cry, he came, filling the front of the sheer panties with a massive load of cum. He looked down, watched it spurt through the fabric and onto the floor, the men around them cheering and hooting at him, John’s face burning in absolute shame.  

He wasn’t quite sure what happened next, but his professor stepped up, whispered something in his ear, and John relaxed, deeper than he could really have thought possible. Distantly, he felt the ropes around his shoulders loosening and he was let down to the floor, where he collapsed into the professor’s arms. He was put on his knees, and Walker was saying  something, while the professor fit something in his mouth, and then, everything was a blur.  

***  

The next thing John knew, he was unbound, and lying against the foot of the bed on the floor, facing the TV. Looking around, the men had all disappeared other than Professor Farnham and Mr. Walker, who were sitting in a couple of chairs, smoking cigars, and watching the screen. John looked up, and saw that it was a video of him taken by the cameras in the room. He was on his knees, a spider gag stretching his mouth wide, while men surrounded him, jacking off, dumping their loads into his open mouth on splattering them across his face, all while John’s clearly hard cock hung out the front of his panties.  

“What do you think, John? It’s a good debut, don’t you think?” Farnham smirked, and sat back in the chair. “Should we post it on xtube tonight?”  

John stood up on aching legs, and sat on the bed, head in his hands, trying to figure out what to do about any of this. Beg? Plead? Fight?  

Taking a puff from his cigar, Farnham continued wistfully, “Then again, no one has to know about any of it. All you have to do is sign a two year contract as an escort with our exclusive club, and this video will stay in our archives, instead of being distributed to your parents, and blasted onto every computer on the college network.”  

John shuddered, and tried not to think about what a turn on that was for him all of a sudden. The idea of everyone on campus knowing he was a sissy panty slut, all of his coaches, his…father. His cock throbbed at the thought, and he pushed it away, horrified. “You–you did this to me, you made me want this.”  

“Did I?” Farnham chuckled, “Or did you ask me to do this to you? Come to my office with all of these secrets, wanting to make them a reality? You don’t remember, do you?” 

John gulped–he didn’t remember. He didn’t know at all.  

“Come on now, John. Be a good sissy boy, and put your name on the line,” Walker goaded impatiently, holding out the pen. “Do it quickly now, and you’ll get your reward.” What choice did he have? John tried not to think about how thrilling it was to put his name on the dotted line, knowing that any of those men from the night before would be able to use him now, whenever they wanted, that he was essentially a slave for all of them to spank and humiliate and degrade whenever they wanted to. As John signed his rights away, a look of evil satisfaction came to the businessman’s face.  

“That’s it bitch… Now get down here and thank me properly for disciplining you earlier,” Walker barked, and John looked over to see the man’s rock hard cock jutting out of his slacks. John gulped, then got down on his knees in front of him and started sucking. He hadn’t sucked many cocks before, and it wasn’t more than a minute before he grazed the shaft with a bit of teeth, and Mr. Walker picked up the riding crop from the table and brought it down hard on John’s ass, making his gasp. “No teeth, or I’ll have to gag you–but you’d probably like that, wouldn’t you? Go on, gag on it, get it good and wet for daddy, or you’re going to be at this for a while.”  

John redoubled his efforts, doing his best to lick and suck as Mr. Walker requested, until at last, he was rewarded with a load of cum. Finished with one, he moved over and sucked off his professor as well, who shot his load all over his face.  

Speaking softly, the professor’s gentle tone was undercut by the harsh directive. “Now, you  fucking slut… Get dressed, and wear that load all the way back to campus,” Farnham said, and  handed him a small flip phone. “This is for work. Always answer it, no matter when it rings. You’ll be given instructions and a location each time. Don’t be late, don’t be disobedient, and the video taken last night will never see the light of day.” He paused, grinned, and cooed, “Unless, of course, you want it to.” Farnham leered down at John, like he’d known the filthy thought that had crossed his mind a moment ago, his burly father seeing what a slut John was, bending him over his knee, and…  

John nodded and gulped, removed his party attire, and changed back into his hotel uniform before slipping out the back. Dawn was breaking over the horizon, but John took a moment to jack off in his car, his ass aching against even the soft seat, thinking about how it would feel on the hard classroom chairs. Fuck, what had his professor done to him? He came in the front of his slacks, cheeks burning with shame, and headed home. It was just two years, right? He’d be done by the time he graduated, and the fee he’d receive for each escort would be…substantial, according to the contract. 

John got what little rest he could, and in the morning, did his best to pretend that everything was normal. That is, until the sound of an unfamiliar ringtone interrupted his homework. He answered the flip phone, and a computerized voice on the other end instructed, “The executive suite has been reserved for a special guest after your shift this evening. He requested the same outfit as last night, you’ll find it in the drawers of the suite’s dresser. The party last night was a great success, you’re already booked out every night for the next two weeks. Get your rest, sissy boy.”  

They hung up before John could reply, and he felt his stomach churn in anticipation, terror, or both. Apparently, the only bottom at the hotel being up-sold now, was his. 

(Caption) Family Blackmail

October Caption Challenge (21/30)

Coming from a rich family has plenty of perks. The trust fund is a big one. I mean, my father expects me to hold down a job, something to show I have some sort of incentive to improve myself. I do have papers verifying a kind of employment as a consultant with a variety of companies downtown, mostly thanks to the many friends I’ve made at the gay clubs since I moved to the city here, away from my father’s estate where he retired. So yes, I work. By which I mean, I fuck my way through piles of drugs, men, and all manner of depravity on a daily basis, because that is how I wish to spend my time and my father’s money. I’m an only child–what other choice does he have?

Well, imagine my surprise when I get an email from him, along with a photo attached:

Yes, that’s me. I counted myself lucky, I suppose. There were many others, far more filthy that he could have found, which would have resulted in something more immediate than the ultimatum he gave me. I was to return home. I would marry a young woman, approved by him, immediately. I would work at his business for the rest of my life, or all of my privileges would be revoked.

Now, I couldn’t have any of that spoiling my fun, of course. Thankfully, quite a few of my contacts in the city had rather…unsavory connections in the world, and I was promised, for something as weightless as my soul, that they could help me with my little problem. I was more than happy to pay up of course, I was hardly convinced that souls existed in the first place, after all. There was a marketplace, I was told, where they could be bought and sold. The things we’ve learned to commoditize. 

The results were quick. I received, two days later, a series of photos, some of them tastefully anonymous, like the one below.

Others far more revealing, and filthy. I had no idea my father could be capable of such filth, to be honest. I was proud of the little hypocrite.

So, I sent them along, telling him that this revelation would be far more damaging to him than the little activities I entertained myself with. Unless he wanted them seeing the light of day, he ought to just keep the trust fund flowing.

My father was horrified. He had no idea when these photos had been taken, no memory of any of this occurring. It didn’t really matter to me whether his denials were true, or whether someone had drugged him, hypnotized him, brutalized him into disgracing himself for a camera. I had my money, and that was all that mattered to me–at least, until I was told that my soul had been sold.

Apparently, souls are very much real, and being in possession of one allows a remarkable level of control. I’m owned by my Master now, and reside in his dungeon as his full time gimp. 

The trust fund is his. He also, apparently, was the one who manipulated my father, and so he pays me visits on occasion as well–it’s the only time my hood is removed, when I get to watch my old father being beaten in the dungeon by my Master, fucked and pissed on and fed the ash from his cigars. I don’t know if he knows its happening to him. I do. Then he is gone, and the hood returns. But I can’t object. My soul is his now. I love him. I could never disparage him. I will serve him for the rest of my life, or until he sells me off again. I hope he doesn’t. I don’t think I could stand to lose him.

Of Favors and Family (Part 4)

“Well Jeremiah, I’m gonna level with you. You’re a bit late with the blackmail, because your dad is already threatening the same thing, and honestly? His word in my favor is going to count quite a bit more than the words of you and your friends, whether you have a tape or not.”

Jeremiah went a bit pale at that, but didn’t say anything.

“But I’ll tell you what–maybe we can come to a compromise. You won’t have to go to war, and your dad will think you’ve gone to war. Wait a couple of years, come back, honorably discharged, and everything will be just fine.”

“How the hell is that going to work?”

“I grew up around here–still have lots of my family pack living up in the hills around here. They keep to themselves–I’m the only one around here who even knows where they live. You stay with them, and I’ll cover for you here.”

“Bullshit, I’m not going to live in the fucking hills with a bunch of dumb mutts!”

“Well, even if you stay here, you really think your dad is gonna stop trying to get you sent off? You’re going to war one way or another, whether I get you there, or someone else. You’re going to have to give up something, if you don’t want to die in Vietnam–because trust me, I know, when I send a boy off, if I’m sending him to die–and you wouldn’t last very long–and I have seen a great many young men in my office, and my accuracy would haunt you, trust me.”

Jeremiah was weakening, and Wade refused to budge. In the end, he gave in, signed the enlistment form, but didn’t get on the bus with the rest of the recruits at four in the afternoon. Instead, he called his friends, told them he was going into hiding, but to hide the tape in case anything happened to him, and then got in Wade’s car and drove off into the hills.


He’d told him to wait in the car. That had been close to half an hour ago, and Jeremiah was growing more and more suspicious by the minute that all of this was bullshit cooked up by this idiot recruiter to buy himself more time. They’d been driving for hours now, following twisting back roads up hills and back down into valleys, going deeper into the country than Jeremiah had ever been himself, where his nannies had told him when he was younger feral packs of hounds and wolves still roamed around, looking for trouble. Those had all just been stories of course, but there were old families out here–hell, Jeremiah knew he came from a few of them himself. All the hounds in the city could trace themselves back here one way or another, Wade too, he was sure. But why park here, and tell him to sit tight? He had no idea where he was, he had no way to get help. He was starting to wonder if he was the idiot for agreeing to these terms at all.

The sun was setting, but he couldn’t see it behind the ridge. He was already in shadow down here, the light growing dimmer with each passing minute. They hadn’t eaten all day long, and his stomach kept growling louder each time. Could he really do this? Live out here in the sticks? Now that he was here, it just seemed…so damn uncivilized. It…only had to be for a little while. Long enough for his dad to think he really was shipped off, and then he could come back down and just skip town for a while, live with some sympathetic family one state over. Just a couple of months, and then he could have a normal life again.

There was a rustle of brush, and then Wade turned the corner on the dirt road, hauling ass, hat in hand. He slid to a stop by the car, nearly losing his footing, then climbed in, fumbling with his keys.

“Are–what happened?”

“Shut the fuck up, and keep your head down.”

Jeremiah didn’t know what to think of that, until he heard the gunshot in the near distance, followed by a whoop.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Family issues, get your damn head down!”

The car started up, and Wade through it in reverse. A few overall clad cur-looking hounds bounded onto the road, holding rifles and shotguns, and leveled them at the car as it rolled back. Then, Jeremiah finally got down. They were lucky–none of the windows ended up getting busted out. Wade was sure it was meant more to scare him off than actually hurt him–he was, after all, family…just not as close to family as he might have been when he was younger. He’d been hoping for a slightly more sympathetic ear, but the great uncle who had been the local alpha a decade back had passed on, leaving his much more…aggressive son to take the helm of the family. The negotiation had started strong, until the alpha wanted to test the newcomer for the purity of his bloodline, and Wade had made…a misstep or two, and now he was rolling back down the road, night falling, cursing himself for being an idiot.

“What the fuck–are those the fucks you were going to have me stay with?”

“I never said it was going to be a hotel.”

“They were fucking shooting at us!”

“Well, usually they’re a bit more welcoming to family.”

Wade slid the car to a halt, now that he was sure the pack wasn’t following them, and sighed, wondering what to do now. There were a few other pockets of family around that he could check on, but he’d thought this one might be most…accommodating, and now that he’d riled up one part of the family, leaving Jeremiah with another chunk was liable to rekindle old feuds.

“I’m done with this–take me home,” Jeremiah said.

“This is not a deal you can back out off just because you’re a little uncomfortable now.”

“Look at those crazy fucks! I’m not staying with them!”

“Boy, if you go back now, your daddy will ship you off himself.”

“If you don’t take me back, then I’ll make sure that tape sees the light of day, as soon as I get word to my friends.”

“Yeah? And how the fuck do you plan on getting back there?” Wade said.

Jeremiah just glared at him, and then got out of the car. “I’ll fucking walk.”

Wade…had not expected that, and so he didn’t quite know what to say. Walking back was impossible of course–they were a good 20 miles away from town at this point, and he knew Jeremiah hadn’t been paying well enough attention to get back there. He couldn’t risk it though–and he also…well, he might be alright with the cocky brat getting a limb blown off in the jungle, half a world away, but the thought of him getting lost and dying in the woods (and with it being far more directly his own fault) wasn’t something he wanted to live with. Wade got out of the car, and started after him. “Hey–get your ass back here, we had a fucking deal boy.”

“The deal is off, faggot–I’m done. Once I get back there, the whole fucking town is going to know what a pervert you are, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Wade growled, and wished he’d brought his pistol along–not to hurt him, but a shot between his legs would do more to straighten the boy out than pretty much anything else. He felt the cuffs there on his belt…Jeremiah was younger than him, and probably a bit more fit…but he had a feeling he wasn’t particularly used to roughhousing. Wade on the other hand–well he had too much at stake to lose. He charged at Jeremiah’s back and slammed into him, knocking them both to the ground where they rolled about and tussled. Jeremiah was surprised that someone would dare attack him–anyone, and when Wade landed a paw across his face, leaving a nice scratch across his cheek–he just laid there, stunned. Pain, apparently, wasn’t something he was accustomed to. It gave Wade an opening, and he rolled him over and cuffed him on the ground, panting a bit…and his cock hard in his uniform slacks.

“You fucking piece of shit, get these fucking things off of me?”

Wade just watched him squirm there, and fuck, if it wasn’t turning him on something fierce. He’d only cuffed a few boys in the past, usually one’s he’d already broken in, or who were enjoying the treatment themselves, and every time, it had been…a rush. But what could he do? They were in the middle of the woods, night falling…and he wanted that ass, badly. He’d wanted that ass this whole time, but had been restraining himself out of a sense of respect for Jeremiah and his father–well, his respect had run out, and Wade had a feeling a good, rough fuck would put the runt in his place faster than words could anyway.

Jeremiah had managed to push himself up onto his knees, and Wade shoved him back down, snout first, into the dirt, and then got on top of him. Jeremiah began to struggle further, now that he could more…directly feel the older man’s erection, and he started to shout for help.

“Who the hell do you think is going to come save you boy?” Wade said, “Everyone out here is my kin–not yours. They won’t take too kindly to a racket like that–but I’ll be in the car and gone, and it’ll just be you out here, cuffed and alone…and shoot you in the back is the kindest they can be to an outsider like you–trust me. I know all the old stories…”

Wade tugged down Jeremiah’s pants and underwear, running one of his claws up the boy’s crack, feeling him shiver. He undid the fly of his pants, and his cock was already hard and out of its sheath–he thought about warming the boy up…but he didn’t deserve it, and honestly, Wade liked hearing them shout, and beg, and pull away from him. It made it all the more exciting. He pressed the head to Jeremiah’s ring, and felt the boy try and crawl away–he didn’t get far, and Wade bore down, sliding the head in, and then the shaft, shuddering with pleasure as jeremiah started shouting in pain and anger. Wade ground the boy’s snout into the dirt, hard enough to make him shut up, and started fucking him, driving his cock in deeper, inch by inch, with each thrust, panting as he did, feeling how close he was. “Maybe I should just take you home with me boy instead–keep you in my basement. You have a real nice hole, I have to say. Better than Ashton and Dusty–I’ll be sure to tell them that, next time I see them.”

Jeremiah was whining now, just wanting it to be over. It was…less sexy, but probably better. Wade pumped a little faster, pulled out, and nutted all over his ass, tugging his pants back up, watching the cum seep into the fabric in the twilight, before hauling the boy upright, and half dragging him back to the car, and shoving him in the backseat.

The fuck had helped clear his mind, and had also brought back some…memories, of fucking in these woods with his family, usually during family reunions that seemed to be happening less and less as of late. Still, when he’d been a cub, around Jeremiah’s age or a bit younger, he and his cousins had run off regularly to go “exploring”, though they spent most of their time exploring each other some days. But one memory in particular stood out to him–of his third cousin, Bart, once removed (that is, his great great grand aunt’s grandson–one generation older than he was) had caught him and another boy playing…and joined in. He’d…particularly enjoyed fucking Wade that afternoon, but he seemed to have a thing for cubs around that age–around Jeremiah’s age. He’d be pushing sixty at this point, but Wade knew he lived alone, and that he was on generally good terms with the rest of the family. He’d probably be more than willing to keep an eye on Jeremiah, especially if he could get a fuck out of it. Sure, giving Jeremiah to his family as a sex slave was going to…complicate returning him later, but he was low on options, and as far as he was concerned, Jeremiah deserved it.

He put the car in gear, and drove off again–thankfully, Bart’s shack wasn’t too far off from here–assuming he still lived there. Then again, Bart’s family had lived there for ages, though Bart was, as far as Wade could recall, the last of the line. He took a little too firmly to cock, to be able to pick out a wife and bed her for an heir–or maybe that had changed too, in the last few years. Still, he was an old hound, and particularly stubborn, as far as Wade could recall. He doubted much would have changed.

Of Favors and Family: Episode 1 (Part 3)

Jeremiah Hawthorne’s appointment at the recruitment office was for three in the afternoon on Monday, the bus for new recruits left the office each day at four. Wade was in his office, waiting, and the young hound didn’t show up until ten after, which made things a bit easier, really. Both because it was ten less minutes he had to keep him here, and because he felt much better about sending off young men who were late, than those who had the decency to actually be on time for their appointments. Even if he wasn’t under threat from the boy’s father to send him away, he probably would have done so anyway, since he made him wait.

Jeremiah did arrive eventually–it was clear he believed he was here for an exemption, from the way he held himself, the smug smile on his snout. Wade wasn’t going to feel particularly bad about this one at all. “So, can we make this quick? I have a date tonight, and I still need to go home and get ready. What do you need from me?”

“Oh, I’ve handled everything already for you. A bad case of bone spurs. All I need is your signature here, at the bottom,” Wade said, turning around the enlistment form he’d already filled in for the young man, aside from the signature. “One John Hancock, and you’re good to go.”

“John Hancock?”

“Your signature, son, sign on the line.”

“Why do I have to sign anything?”

“You have to attest that you understand the terms of your exemption,” Wade said, hoping he’d just buy a bit of bullshit, and sign his life away to the war already.

“Pa says to never sign anything I haven’t read over.”

“Your Pa helped arrange this last night, Jeremiah. Now hurry up.”

He was suspicious, and Wade supposed he had a right to be so. After all, in his shoes, Wade would have been suspicious too. Beauregard had been pressuring Jeremiah to enlist since before the draft had even started–and now, suddenly, he had changed his mind? The young hound picked up the sheet and started reading it, and Wade sighed. He’d just have to do this the hard way, then.

“Wait a minute, this says, ‘agrees to enlist–” but before he got anything else out, Wade was up, and had him shoved up against the wall. He slipped one handcuff on the young hound’s wrist, and then the other, and shoved him down into a chair by the door. “What the fuck is this shit! I’m not signing a fucking enlistment form! Pa said you were going to get me an exemption. Let me go, you mutt, or I’ll sue you into fucking oblivion!”

“Unfortunately, Jeremiah, your Pa had other plans. He wants you in the army, one way or another–so you have two options. You can either sign this paper here and go willingly, and I’ll pull a few strings, without your daddy knowing, to get you a decent deployment after basic training, or you can throw a fit, and we’ll ship you off with a forged criminal record, which basically means you’re cannon fodder. Either way, you’re going on the bus in an hour, whether you want to or not.”

“Fuck, I knew it was too fucking good to be true…” Jeremiah said, “Look–I know what you like. I’ll suck you off.”

An alarm bell went off in Wade’s mind. The young hound hadn’t said that with the air of desperation they usually used, when they begged for mercy at the end of his dick. He sounded smug–and how the hell did he even know about that, anyway? “That ain’t gonna work, boy.”

“It works for Ashton Everett, and Dusty Willis.”

Friends of his–Wade should have known those two wouldn’t keep their mouths shut, but they were both…sweet, and Wade had a soft spot for sweet, on occasion, especially since they both had to pop back around every couple of weeks to see if their bone spurs had healed up yet. Wade leaned against the desk–even if the boy knew, it wouldn’t help him, and Ashton and Dusty were about to find out just how fast bone spurs could heal. “Sorry. No deal this time. Now, are you gonna sign this paper, or are you gonna go die in a jungle? It doesn’t matter to me one bit, but it’s going to matter a whole lot to you.”

“No, here’s what’s going to happen–you’re going to unlock these cuffs, give me an exemption, or I’m going to take the recording I have of you fucking Dusty’s ass, and have it sent to your superiors. How do you think they’ll feel about that?”

“Boy, don’t bullshit me.”

“I’m not bullshitting, sir, if I don’t arrive on time for that date tonight, that tape will be in the mail tomorrow.”

Was he bluffing? Probably, but could Wade really take that risk? Then again, if he did let him loose, Beauregard would have word sent to his superiors anyway about his…dalliances. It didn’t matter what he did–so which was going to be worse for him? The word of the father, who was well regarded in various circles of the military, especially locally? Or a possible tape recording, delivered anonymously, but perhaps with much more damning contents? He was…rather loud when he was with a young man, especially Dusty. He had seemed rather eager last week, and a bit…too descriptive, of what was going on. More so than usual, at least. There was a chance he could talk his way out of either one–after all, he did meet his quotas regularly, and that was all that really mattered as far as the army cared–but Wade had never been one to take chances like this, and Lizzie…she already suspected enough. With word like this getting out, she would likely take off, along with his son. But what could he do? He couldn’t exactly fake Jeremiah getting enlisted into the army…right? Then again, maybe he could.

Of Favors and Family (Part 2)

Having known Beau for quite a long time now, Wade supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised by his request–but he’d gotten so used to helping wealthy men of alleged character and patriotism get their prized sons out of the war, that finding one eager to send his son away was a surprise all the same. “With your connections, I’m sure I could find him a spot as an officer,” Wade said, but Beau just laughed.

“Jeremiah couldn’t lead a blind horse to water. Do you want him to murder an entire platoon in the jungle? No–basic infantry, just like I was. If he wants to survive, he’s going to have to prove he has what it takes–though I sincerely doubt he has the guts.”

Wade nodded, “If that’s what you want, the army will always have a need for strong young men,” Beau chuckled a bit on the word strong, but Wade pressed on, “but the draft is going plenty strong–why not just…wait? After all, I can’t force him to sign enlistment papers.”

Beau leered at Wade around his pipe, “I may be old, Wade, but I can still smell a two timing skunk from a mile off. I know about the little deals you have running with some of the young men around these parts–and I even know about those little examinations you do at your office, after hours, with more than a few of them. What is it you say–that you won’t excuse them from service for something like homosexuality without a bit of…evidence first?” he took a sip, “Does your wife know about your taste for teenage whelps, I wonder?”

Wade remained stoic. He wouldn’t give him a denial–if Beau had wanted him found out, he would have been carted away by an MP by now. He wanted something still–though Wade hadn’t given him nearly enough credit, apparently.

“I will admit to…having enjoyed the company of the men on my platoon, on occasion. There’s really no harm in a bit of comradery, when one is without the pleasure of a proper bitch. I can forgive you your…infidelity and perversion, so long as my son is on that bus. Forge his signature–I’ll attest to its validity, even if he denies it. Promise him whatever you’d like–a position as an officer, if you’d like. Hell, examine him if he’s…your type, but my worthless son is going to need a war if he’s ever going to grow up and make something of himself. I’d rather he come back in a box than tarnish this family’s name by running around town, proud of his cowardice. Jeremiah may have been led to believe by his mother that I have listened to her pleas, and am presently persuading you to draw up and document…reasons for him to be exempted from service, even should his number come up in the draft. I will likely allow them both to believe that up until the bus pulls up tomorrow afternoon. All you need to do is keep the rascal in your office until then–and no one will need to know anything about the sordid little things you do on your own time. I’ll even defend your honor as if it were my own. Now, do we have an understanding?”

As far as Wade was concerned, this was easier than what he’d been expecting. Less paperwork, and he’d be one young soldier closer to meeting his quarterly quota. He agreed, and their conversation drifted off to other topics, though as the old hound across from him drank more and more bourbon, he was fairly certain that Beauregard kept sneaking glances down at his crotch. Apparently, someone hadn’t had any comradery in quite a while–perhaps he missed it. Wade wouldn’t have objected–despite what Beauregard had hinted at, Wade didn’t have an interest in young men in particular. Rather, he enjoyed the desperation, and the control he had over them more than anything else. Beauregard was too proud to be a good lay, as handsome as he was. It wouldn’t hurt to keep that information in his back pocket, all the same. They each finished their pipes, and Wade excused himself. Amber Hawthorne and Wade’s wife, Lizzie, were in the dining room gossiping about the business around town when they emerged–they said their goodbyes, and left. Lizzie knew better than to ask about what Wade and Beauregard had discussed, though she had her suspicions of course. Wade didn’t broach the topic–he was cool towards her, as he was always, all the way back to their home, where their son was already tucked in by the babysitter. Just another normal night. Halfway around the world, it was daytime, and young dogs, cats, pigs, and everyone else was fighting for their lives, if not for their country. Wade wondered if it should bother him more, the whole business. Then again, if it hadn’t bothered him yet, he doubted that it would any time soon.

Of Favors and Family – Episode 1 (Part 1)

Some of these characters and settings are created by others, particularly the commissioner of the work.


Dinner had been lovely, but then, dinner was always a pleasure at the Hawthorn residence. Wade always enjoyed his time here–it was so much more pleasant that the rest of his time in town, constantly struggling to fill his quota of new recruits to send off to the jungles in the east. Here, in this beautiful antebellum manor, it was like nothing was wrong at all–no war, no protests, no riots. While he was certain that the Hawthorns kept up with the news, they made no mention of unpleasant topics over dinner conversation. Everything was bright, the conversation easy, the wine flowing. He did his best to not get too caught up in the ease, however–a wealthy man like Mr. Beauregard Hawthorne the Third didn’t invite a man like Wade, a hound mutt with nothing prestigious going for him beyond his position as the county’s army recruiter, which, in a time of war such as this, could open the strangest of doors, at times.

Now, however, dinner was finished, and Wade had retired to the study with the family patriarch for a glass of bourbon and a pipe–and for a chat, Wade assumed. He tugged the cuff of his dress uniform straight–Beauregard Hawthrorn showed him to a firm armchair and poured him a glass of bourbon. They chatted about the town for a bit, and a little about the war. Both of them knew what the chat was really about, however–the draft. This was not the first wealthy family that had welcomed Wade into their home, to plead for him to keep their sons from having to enlist. He found the conversations rather exhausting at this point, only because they had all grown so desperate. And so, he waited for the elderly hound to make his pitch.

“They should have never allowed camera over there. War never looks nice through a lens. I, for one, don’t need a play by play of how many we’ve lost, and where. All we should be hearing is about how we’re winning,” Beauregard said with a huff, blowing a cloud of smoke from his snout as he did. “I’m not surprised, really. Most of the men of character were lost in the great wars, after all. All we have now are cowards who pretend at honor, but wouldn’t know it if it was looking them right in the eye. Cowards, and men looking to make a buck off the young men doing the real work of fighting off the stinking commies. If you ask me, the press is in on it. They’re trying to undermine national morale! They’d be perfectly happy to let a red fleet sail right into San Francisco–they’d broadcast it as a great victory for America!”

He continued on like this for quite some time, and Wade only half listened. He’d heard it all before, after all, the last time he’d been over here for dinner half a year back. Wade generally considered himself to be paid well enough by the army to have patience with men like Beauregard, and he threw in an occasional courteous nod at all the right pauses. It wasn’t polite, after all, to disagree with your guests about that sort of thing in these parts. Civility, after all, seemed to be the only thing holding the country together these days.

Not that Wade was a communist by any stretch. No, Wade was, more than anything else, tired. Tired, jaded by war, sick of sending more and more men away, only for his superiors to demand ever larger quotas from him. It was easier to grow cold to it, to keep your emotions locked up tight. Desperation could be contagious, and he liked his position–besides, he had a family to support. It only bothered him slightly, that the young men he shoved onto the bus each day were only a few years older than his son. More likely than not, he’d get sent off too, just as he had been. War was, more than anything, a business, and Wade was tasked with finding the raw materials to keep the machine humming along, wherever they ended up fighting.

Beau heaved a sigh, and for a moment, Wade wondered if he was finished, and what he might say. Thankfully, he continued, sparing him the effort. “I was one of them, I should say. When I was younger. Idealistic. I thought I knew how things worked. I thought we could all get along. It takes war to understand the world, to understand yourself. I learned that in the world war, as you know.”

Wade nodded. Beau was well known in these parts not only as a fine coonhound of well bred stock (though the rumor that his great parents had been from the same litter was naturally horrible slander, never to be repeated in town, unless you were looking for an invitation to duel) but also as a war hero with a purple heart, and a slight limp to use as an excuse to talk about it. Wade always made sure to thank him for his service, when he saw him. It was both polite, and when he did that, he was less likely to hear the story of his wounding in France yet again. It was dull, mundane, and Wade had heard of far worse injuries from more capable storytellers.

“I want my son to learn it too. He has, so far, refused to enlist, and so I fear I am forced to use…rather extreme measures. I want him on a bus to boot camp tomorrow, Wade, I honestly don’t care if you hogtie him and throw him in with the luggage.”

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.