SLIPPING INTO DEPRAVITY - Ch. 23, Leroy Has his Way

KAYLEY VISITS LEROY'S APARTMENT ALONE, PART TWO OF TWO

“The cuckold session,” he whispered. It was a change of direction. “Some of it was real, for you, wasn’t it? Sometimes you weren’t playin

“The cuckold session,” he whispered. It was a change of direction. “Some of it was real, for you, wasn’t it? Sometimes you weren’t playing, were you?”

Oh fuck him, I thought. He’d been probing and probing, and now he was going to pull it out of me.

I nodded. “Sometimes.”

“When?”

“On the love seat,” I whispered. “When we were making out in front of Sam, when you had the video on him, to embarrass him and he was squirming. And I said video me. It was real. I was feeling it.”

“Good girl,” he whispered in my ear. “Finally some truths. Other times, were there other times it went real?”

“Yes,” I gasped. Part of me hoped he wouldn’t ask for some moment by moment. That would be torture. And I’d have to lie for parts of it, and that would be hard.

“And how did it make you feel?” his voice was silky.

“Strong,” I whispered. “Powerful, in control, with him. Submissive, with you. Dominant and Submissive, at the same time.”

“Do you want to do it again?” he asked.

“Sam wants to,” I said.

“Do YOU want to do it again?”

Oh fuck you, Leroy, I thought to myself, gasping.

But instead, I said “Yes.”

He chuckled. I blushed harder, if that was possible. I wanted, I was willing to do it again, for Sam, because he wanted it, for whatever fucked up reason. I would go along with him. But deep down, I had to admit to myself, it had been exciting. Disturbing, unnerving, even repugnant... but exciting.

And some small part of me wanted to do it again.

“Good girl,” he chuckled. “I knew it.”

His fingers moved, leaving me gasping as he took me to the edge of orgasm, but carefully held me on the precipice.

“When we do it again,” he said, “I want you to commit to your role. Really commit.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t say okay, you need to promise.”

“I promise.”

“Say it.”

“Ahh, I...,” I tried to get the words out. “I... uhh... I will do it, I will commit... uhh... Really commit to the cuckolding, to cucking Sam...”

“Good girl,” he said. “But because you asked, I’m going to ease on Sam, be a little gentler, more careful. So what do you have to do?”

“I have... uhh... I will be harder on him...”

“Very good,” he said. “How does this make you feel? Honesty.”

“Funny,” I whimpered. “Conflicted.”

He paused, thoughtfully.

“Because it gets too real?”

“Uhhh uhhh... yes.”

His hands moved more slowly.

“Kayley,” he said. “I want you to listen carefully. It’s all just role play. That’s all. Sometimes, really good role play will feel real in the moment. But it’s not real. It just feels like that. You’re allowed to let it feel real, to have moments when it feels real. It’s all right. It’s still just role play. I understand, Sam understands, we all understand. You don’t have to feel bad.”

I nodded.

“Okay.”

“We’re just playing, Kayley. We’re playing right now. It’s all right to let go. This feels real, but it’s not. You and I are just playing.”

“Sometimes,” I bit out, grunting, “when you play, you’re a jerk.”

“I know, I’m feeling my way. I’m learning. I don’t know you and Sam as well as I want to. I make mistakes sometime. I’m sorry.”

I nodded.

“It’s okay.”

“We’re good?”

“We’re good.”

“It’s working for you?” he asked. “Mostly?”

I took a deep breath.

“Yes! It’s working! It’s hot! Can you please please please PLEASE make me come! I’m begging. I just need to come so bad! Can you let me come! Please!”

He made a startled noise, but his hand went hard between my legs, powerful manly strokes, shoving against my clit and lips so hard it was almost like having a cock in me.

“Coming right up!”

“Oh!” I grunted. He pushed harder and harder, my body swinging back and forth.

“OH! OH!” It was hitting, an explosion boiling up between my legs, spreading through me. My lungs seized. White hot bliss shot up my spine. And then it was just whiting out, I was coming so hard it was like a seizure. My bones and muscles turning inside out. My mind went white with energy and intensity. I came and came, screaming with joy.

As it faded, I felt myself going limp and boneless. My face slid into the wall, my arms dropping to my side. Only Leroy grabbing my waist held me up.

“Holy fuck,” I breathed. “Holy fuck!”

“There,” he said, somewhere behind me. “Happy now?”

“Oh yeah!” I agreed.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s get you into the bedroom.”

He half carried me, half walked me, and dumped me, unceremonious and naked on the bed. That was okay, I didn’t have my bones in right at that moment. I rolled over on my back.

Loomed over me, pulling off his shirt, but not his pants. Of course, I thought, he wouldn’t take his pants off because he’d come and his dick was limp. For all his talents and gifts, his insecurities were pretty obvious and strangely immature.

He laid on the bed beside me, pulling my legs apart, and running his hand up my thigh. I let him, he liked being in control and me passive.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he said staring at my pussy. “Really hard. And I’m going to fuck you up the ass, and take that cherry.”

He’d just come, though, and I was pretty sure he’d need time to recover. But... “Okay,” I said.

“No objections?”

Why would he even bother to ask that?

A thought occurred to me.

“Can I ask a question?”

“Yeah,” go ahead.

“I thought you wanted to fuck my ass in front of Sam,” I said. “To cuck him by making him watch while you took my cherry.”

He shrugged.

“First, I love fucking ass. Second, I love popping that particular cherry. Everyone does regular, but that gets saved. That’s enough. I don’t want to share it with some cuck, so I want to do it privately.”

He paused.

“Also, if it goes wrong, or there are problems, or something gets fucked up, it’s just the two of us. If there’s problems, we work it out together, I can take care of it. Take care of you. Once I know it’s smooth, I’ll do it in front of him. He’ll watch me do you perfectly. He won’t know the difference.”

“You’re really into this cherry thing, aren’t you?” I asked. For a fleeting second, I thought about telling him the truth.

He smirked. “Believe it, bitch.”

But he didn't say it in a mean way. Just... eager. Happy with the idea. I decided to play along. Let him think he was plucking a virginity.

I nodded, “Okay.”

His strategy made sense, and in a sort of assholish backdoor way, there was even some form of consideration. I contemplated that for a second, in this weird sexual, emotional, passive receptive place, after a devastating orgasm.

Involuntarily, I shivered with vague delight and a nebulous anticipation. It occurred to me that maybe I should go to the peep show again sometime and suck cock after cock after cock... where had that thought come from? I’d already done that, it was out of my system. I didn’t need to do it again.

I frowned.

Leroy was playing with my pussy, it was vaguely pleasant, but not intense. I needed a moment to recover.

“You’re really into this cuckold thing,” I said. “You say it’s a game, but you’re into it.”

He looked down the bed at me.

“It’s fun,” he said. “All sex is fun. All sex games are fun, if you do them right. But this one, this one is mostly yours and Sam. I’m just playing along.”

“Uh huh,” I said skeptically.

“I didn’t start it,” he said. “You guys did, although you didn’t really know it. That’s where you were going. Both of you. The thing is Sam’s really into it. It’s important to him. He needs it. And I kind of think you’re into it to.”

“I don’t know that Sam’s all that much into it,” I replied carefully.

“He came seven times. No pussy. No blow jobs. No one touching him. Just the power of the idea, of the experience. Hell, he didn’t even have to jerk off watching it, he just came,” he said. “Don’t tell me he’s not into it. I know he is. It’s a guy thing. It’s up here.”

He pointed at his head.

I tilted my head. “Explain it to me,” I challenged him. “We’ve been together for years. You met him last week. How do you know his head better than I do? It’s a guy thing? Explain it so my girl brain understands.”

His face clouded a second. He didn’t like sarcasm. He was oddly thin skinned at times. Insecure? But he stopped and looked thoughtful for a moment, it almost felt like he had it ready.

“Ever play softball?”

“I little, back in high school. Never really got into it.”

“Softball,” he said. “Is a game about losers, and losing. All men’s games are about that. It’s all about the terror of losing. When you play softball, you’re under the gun. You have expectations. You’ve got to hit the ball. That’s the whole thing. Don’t hit the ball, you lose, worse, you’ve let the whole team, everyone down. Three strikes, you’re out.”

I didn't reply, but I thought about that. He must have had really competitive parents. Shitty parents if that's what he got out of it.

“That’s softball - a crucible. You get your turn, you go up and you try. And if you fail, then you’re worthless. You don’t just fail, you fail the whole team, you fail everyone. You didn’t do your part. You fucked up.”

“Unless,” I said. “You hit the ball. And a home run..”

“Of course,” he said. “But no one hits nothing but home runs. Mostly, you swing and you miss. That’s what being a man is: Being a loser. You spend most of your life being a loser. Once in a while, you get lucky. But mostly, you lose, and it eats into you.”

“That’s crazy.”

“That’s being a Man. Men are sold impossible demands, impossible expectations, in every part of their life - commercial, sexual, family. They have to hit the home run all the time, every time, in every way. The minute they swing and miss... they’re a loser.”

He nodded.

“Leading cause of death for men in their forties? Suicide. Leading cause of death fifties and sixties? Heart attacks and strokes, stress related diseases.”

Leroy had stopped playing with my pussy. He’d pulled himself up further onto the bed to look at me.

“We have these impossible expectations, we do our best, but slowly we break. We’re crushed, we’re ground down. It destroys us. But we can’t stop. We can’t ever put the burden down. We have to be winners, we have to hit those home runs, we have to spend the whole of our lives swinging and swinging until we die. We spent our lives in terror of losing, and we spend it losing, labouring under impossible expectations.”

“That’s what our society does to men,” he paused. “The only way out is to choose to lose. Quit. You drop the ball, you throw the game, you chose defeat. Because at least the pressure is off. It gets so bad, that you’d rather lose than keep in the trap. Young men drop out and hide in their mother’s basements, older men kill themselves.”

“And the answer is letting you fuck me in front of him?” I said skeptically.

He was bullshitting me. I knew it. I don’t know, maybe he was saying something real about the male condition. But it was bullshit too.

He shook his head.

“No,” he said. “The answer is to show him that it’s okay to put down the burden. That he’s still okay even if he isn’t hitting that home run every single time. It’s about learning to let go, to not have this crushing weight of expectation, and to not have to be responsible.”

“It’s about setting him free. Not having obligation, just being allowed to experience.”

I thought it over.

“Bullshit,” I said. “Sounds like bullshit.”

But inwardly, I was a lot less sure. Leroy was describing the male rat race, and I’d heard way too many social commentaries and reflections, read way too much about male stress and dysfunction, to just dismiss it.

“Nevertheless,” he said. “That’s how it is.”

“So how does cucking come into it.”

“Sex is just another one of those places of pressure.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I get that. You were saying. But...”

Wait, had I just agreed with him?

“We live with the terror of inadequacy. Our dicks aren’t big enough. We don’t last long enough. We don’t deliver the orgasms every time.”

“Sam’s never had that problem,” I told him. “For that matter, I don’t think you’ve ever had it. Not judging by your performances so far.”

“Even when we are and we do, there’s the terror. Maybe next time we can’t get hard. We can’t get hard fast enough. Even when we’re doing fine, there’s that terror of failure, waiting in the wings.”

“And emasculating him and fucking me in front of him... how does that fit? That just seems...”

“Because he’s trapped in this toxic idea being a man,” Leroy said. “And sooner or later, it will break him. I want to break him out. Breaking him out means breaking the trap, the illusions, the expectations. Taking it all away and making him like having it taken, being free finally.”

“The whole cuckolding thing,” Leroy said, “it’s not meant to be permanent. It’s not a lifestyle, it’s a journey. In the end, he lets go being this illusion of false manhood, lets go the illusion of a cuck, and he’s free.”

I seized on that.

Maybe I wasn’t a man, but I wasn’t entirely persuaded. One thing about men, was that some of them could talk. They could say all the right things and sound perfect, and sometimes it was just bullshit. I’d met guys at university who did the talk perfectly, but all they wanted was to fuck you.

Was Leroy one of those guys? Maybe. Maybe he was just games and bullshit.

Or maybe, it was us? We were the ones who hooked up with him. I could have quit after Derek, or just had more guys, more places. I’d kept going back to him, Sam and I kept hooking up with him.

This was on us.

Sure, he was a stud. But maybe he was right, it was coming from us, and he was just reading us and feeding what was in us right back to us. Sam and I did that all the time, picking up and feeding back to each other. He’d done that with us. He was definitely good enough to do that.

But the idea that this was just a passing thing, some sort of growing or evolving stage, that we’d do it, have fun, or whatever, and eventually move on was reassuring. It suggested that it was us, Sam and I, we were driving subliminally, and we would let it go.

Fuck, I’d come to sort out and maybe wind down this whole cuckold thing I thought he was running on us, and now I was all turned around, and not sure what to think. Except that we were going to do it again, and maybe after that, and now I was recruited?

“So this is just a phase then,” I asked. Phases were annoying things that children went through, that you outlasted. I winced, it sounded so contemptuous and cynical. I was repelled by myself, maybe he was sincerely trying to explain something complicated and genuine in the tragedy of male life, and sort of lighting a pathway, and here I was being a sarcastic bitch.

“Sorry,” I said. “That came out wrong.”

“I’d rather call it a journey,” he said. “An exploration.”

“Where do you get all this,” I asked. “This perspective on masculinity and... everything.”

“I traveled, like I said,” he replied. “There’s different ways to live. It’s a bit of Buddhism. Spent time in Berkeley. I lived on a commune for a while, kind of picked up some old hippy notions.”

He stood up.

“I’m going to take off my pants,” he announced. He dropped them with his back to me. I wondered if he was avoiding displaying his non-hard cock, which would be a bit immature.

Or if he was showing me his ass, which was actually pretty nice. It was round, and masculine and muscular. I could feel tingles in my pussy, a little thrill of excitement, a sensation in my clit. That ass had pumped a hard cock into me, time and time again, and I’d loved it, every single time. He’d absolutely dominated me in every encounter.

He turned around, his flaccid cock and heavy balls swinging, trying not to draw attention to it only made me more aware of it. Leroy was a grower, not a shower. Erect, him and Sam were more or less the same size, but limp Sam had it all over him.

Naked, he climbed across the bed to me, laying on his side, one arm propping up, looking down on me. Nothing was ever casual, every move was choreographed for domination. There was something exciting about his relentlessness. I laid there flat on my back, looking up, waiting for his next move. He grabbed my chin and kissed me. As I melted under his kiss, his hand released my jaw and slid down across my body. My legs spread willingly even before he reached me down there.

“I don’t buy it,” I whispered, when the kiss broke.

“I think you do,” he said. “You buy it because you know it’s true. Because as fucked up as it is, deep down you know it. But it doesn’t matter whether you buy it.”

His head hovered over me, looking down. I waited for the next kiss. It was his game.

“Why is that?” I asked.

“Because you’ll do it for me,” he said, “and you’ll do it for him.”

The next kiss was light, teasing.

“What will I do?” I looked up at him.

Kiss. Longer lingering, fingers slid across my clit, wetness trickled down, one knee pulled up.

“Just what you did before. Be extra loud for me, extra-talkier, exaggerate your response for me, openly, overtly submissive to me, obedient in your role,” he said.

Even that first time, in the bar, just talking, he’d taken control, had been bold, fearless and openly sexual. I hadn’t been able to handle him, he’d handled me. I’d been unstrung, gone scurrying off to talk to Sam. But it was already too late, he’d already won, already completely dominated me, and submitting to his cock, was a forgone conclusion. When I’d come back, we both knew he was going to fuck me.

In hindsight, it felt right that he’d come in me, he’d owned me using his cock, inseminating me, making me carry his semen in my body was a powerful gesture, full of deep meaning as to our respective roles. I’d understood that on some level, that in ejaculating inside me, he had mastered me, reduced my body to a vessel for his sperm. There was something... profound in his doing that, and in my body’s acceptance of it.

“I will do that,” I agreed. “I will do what you tell me.”

He rewarded me with a kiss, and down below a finger drew a line up between my lips, parting them, dipping ever so slightly inside, during its journey. I gasped.

He was toying with me. He could make me come, he just didn’t intend to, not yet. I accepted it, it felt right, him in control. Oddly, it even felt right that I hadn’t reached orgasm that first time. It wasn’t about my pleasure or satisfaction. It was about his domination, about him taking his pleasure of me and laying his seed, making my body his. An orgasm would have made it about my satisfaction, denial of orgasm made it about my submission.

“As for Sam,” he said, “quieter, colder, less responsive. So he can tell the difference, so he can feel it. I liked how you were last time. That... maybe a little harsher.”

Harsher? I’d practically laid there in an exhausted coma.

And after that first time, even without an orgasm, I’d come crawling back to him each time, submitted instinctively, each time he’d claimed my body and I’d done whatever he wanted.

A thought occurred to me, he’d made me come every time since the first time. Had not making me come the first time been a deliberate decision by him? Had he deliberately defined me, established his power and my surrender all the way back then, from our first encounter.

“I won’t emasculate him for you,” I said. His fingers lifted, my hips rose to follow, but he denied me. I whimpered involuntarily.

Despite my lust, I kept following the idea. Maybe not making me come the first time was a strategy, just like his coming inside me might have been.

Had his possibly deliberate denial created the lust that made me submit to him? If I’d come that first time, would I have needed to come back? Would I have drawn back. Was that what had addicted me to him? Had he deliberately addicted me to his domination that very first encounter?

“I’m not asking you to emasculate him,” he told me. “Just be... a little harsher, just a little bit crueler in role play. I’ll ease off, I promise, but you have to dial up. You know him better, what works, what he can handle, when to let him breathe... He’s safer with you. Remember.”

I thought back our earlier encounter. Fuck, I’d figured my chances were fifty fifty at getting out of here without having to have sex with him. I’d been a fool, lying to myself. They’d been zero all along.

The minute I’d walked through the door, he’d run rings around me, carefully unstringing me until I was practically begging to get on my knees and suck his cock, and absolutely getting off. He’d turned me into a begging, whimpering, quivering sex toy without any effort at all.

And now... lying on my back, waiting for him, having surrendered my body and surrendered my initiative.

“All right,” I said. “Yes.”

He smiled. His hand settled like a great moth over my pussy, the heel of his palm fluttering against my clit, a finger slipped inside. I gasped.

“You’re so wet!” he told me.

“You see,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt him, or for you to hurt him. I only want to take away his manhood. You will help me.”

It wasn’t a request, it wasn’t even a command. It was an imperative. I was aware that some rational part of me should be saying something like ‘What the living hell? That is so fucked up!’

But for whatever reason, it was completely still. I could conceive it in the abstract. But it was weightless of no intellectual or emotional significance. It was like being told the mass of some random star on the other side of the universe. Okay, it’s true, so what? Emotionally, intellectually, I could only accept it. It felt so cruel. But it also felt so very right.

“Yes,” I surrendered, some part of me quavering. Part of me wanted to play act for him, be his bitch in heat.

Part of me hungered to crush, to feel and use power. Part of me desperately told itself that this was right.

And part of me knew Sam was into it, deep into it. As long as it didn’t harm him. If he was into being cucked, wasn’t it all just fine? I could fuck Leroy in front of him, submit and dominate at once and he could jerk off.

Why not?

What was wrong with that?

What the fuck was wrong with me? A teeny, tiny voice inside me whispered. But my pussy was drenched and clenching and I was moaning, and so fucking horny. I didn’t want to pay attention to it.

“It will all work out,” he promised. “We’re helping him.”

He kissed me passionately, his fingers slipping up deep, moving quickly. I gasped and gasped again. He took me right to the edge of orgasm, to the point where my spine was arching, my shoulders lifting. But again, he didn’t let me go over.

Now I was lying naked in his bed, as he undressed, intent on fucking me, fucking my ass, and I couldn’t imagine not doing it. The idea of not taking his cock seemed unthinkable, almost unnatural. Here I was, there was no other path. And I wanted it.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

Was it me?

Or was it him? I didn’t give a shit.

“You bastard,” I whispered. “You are so good at making me do what you want.”

He smiled, amused.

“No,” he said. “I’m good at making you want what I do.”

At those words, my body seemed to convulse. It wasn’t an orgasm, not really. It was like a shock, there was something so true, so dark and deep, so utterly revealing that I my body couldn’t help but react as if to a blow or a surprise. He makes me want what he does, oh god, that was so much deeper, so much more terrifying than simply submitting, or wanting to submit. I drew a great heaving breath.

“Wow,” I gasped. “What a way to put it.”

“But it’s true,” he said, “and you know what it means.”

“Yes,” I whispered, looking up at him. I thought I’d surrendered to him, but now it was as if I’d fallen deeper.

“What do you want now?” he asked.

I licked my lips, knowing exactly what he wanted me to say, and needing to say it.

“I want you to fuck me up the ass,” I whispered, “now, privately, just the two of us. I want you to take my cherry. I want Sam to watch your sloppy seconds, and think he’s seeing the real thing. Because he’s a cuck, and he doesn’t deserve any better. He’ll watch and think he’s seeing you take my cherry, seeing how good you are, how much I love it when you do. He’ll know how much better you are than him, again.”

Leroy was as transparent as a pane of glass, I knew exactly what he wanted and why he wanted. He was so simple and obvious. The dark thing was, he made me want it too.

He grinned, he had this gloating, triumphant grin, a grin that he only wore when he knew he’d won completely, and more importantly, his opponent had lost totally. I hated that grin, and loved it, and when he wore it, my pussy drenched and I would do anything he told me.

“What else?”

I reached down, feeling my way along his body, until my hand wrapped around his cock. It was no longer flaccid, not hard by any means, but thick and full. On some level, I knew that fucking with my head excited him, that winning a mental duel was a turn on. Almost as much as losing a battle of wills was a turn on for me.

“I want to suck your cock until it’s rock hard,” I whispered. “So you can fuck my ass without a drop of mercy, so you can make it yours beyond any doubt, own it, the way you own the rest of me.”

Again, that gloating grin.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

I lifted up, and he held in place, allowing me to kiss him. I turned and crawled, wiggled down on the bed working between his legs, while he pulled himself up, propping himself so he could watch.

I grinned. I just accepted he was going to fuck me however he wanted, that I would let him, and that I would love it. At least physically, I would love it. Hell, I craved whatever he wanted to do, at least in the moment. Thinking was so overrated. I didn’t want to think.

Again, that teeny voice in the back of my mind warned me. I ignored it.

Soon I was laying between his spread thighs, my forearms folded under me.

I leaned forward, and licked his not quite limp cock, pushing it with my tongue, then I looked up at him, expectantly.

“Go for it.”

Eyes wide and shining, mouth wider, tongue sticking out as far as I could, I crept up on my prey was Leroy watched. The cock, heavy but still limp, the crown curving and slightly moist, rested passively atop his close cut scrotum, surrounded by artfully trimmed pubic hair.

Was that a twitch? I paused, staring, waiting to see if would move again on its own.

Then I pounced! My head darted forward quick as a cat, my tongue dabbed the head, slid around and under. Lifting it on my tongue, my head dived, and I swallowed his cock in one lunge all the way down to its base. My chin nestled in his scrotum, my lips pursed and stretched forward, I lifted my eyes up to him, playful and wicked. As he watched, I vibrated my tongue on the underside of his shaft and felt him throb slowly in response.

His gaze was carefully neutral, possessive, but reserved. It was a little disappointing, I let my eyes drop, focusing on the object of my worship, erecting the instrument of my ruin. His cock filled my mouth, stretched my jaw, and occupied me in a way that he didn’t when hard.

There was something exciting to me about sucking a cock that isn’t hard. Something satisfying, compelling. It’s like a different organ altogether, complete in itself, self contained. A hard cock is full of urgency and desire, of will and intention. It needs, it wants.

But when it’s not hard, there’s a different quality, it’s confident. That heavy shaft, the bold head is there, confident, it doesn’t need, it doesn’t desire, it simply exists, neither wanting nor needing. It’s pliable, you can bend it, squeeze it, it accommodates without fundamentally changing. In it’s own way, it’s fascinating. There’s a submission to serving it that slipped down to my core, to worship an object that does not care, that is indifferent... At first.

Sam was always enthralled to wake up with my mouth on his cock. But the truth was, I just wanted to commune with it, to have time with it, with him in my mouth, before the inevitability of his erection or his consciousness, one invariably pulling the other around. Before Sam, I’d barely been interested in them. But it was as if he had woken me, being in love had opened new worlds.

And now... with Derek, with Leroy, with all those erections in the walls of the peep show, they’d made me into a wanton cock sucking whore, eager to wrap her lips around any tool. I closed my eyes and imagined being back in the peep show. Naked this time. Kneeling, Blindfolded. Handcuffed. The door unlocked this time. A strange anonymous phallus sliding between my lips. Would it be hard and rough, hands pulling at my hair. Or gentle. Or simply presenting for my worship. I imagined my mouth flooding with semen, feeling it soften, retreat, and another taking its place.

I dreamed of being helpless, reduced to an object, sucking cock after cock, swallowing one ejaculation after another, my throat working constantly, my lips, my tongue in motion, my identity drifting away.

And after the hard ones, the returners, thick and heavy, but soft, demanding submission and service, teased and worshiped into erections, now hard and demanding.

I fucked my face slowly around Leroy’s cock, exploring it with my tongue, memorizing the shape in my mouth as it grew, no longer bending but slowly insisting on its own shape, taking on rigidity and firmness. My motion, the movement of my tongue and lips were reshaped as his cock shaped itself in my mouth, the pressure settling into rhythm, the tongue finding its path.

This was the other satisfaction of sucking a flaccid cock, feeling it respond to me. Feeling it wake, and pulse, swell and stiffen, come alive. There was something like control there, but also submission, the pleasure of a god waking to its worship.

“You are such a good cock sucker,” he said. “You love it, don’t you. You can always tell a girl who loves it.”

I rolled my eyes in pleasure, slowly dragging my head up and down his growing erection. There was no more teasing or play, only slow submission and surrender. Only fulfillment. I reached between my legs with one hand, feeling the weight of my body on my arm, as my fingers crept against my pussy. I humped myself slowly.

Leroy watched, my hips rise and fall, the pattern matching the bobbing of my head. He reached down, seizing my hair above my forehead, yanking me up and down on his swelling erection. He wasn’t rough, just controlling, I settled on the new pace and his grip eased, but did not release. My pelvic humping followed suit. He smiled, enjoying my submission and willing humiliation. I enjoyed my humiliation, a mindless, wanton slut air-humping to his cock’s thrusts between my lips.

“I might have to piss,” he said. “You’ll swallow, won’t you.”

For a moment, I froze, eyes widening, and he had to push my head down to restore my rhythm.

“Just kidding,” he laughed.

I felt my body flush hot. Was it just a joke, or the hint of some further perversion in my future? ‘I make you want what I do to you,” he’d said. Could he make me want that... Was that in my future? Would he do that to me? My pussy clenched wetly.

If it happened, I hope he would do it on his own impulse, and save me the indignity of having to ask for it.

I pushed the thought from my mind, pressed my lips tight around his shaft, slid down until I could feel him pressing the back of my throat, then lifted until only his head remained between my jaws. I kissed it passionately with my tongue.

“I think you’re ready,” he said, lifting my head off his cock. He did not release my hair. Instead, he maintained his grip, moving us both. At first, I tried to assume a submissive posture on all fours, ass up, but instead, he turned me until I was on my back, a pillow under my ass.

“Legs back,” he tapped my foot. “Pull your knees all the way up, up to your shoulders, bend them so your calves are flat, straighten your feet so your toes are pointed. Wrap your arms around them to hold them in place....”

I complied, moving as he directed me. “Spread wide. Wider... Perfect...”

He knelt, looming above me, looking down directly, his rigid cock resting against my lips. My ass and vagina were totally open to him. I gulped. My only lubrication was my own spit, if he shoved it in my ass, it would hurt.

“Jesus,” he said, staring down. “You’re fucking perfect. So submissive. So compliant. The only thing that could make you more perfect would be leather straps, holding you in place like this, trussed like a turkey. You’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

My heart was racing. Whatever was going to happen, however it was going to happen, it was going to be soon. I was terrified, but wild with eagerness.

“Yes.”

“Of course,” he said. “But for this, for your first time, your cherry plucking, I want it to be completely voluntary, no restraints at all, completely free to move, to run away, to change your mind, to say no... Except you won’t. Will you.”

“No.”

His cock, resting at the entrance to my vagina, slipped inside a couple of inches. He glanced down, and then ignored it.

“Tell me you want it,” he said.

“I want it,” I wasn’t lying. The whole visit had built up to this, I hungered for it.

“Tell me you want to give me your cherry,” he demanded.

“I want you to have it.” I licked my lips. “I want you to fuck my ass, to deflower me, to take me.”

“Do you want to know why I want you in this position?” he asked.

“You want to see my face, you want to look in my eyes, as you enter.”

His smile flickered. Even in my haze of lust and submission I could see the cruel joy in him.

“It’s going to hurt a little,” he said. “First times, it should hurt, so you appreciate it.”

He wanted to see the pain.

“I don’t care,” I whispered. “I want what you are going to do.”

And the fucked thing was I craved it. However he did it, however he wanted to do it. I wanted it, I needed it. I needed to be his slave, I needed to be claimed, to be property, to be his object. My cunt was so wet I barely felt his cock. My heart was racing, my mind was swimming, my pussy was lubricating nonstop.

He pulled his cock out of my pussy and teased it against my asshole.

Then he bent forward, almost on top of me, and pulled a small bottle of lubricant out from under a pillow. Had it been there all along. Part of me breathed a sigh of relief, at least it would be easier.

Some masochistic part of me curdled in disappointment, it wanted to be taken dry, or nearly so, forced open beyond any doubt, plundered utterly. I knew myself well enough, though, that the minute it really hurt, that part would curl up on itself and run away screaming.

He held the bottle high between us, letting lubricant pour down in a thin stream all over my pussy and inner thighs and ass. I could feel the cool trickles of the fluid working their way down in rivulets. He caught some in his hands and lubricated his cock. Then he spread it around my ass and asshole. I felt his finger penetrating me.

“You know,” he told me, “some girls, some boys, it’s no problem at all. They don’t even need lubrication, you can just shove it in, they take it, and they love it, as if they were made for it. As if they were waiting for it all their lives: For a cock fucking their ass.”

He slid a second finger in me, working two fingers back and forth.

“Then there’s some,” he said, “it doesn’t fucking matter, you can work on them all week. Rim them, lubricate, stretch them carefully with butt plugs, get the, stoned on weed or heroin, doesn’t fucking matter. They scream like pigs. It’s a continuum, from easy to horrible.”

Involuntarily, I shivered all over with delight and arousal.

Heroin? Screaming? Somewhere deep down, an alarm went off in my head at his words.

I quashed it and forgot about it.

I shifted position, my body shuddering. I couldn’t be still.

“Watch it,” he warned. “I’d rather not. But I will put you in straps.”

Which only made me shudder harder, my whole body shaking. I tightened my grip on my ankles. Fuck, he was so good at head games, it was unreal.

“I’m sorry, Sir!”

“Are you excited,” he whispered, pushing a third finger up my ass, and twisting it crudely. “Is that it?”

“Yes.”

He grinned.

“Good girl,” he told me. His fingers pulled away. He wiped a small shit smear on the outside of my thigh.

Leroy positioned his cock at my anus, settling in. I could feel him pressing gently, making sure he was seated.

“Ready?”

I nodded slightly, nervously. Staring up at me. There was a sadistic glee in his eyes that sent shivers through me. I tried my best to hold still.

“This is so exciting,” he said. “We get to find out what kind of anal pig you are. Where you fit on the continuum.”

He pressed. I gasped, and tightened against his pressure at my asshole. He pushed harder.

“Better you don’t try to fight it.” He grinned down at me. “Try to loosen, take deep breaths, concentrate on tightening, and letting go.”

The pressure was building, hurting a little. I took a series of deep breaths, in then out, each time, concentrating. I could feel myself tightening and loosening. His pressure, the pressure of his cock head against my asshole never let up, building slowly but steadily. Sam would have chosen his moment, easing off in tandem, testing, entering. Leroy was a bulldozer.

I exhaled, loosened, and suddenly Leroy pushed hard.

“Ahhh!!!” I cried out in pain, wincing and throwing my head back, as the head of his cock tore into me. My body tightened up, trapping him momentarily, with his head buried, locked in my sphincter. I was hyperventilating.

“Good girl,” he taunted. “Little pig, little pig, let me in.”

“Yes Sir,” I whimpered.

“Try to relax,” he told me. “Deep breaths. Concentrate on tightening, I’m not going anywhere. You can’t push me out. So tighten up, and then concentrate on letting go.”

I nodded. Gods, I was already drenched in sweat.

My thighs ached from being locked in position, and it felt like he’s lodged a greyhound bus in my sphincter.

It was the exact opposite of the way Sam did it. No wonder it hurt.

Adrenalin was coursing through me. My whole body was tingling, like I was on the verge of orgasm. I was terrified, elated, excited, aroused. Held in place, bound by my own submission, my body seemed ready to burst.

I had no control over my sphincter, it squeezed frantically, wrapping itself around the intruder, flexing and flexing, loosening only slightly, rapidly exhausting itself. He pushed again, forcing himself an inch or two.

“Ahhh!!” I tried out again, my breath left me, I sucked air desperately. “Uhhngg!!”

“There we go,” he exulted. “Can you feel it? I’m through. Your last fortress has fallen, your final gate is breached. You stupid little bitch, needing to be conquered. How does it feel, to finally be conquered? To be taken, to give up it up?”

His words swept through me, unraveling me. My mind was chaos, I was almost unable to speak. I felt hot and cold, euphoric, dizzy, disoriented. I had something massive in me, and my body had failed utterly, had fallen.

“T- T- Thank -k -k -k y- yo you,” I stuttered, staring up at him.

He grinned down at me.

“You’re welcome,” he said, and then he pushed. He was past the sphincter, no further resistance was possible. I could only squeeze him as his cock slid slowly, smoothly all the way in, until his hips were jammed against me, his pubic hair pressed against my despoiled asshole.

I could feel his cock, hot and hard, so deep inside me it was almost unbearable.

“You feel so good,” he whispered to me. “You are grade A ass. I can’t wait to do this to you in front of Sam. Then I’m going to fuck this ass every chance I get.”

He pulled back slowly, and plunged back in, enjoying. I felt the first hot throb of pleasure at this second deep penetration, feeling his cock pushing at the nerve clusters beyond my colon that made up my g-spot. He caught my shift of expression.

“Oh,” he said silkily, “you liked that? Let’s work on that...”

He slid all the way deep inside, bringing a gasp from me, bending down heavily over me. I think he wanted to kiss me, but he was only able to brush his lips against my forehead.

“Let’s see about turning our little Kayley into a proper anal pig,” he smiled. “Wouldn’t it be something, if Sam didn’t just watch me pluck your cherry, but watch me make you come... and harder than he ever did”

“Jesus Christ,” I moaned, blearily. The sensations rippled through me with each thrust. The soreness of my violation was still there, a burning sensation. But each thrust unspooled me further, pushing me towards both submission and the deep slow orgasms that come from anal sex.

Leroy fucked, slow and relentless, watching me go to pieces under him. With each thrust, I could feel my body submitting, my sphincter battered and defeated, loosening until he was pulling all the way out and sliding back in. My grip on one thigh loosed, and he caught it and held it in place. My muscles seemed to turn to trembling water. I panted and gasped, eyes only half seeing him. Sweat beaded and ran like rivulets across my body. He bent and licked it from my face, toyed with my breasts, pulled my nipples.

Through it all, I found myself descending deeper and deeper into submission, to this subspace, my mind shutting down, becoming a thing of nerve endings, of compliance, my will, my identity softening, dissolving.

“We’re going to cuckold Sam good, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” I moaned. I barely knew who Sam was, and didn’t care. I understood what he wanted, and wanted it as well, my will, my thoughts replaced. He slowed down, his angle changed, the irresistible pleasure diminished.

“Tell me about Sam,” he whispered.

Oh fuck, he was doing this now? Playing this stupid game? I squirmed with frustration, tried to move, but he had me pinned. I moaned. He gave me a deep stroke, and I felt hot pleasure ripple through me. I needed more.

“Sam?”

I met his eyes.

“Fuck Sam,” I whispered, unwilling to talk about it. He smiled, his cock sliding. Oh you bastard, I thought, this is what you want. I fed him. “He can go fuck himself.”

Another exquisite long deep thrust of his cock, sliding its length into my ass, filling my bowels. I groaned.

“You’re going to help me?” he asked. “You’ll do your part?”

His cock stopped moving inside me. There was a lucid moment in the distorted framework of my broken awareness.

I looked at him, it was like looking up from the bottom of a well and seeing stars. We both knew what he wanted me to say. I looked up into his eyes as he stared down at my naked, sweating impaled body. I gave him what he wanted.

“I’ll crush Sam for you,” I whispered, “like a little cuck bug.”

I knew it was a betrayal, but I didn’t care. Sam was vague and far away, insubstantial. Leroy was on top of me, had unstrung me, undressed me, had taken my body and will and made them his toys. He had driven his cock deep into my ass, and was pushing me to an orgasm I desperately hungered for, but knew he could easily deny if I displeased him.

“Good little pig,” he whispered. He bent me in half, his cock sliding so smooth and hard inside my rectum I was breathless. He kissed me passionately as sweat trickled off my body, and I returned it, utterly submissive, beyond submissive, owned.

He was thrusting harder, smooth strokes coming one after another. I could feel it building up inside me, a deep anal orgasm. Then it was happening, my spine arched and flexed, my arms and legs writhed, I gave this deep low moan. Then collapsed.

There was no trace of resistance anywhere. He fucked me for a few more minutes before coming himself. I was almost too exhausted to pay attention.

Leroy held himself deep in me, evacuating every last drop of semen into my bowels. I could feel his pulse in his cock as it steadily deflated, until finally, my battered body weakly pushed him out. He rolled over on his back, and pulled me into his arms. We laid there panting.

“Good little pig,” he whispered.

“Pig?” I mumbled. “What’s with that?”

“Pigs,” he said. “Pigs take it up the ass and like it...”

He thought for a moment.

“Or whether they don’t like it, they still take it...”

“Girls are pigs if they do anal?” I asked.

He shrugged.

“Or boys. There are girl pigs, I guess, boy pigs. The point is, pigs take it.”

“That’s strange,” I said, “where did you pick that up?”

Shrugged again.

“Prison,” he said. “Prison terminology, I guess.”

I tensed.

“You were in prison?”

“Me?” he said quickly. “No! I just used to hang with some guys who’d been. Picked up the slang.”

He nudged me.

“Time to clean me up,” he said. He caught the look on my face. “No, don’t worry. Go to the bathroom, get a wet washcloth. After you use that, you use your mouth.”

I did as ordered, cleaning myself and him. I think he was disappointed at the absence of blood from the washcloth. I felt really tender, but okay. I sucked his cock but this time it was thoroughly flattened, there would be no raising up to life.

After that, it was over. Moving carefully, I took a shower and cleaned up while he watched.

He walked me to the door, but then instead of opening it, he pushed me up against it, and kissed me passionately. His hands went up inside my sweater to fondle my bare breasts. I went with the kiss, surrendering to it, enjoying the intimacy. It was fucked up that he’d waited to the end, but damn, he knew how to kiss.

“Listen,” he said, “I don’t want you talking about this with Sam. I don’t want him to know that you were here and I popped you. I want him to believe that he’s watching me take your anal virginity.”

“Yeah, I understand,” I said tiredly. “Okay.”

It made sense, and I couldn’t see the harm. This was all theatre and role play after all. I knew this was his first run, so yes, Sam shouldn’t know about it. It would happen in front of Sam anyway.

“Did you tell him you were coming here today?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “I was going to when I got home. We’d talked about me coming over.”

“Let’s keep it vanilla. He doesn’t need to know about any part of this visit. Let’s just say we met for coffee someplace. Let him know, you’re up for the next session, this Thursday. Tell him no overnight, tell him that’s your decision. We had a conversation, I was respectful, you set some rules, and I agreed. That’s all he needs to know.”

I hesitated.

“I don’t know...”

“You’re not lying to him,” Leroy said. “He already knows I’ve fucked you a bunch of times. Hell, he’s helped me fuck you. Just don’t tell him about this one.”

His hand was on my shoulder. He was looking me straight in the eye, his gaze intent. It was hard to meet it.

“All right.”

It was too complicated and awkward, even if he didn’t mind the blow job and anal, and I knew Sam wouldn’t... he’s not jealous. The anal was theatre, I couldn’t really tell him that, or it would spoil Leroy’s effect. I’d have to say it was just sex. But the other parts, the discussions, the role adjustment, Leroy’s bizarre theories... even if they made sense, I couldn’t imaging them coming out of my mouth.

I realized I had no good way to explain or relate this visit. It was better to just give him the story Leroy wanted, and to let things slide.

It would work out in the end, like Leroy said. So there was no harm.

“Promise?”

“Yes,” I said. I gave up. “I promise.”

My promise was actually a relief. This whole thing had been so fucked up, I had been struggling with myself to figure out how to tell it to Sam. How to explain everything that had happened, when on some deep levels, I didn’t even understand it myself.

This gave me breathing room to figure out what the hell was going on in my head and what the hell I was doing, so I could have some hope of sharing it with Sam. It wasn’t lying to him, just sort of delaying, putting off a difficult conversation.

It was very clearly temporary. I mean, only until after Leroy took me anally in front of Sam. So a week or so. Then we’d all be clear, and my head would be straight.

And my head definitely needed to be straight. Sam’s too.

We needed to have a really serious conversation about Leroy and where he was going with us. We needed to take back control.

Because yes, he was charming and fun and exciting, and he had a great cock and all that. But fuck, there were aspects of him that I wasn’t sure I wanted in our life. And if it was a package deal, then maybe we needed to ‘return to sender’ and move on.

Leroy wasn’t finished.

“Some rules,” he said.

“Yes?”

Oh, what is it now? Geez.

“You never wear underwear, especially panties, around me again.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Another time, that might have been exciting. But it just sounded tiresome.

“From now on,” he said, “you’re mine. Whenever I want you, if I call, you come. If it’s the middle of the night and you’re sleeping next to Sam, you come when I call. If you’re at work, in the middle of a meeting, and I call, you say whatever you have to but you walk out and you come to me. Family dinner at Christmas... If I call–”

“I walk out and go to you,” I finished lamely.

Fuck that, I thought. I was too exhausted and worn down to resist. But screw him for making this demand, for exacting these promises when I was so wrung out. I wasn’t going to, I decided, no walking out on Sam, or work or social life to cater to him. He could demand, but when it came up...

“Good girl,” he said. And it was finally over, the door closed behind me.

My legs were shaky. I felt physically and emotionally wrung out. Flattened and exhausted. I felt sexually overwhelmed, but oddly still craving. My head was messed up, a morass of conflicting ideas and images and urges.

As I stood in the elevator waiting for ground floor, then walked unsteadily out of the building, I realized I was in no shape to go back home, or to see Sam. Not right away.

I needed to decompress, to find some quiet, dark place to hole up, to let the experience wash through me, and just unwind. A place to come to terms with all this dark sexual energy flowing through me.

I thought of the peep show...