Just Do It! Pt. 01

This 20,000 words story will be posted in three parts over the next few days. Those who would prefer to binge-read the complete tale may choose to postpone starting it until the third part has been posted. It's a work of fiction but is based on a real person I used to know. Trigger warning: there is a fetish known as forced-bi where a straight person (usually a submissive male) is 'forced' to perform a homosexual act with somebody of the same sex. It's a staple of cuckold fiction. However, a lesser known fetish is forced-straight, where a gay person is similarly 'made' to have hetero-sex. If such a kink might offend you, please read something else. This story is dedicated to Nikki.

PART ONE

1. THIS EVENING

I can tell the guy's about to cum in my mouth.

I recognise the signs. I may be lesbian but I've sucked off enough cocks by now that I'm well aware what those tell-tale nasal snorts and twitching hips mean. You don't have to know a particular person to be familiar with what any old trouser-snake feels like, throbbing in your mouth, banging against your palate, when it's about to spit its venom down your throat.

I know the moment's close. Even though he's a complete stranger, we've only just met and I've never even spoken one single word to him, yes, I can recognise that his orgasm's close.

So, it's time to raise my face buried within his thick clump of pubic hair and look up admiringly into his lust-filled eyes, exactly as I've been taught to do.

As I remove my own eyes from his hairy thighs, I'm now able to see my pregnant girlfriend too, in my peripheral vision. She's to my left, studying my performance, her belly swollen, a slight smirk on her face.

Next, I twitch my eyes sideways, to my right. And now I can see my fiancé. He's kneeling, watching closely, his gaze glued like hers to this sleazy scene.

That's right. It's hard to wrap your head around, isn't it? I'm properly gay. Not even bi. I'm lesbian. Yet here's some anonymous dude about to blast his pungent semen down my throat, while the woman I love, and the man I'm engaged to, both watch closely.

And - not for the first time - I ask myself ...

How the fuck did it ever come to this?

2. SEVEN AND A HALF YEARS AGO

To understand, I have to take you back over seven years to my first few weeks at college, sharing with Stella. To say I was obsessed with Stella would be an understatement. I lusted after her, worshipped her, and fell helplessly in love with her.

My allocated roommate epitomised everything I'd always longed to be. She was effortlessly cool, stylishly chic, clever and popular, funny and pretty. Guys chased after her like a pack of lovestruck dogs all sniffing after a bitch on heat. Meanwhile, Girls were all desperate to be her friend. Or more. Because, as it turned out, Stella was bisexual.

She relished the best of both worlds.

It also turned out that she was a manipulative and dominant bitch. But that only made her even more attractive to me. I willingly became her servant. In fact, I encouraged her. She was a shark and I was but a trail of dripping blood in the water.

At first it was 'apartment-stuff'; I did all our dishes, picked up her clothes, washed and ironed everything, made her bed and tidied her room each morning. That quickly evolved onto more 'personal stuff'; I ran errands for her, bought her things, massaged her body and pedicured her perfect feet.

And, soon enough, it became 'sexual-stuff' too; those massages turned intimate, with happy endings for her, not for me. I was a willing student. She gradually turned my cunnilingus into an artform. Sometimes I knelt at her feet or hunkered between her legs. Other times she rode my face. She taught me how to worship her bottom exactly as she liked it. And she spiced things up with spankings, bondage and humiliations that steadily evolved into degradations.

I loved every second. Well, mostly. I did whatever she asked, usually willingly. Of course, deep down I knew that our relationship was a selfish one-way street. My love for Stella was pure. But for her, I was just a game. A toy. She never reciprocated sexually. I'd lick her pussy without receiving any reward. After a while she started insisting that I could only orgasm with her prior permission.

"Now-now, Nicole," she'd scold me, if my fingers wandered while I was pleasuring her, "don't play with yourself. Too many orgasms are bad for a slut like you."

Worst of all was the inequality regarding our seeing other people. Even socially. I had to remain 100percent loyal to Stella. Over the weeks, I'd slowly managed to develop a small group of casual friends, my own circle of oddballs and misfits. Nice but uncool.

However, I was only allowed to see them in the evening or at weekends, and only with Stella's prior consent. I had to ask her if it was okay to meet someone for a coffee, tell her where, and how long I'd be. Sometimes she said no. Meanwhile, not only did Stella socialise with her own large collection of popular, sporty, fashionable friends, she started dating freely too.

She was tall, leggy, with classically beautiful features. She had green eyes that lured you in, sculpted cheekbones and a toothpaste advert smile. Her skin was like peaches and her hair was naturally blonde but she changed it often, sometimes citron-yellow and other times dyed the colour of dark honey or even Goth-black. She wore it long in a ponytail and would then suddenly turn up with it cut short and chic. Naked, her breasts were much larger than you'd expect. Not huge, but a perfect, gravity-defying handful.

And what of me? Well I was far from ugly back then. But I certainly wasn't Stella. At 5' 6", I'm several inches shorter than her, more curvaceous, with a roundish face that some people might describe as 'girl next door' looks. My hair's mousey brunette with a tendency to frizz in humidity. My own boobs are actually smaller than one would expect given my rounded figure. I'd always bought myself C-cup bras but would never quite fill them properly.

Her first couple of boyfriends remained oblivious to Stella's relationship with me. She demanded my discretion. I had to be welcoming to her dates, laugh at their jokes, then disappear to my room to read quietly and do homework. No TV or music. The next morning I'd casually make coffee and even prepare breakfast for the three of us.

But after they'd left, Stella would beckon me over to eat her out. She told me the guys were useless and they hadn't made her cum, even though I'd heard her crying out loudly, apparently in orgasm, overnight and again in the morning. She flattered me, told me that I was much better at giving head than any boy was.

She used condoms on those first few dates. But then she started doing it what she called 'bareback'. I'd never heard the term before. She wasn't interested when I told her I was only attracted to girls and I'd never once been with a boy or tasted semen. She'd sprawl on our sofa and spread her knees and order me to clean up her fetid, overflowing pussy.

Then came Jed, her third boyfriend, during that hot Spring of 2016. One morning, I'd made them both breakfast and he just blurted it out.

"So, Nicole, you're Stella's bitch, huh?"

I was more embarrassed than annoyed. I just blushed and nodded.

"Let's see you go down on her."

Jed was a strapping guy, on the sports teams. He was physically imposing. In fact, he was almost as cool and popular as Stella.

"Go on." She snapped, spreading herself on the sofa. "Show him."

She was full of the largest and freshest load of semen. It was incredibly white and thick, dripping down the insides of her pale thighs, down into her dark anal crevice, oozing between her glistening, gaping and inflamed labia.

"Please ... no ... "

I whimpered, but of course I'm not sure if I meant it or not. I was becoming addicted to this kind of treatment.

"Just do it!"

And so, I obeyed. I knelt and kissed, licked and sucked, slurped and gulped at the slugs of cum until she was spotless and shiny pink. Jed squatted alongside Stella's hip and grinned at me while I completed the task.

"Next time I'll feed you straight from the tap, Nike." He winked.

None of us knew it then but, at that very moment, it turned out Jed had bestowed upon me the nickname that's stuck with me until today. Nike. Not even Stella gave it to me. A college boyfriend of hers named me! He turned my name Nicole into Nike. He pronounced it 'Nikey', like the sports brand.

And the company's advertising tagline -- 'Just Do it' -- was to become my own slogan.

Stella just laughed. She actually seemed to like the idea of her boyfriend putting his disgusting thing in my mouth.

Sure enough, on the following Saturday a few days later, they returned noisily from some party at 2 a.m. I was already asleep in my own bed.

"Wake up, Nike!"

They barged into my room and jumped onto my single bed. One of them turned on the lamp. They both smelt of sweat and alcohol. Stella pulled back the covers.

"Time to taste your first cock."

"No ... please ... get ... off ..."

My attempts were genuine but half-hearted. Her green eyes stared at me like a cat contemplating a mouse.

"Nike, you know that you WANT to do everything I say." She snapped. "However, if I'm wrong and you don't, just say so and you and I will never speak again. Plus, I'll request a room move."

I looked at her. Then I glanced at Jed who was already thumbing his waistband.

"I ... I don't know ... how ..."

Stella smiled, apparently pleased with me. "Don't worry, Nike. We'll teach you. Jed has a lovely fat cock. You already know his jizz is delicious. You just have to do a bit of work to get it out for yourself."

"Is ... isn't he ... your boyfriend?"

She laughed. "Yes. And you're my girlfriend. So, I think it's only right that we all share. Let's have our first little threesome."

Honestly, I don't remember much of what followed. I blanked my mind. I found a man's genitals just as I knew I would. Unsightly. Smelly. Itchy. He was hairy and clammy. His skin and sweat smelt of beer and traces of urine. His erection was veined and knotted and even larger than I imagined one would be.

"Suck it." Stella ordered.

"Mmm." Jed moaned.

"Like a lollipop ... just effing do it!"

I do remember her saying those words, but that's all I can recall of their constant vulgar commentary while I tentatively suckled.

Eventually, the side of her hand started bashing my upper lip. She was masturbating him with her fingers while I licked and murmured.

"Gggrrrrmmmm ...." Jed roared and I felt his penis jerking and this nauseating warm porridge assaulted my senses.

"Well done." Stella cooed, grinning happily. "Bring us breakfast in bed tomorrow. Ten o'clock."

3. COLLEGE LIFE

I remained Stella's servant throughout our entire time at college. We both used the word 'servant' but, in truth, I was really her slave. Despite this, I was the one who lived in constant fear that she would end it. To her, our relationship was very much take-it-or-leave-it.

Of course, the campus knew about us. Not everybody .... and certainly not everything. But a large circle was aware that I belonged to Stella. A few caring souls would ask me if I was 'alright'? If I 'minded'? Their kind expressions of confused pity when I answered I was 'fine' remain etched in my memory to this day. And Stella was always careful never to go too far, in public anyway.

During our second year, she put me to work as a waitress in an off-campus bar in the town. Three shifts a week; Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights, from about 7 p.m. to midnight. She said that 'she' was my social life. So I didn't need to party at weekends.

I willingly handed over every cent I earned from that job. She said she'd 'keep it safe' for us and told me to let her know should I need anything. That led her to take control of my purchases and wardrobe. She'd only approve the cheapest cosmetics and tackiest clothes for me. When I complained about a particularly trashy miniskirt, she started taking me to second hand and 'pre-loved' charity shops instead. She'd pick out 'old lady' blouses and scratchy woollens, saying how much they suited me on campus.

She rarely invited me to accompany her when she was shopping for herself. If she did, it was merely to carry the bags. There was one expensive department store in town. She'd visit it with the cool crowd, like Izzy and Zara, and they'd all treat themselves to expensive lingerie and designer brands. Stella insisted I handwash her lacy underwear and then iron everything particularly carefully.

In our third year she split with Jed at last. I was elated. But then she had a fling with Gabby, a gorgeous biracial girl in the year below us. That was the first time, that I know of anyway, that Stella dated another female at college. For once, she didn't rub my nose in it. I think she knew how jealous and hurt I was. Besides, Gabby seemed very vanilla. Fortunately their relationship was like a firework. It soared briefly, sparkled spectacularly, and then plummeted to earth equally quickly.

Gabby was my introduction to what I'm now aware is called being a cuckquean. It was a different feeling when Stella had dated boys. But her choosing to make love to a girlfriend -- when she already had me -- ignited feelings of passionate jealousy and burning desire within me. I would lie in my bed, listening through the walls, and feel this strange fire of humiliation between my legs. But I never touched myself. I'd given Stella my word that I'd never do that without her permission.

After Gabby, Stella required my sexual services again for several months. I was still a virgin at this point. By that, I mean a vaginal-virgin. My mouth had already been well trained. Not just by Jed. She'd made me practise on dildos so that I could blow several of her male friends whenever they were short of a female partner. But she never allowed those boys to fuck me. I was grateful for that.

I didn't derive any sexual enjoyment from giving oral sex to guys. But I did get a thrill from Stella's compliments afterwards. She'd casually say things like 'John said you gave great head so well done', and 'Good girl, Nikey. Trent told me you swallowed the lot.' And that was true. I was surprised to find that getting over the cloying taste of semen was more of a question of mind over matter.

All this time, I was still expected to deny myself and ask Stella permission for an orgasm. She said that's why giving blowjobs to boys actually suited me. I was learning about sex but without getting horny. I remained technically 'virgin' because I'd never been fucked by a living male cock.

However, during that final year, she introduced me to her strap-on, to which she could affix dildos of various sizes, all bought with my wages from the bar. She used to joke that my vagina was being well and truly 'opened for business'. She teased me that she was doing me a favour, preparing me for real cock one day.

Little did either of us know at the time, the irony of how that would happen ... and who would do it.

We were both studying for Business and Marketing degrees but we were mostly doing different courses. She had me prepare extensive revision notes for her, and then test her on each subject. But the difference was that, instead of Stella being punished for any bad marks she scored in practise tests, I was disciplined instead. She got through several rattan canes smoking my backside until I managed to get her practise scores high up into the 90s.

To relax herself between these intensive revision sessions, she would sit on my face and chat on her phone or watch stuff on her laptop. She adored rimming as much as cunnilingus. She said it calmed her. I spent many hours polishing her anal rosebud when I should have been revising my own books. Meanwhile I was still only allowed one orgasm per month.

It was inevitable that, when the time came, Stella graduated second in our entire class while I ended up with the also-rans in the bottom third. She admonished me for not studying harder and, as a kind of farewell humiliation, caned my bare bottom in front of Izzy, Zara, and several of her other friends.

But, even worse by far, on our last day of college, Stella briefly shook my hand and wished me well. She said we probably wouldn't be seeing each other again and I shouldn't try to contact her. She'd get in touch with me if she needed to.

I burst into tears.

4. THREE YEARS LATER

I'd pretty much gotten over Stella at last. It took me a long time but gradually the pain dulled. I bounced around between mundane jobs on the bottom rung of the marketing and PR industry pyramid.

I lived in a rented flat shared with three other nonentities like me. There was no romance between us, no sex, not really even real friendship, just four youngsters coexisting to help make ends meet. I'd pretty much lost contact with my circle of oddballs and misfits from college.

Meanwhile, despite trying not to, I'd inevitably heard a few bits of gossip about Stella. Not only had she become VP of Marketing at a hot Start Up at the age of just 24, she'd also got engaged to Jack Ravage, frontman and lead singer of the band 'Savage Racket'.

Six months later, Stella and Jack got married at some huge celebrity wedding in the South of France. I couldn't avoid all the social media and paparazzi photos in glossy magazines. Despite Covid-related travel restrictions, articles said that about 30 guests from our year at college attended the glamorous event.

I wasn't one of them. I wasn't invited.

I guess I saw that day as the final straw. I decided to take charge of my own destiny, to get myself a decent job, and to find a proper girlfriend to fall in love with.

One who would love me too. A nice vanilla relationship.

I went online and had just started looking. But, about a month later, and out of the blue, my phone buzzed.

It was 11.15hrs on Monday 13th September 2021. A time and date seared on my brain.

"Hello, Nikey, how are you?"

I began to shake. I couldn't speak and I felt a flash of heat pulse between my thighs. I nearly dropped my phone.

"Cat got your tongue, Nike?"

"I ... I'm s ... sorry, it's just a shock." I managed to stammer.

"I hear you lost your latest dead-end job. Well, fortunately for you, I need a Personal Assistant. Okay?"

"But ..."

She gave me an address. An expensive address.

"Be there. Six tonight."

END OF PART ONE

CONTINUED IN PART TWO