Tame Cocksucker

All participants are over 18. The idea for this story was suggested by donaldelliott11, with thanks.

*****

"With this ring, I thee wed," Angelica said.

With this yoke, I thee burden, Artie's mind echoed, just one moment forgetting the perks that came with marrying this fat, moody cow.

Everything had moved so fast. Artie had the good fortune of working for Mr. Carmichael Pratt-Linden's corporation. He was only a junior office manager, but the money and benefits were decent. His fortunes really changed when the chairman's daughter, Angelica Pratt-Linden, toured the corporate headquarters building. Naturally, she was treated as a VIP. Mr. Pratt-Linden had probably hoped to interest his vacuous daughter in the family business, but instead she took an interest in Artie.

Artie couldn't believe his luck. The top boss's daughter, an heiress to vast wealth, was pursuing him of all people. Nobody could honestly call Angelica a beautiful woman: she had flabby arms and a jelly roll around her waist; despite her youth—she was twenty-three—her tits, large as they were, sagged; she wore thick-rimmed glasses with lenses as thick as her thumb; her tendency to wear tight pants only accentuated the fact that she had a fat ass. But she was rich! Artie coveted the wealth enough to exploit the opportunity before him. He fucked her silly and after that, if she was smitten before, she fell for him even harder. In truth, Angelica bored him but she was his best chance to live the easy life. After six months of dating, Angelica told Artie to go and talk with her father: the traditional request for the daughter's hand in marriage.

The meeting was tense for Artie but Mr. Pratt-Linden kept perfect composure. He had allowed Artie to see him at his office and allotted him an appointment of fifteen minutes: one minute of pleasantries; two minutes for Artie to broach the subject; the chairman spent the rest of the time explaining he was only allowing the pair to marry because his daughter begged him. He made quite clear that, compared to the marriage partners his son and his other daughter had attracted, he thought Artie was nothing but a lazy gold-digger. He warned Artie not to break his daughter's heart or there would be consequences. There would be an ironclad pre-nuptial agreement in any case.

A week or two later, Artie sat with the Pratt-Linden family lawyer, Ferguson, and signed a pre-nup couched in legalese beyond his full comprehension. Marriage plans proceeded quickly, and one year to the day from their first meeting, the couple were united in holy matrimony in a beautiful, expensive venue. Their honeymoon was a month long and was spent in a variety of exotic international locales, all paid for by Artie's new father-in-law.

Sex between Angelica and Artie was a challenge for the man. He sometimes found it hard to get it up for his oversize lover. Sex usually only happened when Angelica took control of the bedroom manoeuvres. She didn't notice Artie's lack of ardour; she liked initiating sex. She liked to be on top and Artie felt pleasure in submitting beneath that mountain of flesh. He felt warm, safe and wanted. Another side of him was aware that he liked to be dominated in this way. Their lovemaking sessions were hot and sticky but usually mutually satisfying.

When they were back from holiday, the newlyweds were tanned, relaxed and content. Artie had been promoted from junior management to junior director of his division. It was a meaningless title; all the power lay with the director. Artie was essentially a glorified assistant with a higher salary. It was a dream come true for Artie, who didn't notice until much later that his nepotic career leap had alienated him from his previous work friends. In his new position, many colleagues feigned friendship with him for fear or hope that Artie might have some influence on the old man, his father-in-law.

In truth, Artie rarely had access to his father-in-law, the chairman. Artie regularly attended family events with his wife, meeting up with her siblings and their partners. The old man was a widower and he usually sat at the head of the table presiding like an ancient patriarch, which is what he was, after a fashion.

Angelica's brother, Barry, the only boy of the Pratt-Linden brood, was a fit and handsome thirty-year-old. He was also openly gay. His husband, Tim, was good-looking but he was also a very quiet and mousy little man. When he saw them together, the two gay men reminded Artie of his gay experimentation with other men back in his college days. Artie had caught himself checking out his brother-in-law's ass and crotch on a number of occasions.

One long summer weekend, the family and some esteemed business colleagues gathered at Mr. Pratt-Linden's lakeside mansion estate north of the city. The old man and some of his work friends spent their time golfing on the billionaire's private course. The rest of the family and the spouses of the visiting business people lounged around the swimming pool discussing shallow subjects. Barry and Tim were lost in conversation with each other.

Artie wasn't invited to play golf with Mr. Pratt-Linden and he was bored with the conversation at the pool. When nobody was looking, he excused himself from and went inside the house, happy to get away from the shrill voice of his wife, presently discussing shoes with her peers.

It was cool walking through the house wearing only swimming trunks. He felt a bit naked. He went to the washroom and wandered about the house looking for any distraction from the dull party outside. His meandering led him to Mr. Pratt-Linden's impressive library. He picked through a few shelves before finding a tome of interest. He took the book to one of the great wingback chairs sitting in front of the cold fireplace. A few minutes later, Artie was fully absorbed in his reading material.

"I see right through you, little man."

The voice made Artie jump. He dropped his book and looked up. It was Barry; he had quietly entered the room and stalked over to Artie's chair. Like Artie, his brother-in-law was wearing only a bathing suit.

"Wh-what do you mean?" Artie asked.

Barry grinned. "Don't even try to deny it. You've checked out my package a dozen times this weekend alone. I've caught you looking at my ass lots of times too. Why don't you just admit that you're a sissy?"

Artie reddened. In truth, in college, he had experimented with homosexuality and enjoyed it, but he had chosen to live a straight life. He had thought he was doing so well constructing that life. After all, he was married to a woman. He had turned his back on the call of his gay urges.

"Your expression says it all, Artie. You know I'm right." Barry grabbed his crotch with his right hand. "You know you want this."

Fuck, Artie thought, as he felt his erection rising to create a tent in his bathing suit, betraying the straight image he was trying to present.

"Artie," Barry said with good humour, pointing at Artie's obvious boner. "Your cock is on my side in this. Just accept it. You are who you are. A cocksucker. My tame cocksucker."

Once again, Artie flushed scarlet. It had always turned him on to be called a cocksucker. He felt the pull of Barry's dick. He thought of what he risked by involving himself in an encounter with another man. It could cost him his marriage, his social position and his job. Yet, his mouth watered. Artie was maddening with lust for Barry's cock.

"You know you want to," Barry said.

Barry stood about six feet tall. He had wavy blond hair on his head and a slightly darker layer of stubble on his jaw. His bare chest was well-developed, his arms and legs muscular. He had downy hair on his chest leading in a line down over his tight belly into his trunks. Inside the swim suit, his trouser snake twitched.

"Come here and suck my cock, sissy."

Fuck it, Artie thought and walked over to where Barry was standing. He looked around to be sure nobody was watching from the library doorway. Then he locked eyes with Barry. Artie allowed himself to be taken in the stronger man's arms. Their lips smushed together in a hot, wet kiss which melted into a passionate French kiss. Barry broke their kiss and put his hands on Artie's shoulders. Barry used no force, but Artie bent under the weight of those guiding hands. He knelt before his brother-in-law and scrabbled at the front of his swim suit. Soon Artie exposed Barry's penis. Artie leaned back on his knees and admired the organ. It was rooted in a blond bush. The testicles that swung behind and beneath the dick were large and hairy. The cock itself was cut and between five and six inches fully erect—as it now was.

"C'mon, man," Barry said. "Suck it. I can tell you're into it. Your wood is pushing your trunks out."

Artie needed no further urging. He took the head of the penis in his mouth and savoured its taste and smell. The aroma carried traces of bodywash and chlorine from the swimming pool. The swollen tool began to press in and out of Artie's mouth in a long, slow rhythm. Artie felt a delight he hadn't experienced for years: the pleasure of a cock in his mouth. He had denied himself too long. The sound of Barry's enjoyment was obvious and after about five minutes or so, he grabbed Artie's ears and began face-fucking him in earnest. Artie allowed himself to be used this way because he loved it.

"Ahhhhhhhh!" Barry cried out at the onset of his orgasm. He pulled his cock from Artie's mouth and blew his load all over Artie's face. String after string of semen erupted from his prick until he was exhausted. By that time, Artie had cum on his cheeks, his forehead and his hair.

"Ahhhhhhhh!" This time the cry was not one of ecstasy but of outrage. Artie instinctively turned around to face the source of the scream, and so showed his sperm-glazed face to his wife. Angelica stood with a hand to her mouth as she gazed in horror at the tableau. Artie guessed she must have come inside to use the washroom, heard Barry's cry and investigated.

"Oh, how could you?" she whimpered at Artie. For some reason, her brother seemed exempt from her fury and dismay; perhaps he was known for this kind of indiscretion, or maybe blood was thicker than water at a time like this.

"Angelica," Artie croaked.

She covered her ears and ran from the room screaming she never wanted to see him again.

In fact, that was the last time Artie saw his wife. She ran straight to Daddy, who wasted no time in mobilizing his team of lawyers and a purchased judge to procure her a speedy divorce. Needless to say, this would be the ruin of Artie. He had no savings, no money that was really his own. Cheating on the boss's daughter also meant he was out of work.

A few days after Artie's sudden divorce and his termination from employment (without a reference), he was surprised to receive a summons to the chairman's mansion. He knew he had to return the car he was driving under the pre-nup and thought he'd kill two birds with one stone.

On arrival, the butler showed him to a well-appointed office.

Mr. Ferguson, the chairman's personal lawyer, greeted him. He was a tall, handsome black man. He got down to business right away, speaking in an authoritative voice. "Thank you for returning the Mercedes today." Artie nodded and handed Ferguson the keys. God only knew what cab fare home would cost him. In fact, he reminded himself, he had no home, just a cheap hotel room. Angelica naturally kept the house that Daddy bought for them as a wedding gift.

"Please sit down." The lawyer and the disgraced groom faced each other across his desk.

Ferguson pointed at a clause in the pre-nuptial agreement. "To put it simply, in this clause, you agreed that should you and Miss Angelica ever separate, your sole obligation would be to repay Mr. Pratt-Linden the costs of the wedding and the honeymoon. It comes to an amount of one-point-two million dollars. Do you have such a sum?"

I explained that I was unemployed and destitute.

"As you are now fired from your job, and are without prospects, you can only pay back what you owe with physical servitude."

"Physical servitude?"

"You will work off your debt with physical labour."

"How can that be legal?"

"You read the contract and you signed it."

"But... but..."

"Yes, that's an excellent place to start. Let's show you what some of your new duties will entail."

Ferguson stood up and came around the desk to Artie's side. He pulled the younger man up by one arm until he was standing. Then, with a sudden jerk, Ferguson spun Artie so his legs were up against the desk. The lawyer pressed down on Artie's back, bending the stunned man over the desk. Without a beat, Ferguson yanked Artie's pants and underwear down. He put a hand on Artie's back, pinning him in place. Then he spat on Artie's exposed ass-crack, and again into his free hand. When his black dick shone with its saliva coating, Ferguson began to sink his cock between Artie's butt cheeks. The young man gave a small cry of dismay but his ass popped for the invader and Ferguson slid in to the hilt.

"Well," Ferguson said, grinning. "You're very tight but you open up nicely. I think this ass will go a long way in paying off your debts. You understand this transaction now isn't a payment; your debt is not to me. No, call this... a training exercise." He heaved himself repeatedly at Artie's arse. Artie fought waves of agony for several minutes, but soon he began to feel a warmth in his bowels and a wonderful sensation of being filled. It was like an itch he didn't know he had was being scratched. Artie could hardly believe a violation could feel so good. He began thrusting back at the lawyer. Artie felt his penis filling with blood. He was deeply aroused.

"That's it, push back, you pussy. You like it, don't you?"

Before Artie could force an answer, there was the creak of an opening door. Artie flinched at being exposed in this position, but the lawyer's rhythm didn't miss a beat. Artie wondered if this was someone coming to his aid. And, if so, did he want it? Ferguson's cock was massaging Artie's prostate and the sensation was thrilling.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Pratt-Linden," Ferguson said.

Artie was humiliated to beg the old man to save him from the price of his marital infidelity.

"Sir... nnh... sir... he's... nnh... he's fucking... nnh... my ass... nnh... please... help."

"Yes," the old man said with frank enjoyment. "He's a lawyer. That's what they do." Pratt-Linden and Ferguson both laughed at this bon mot. The old man took off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. "But since you ask nicely, Artie, I will help him."

Ferguson manipulated Artie with ease, manoeuvring him so that he was on all fours on the Persian rug. Ferguson found his place again quickly and continued ploughing Artie's ass.

The chairman placed himself in front of Artie's head and opened his pants. He fished his dick out and let it hang there. Pratt-Linden's pubes were the same iron grey as the hair on his head. Artie looked up at the old man's mean expression and for some reason, his own cock twitched. Feeling helpless to do other than what was expected of him, and feeling a perverse and undeniable attraction for the task, Artie opened his mouth wide and inhaled the old man's organ.

"Ah," said Pratt-Linden. "I knew we would find your hidden talent eventually."

The lawyer fucking his ass set the pace for Artie's face-fucking. It felt right to be the plaything of two powerful men. After several minutes ploughing Artie, Ferguson began to pump harder in pursuit of ecstasy, and by extension, Artie bobbed in unison with the lawyer's thrusts.

Ferguson came long and hard up Artie's ass. Artie had never felt a cock unload in his behind without a condom before. The black man's orgasm shivered in Artie's bowels and there was a feeling of liquid heat deep up inside him.

Pratt-Linden was still as potent as ever. His pulsing ejaculation coated Artie's throat and overflowed in a trickle out of each side of his mouth. The old man pulled his dick out of Artie's mouth and shot string after string of semen across the younger man's face. It felt hot on Artie's flushed face.

"Nice one, Dad," said a voice from the doorway. It was Barry.

The old man didn't acknowledge his son's compliment. He simply wiped his cock against Artie's hair, leaving behind great sticky blobs of saliva and cum.

"As for you, you little bitch," Barry said, coming closer and addressing Artie. "I got an earful from Tim about letting you suck my dick. I talked him around to taking out his aggression on your ass. Expect to have your ass reamed hard when I turn you over to him for an hour or two."

In spite of himself, Artie still felt aroused, hot from being a toy for these men and partly in anticipation of Tim's revenge fuck.

By now, Pratt-Linden had his cock buttoned back up. He took the floor.

"From now on your job is to do anything Barry or I tell you to do, which could involve servicing others, like Ferguson here, or the butler and other servants, business colleagues, or my other guests, at our discretion. Lest you think you're a slave, your rate of pay will be a salary equal to a forty-hour work week on minimum wage. You will have a small room in the basement with a private bathroom. You will be fed twice a day, exercised once and worked hard whenever we want to use you. Your room and board will be subtracted from your salary and all of the remainder will be applied to your debt. By my best estimate, you wouldn't be free of this debt if you lived five lifetimes. When I die, collection of the debt falls to Barry. Get used to the taste of cock in your mouth, boy, because you're going to be tasting it a lot."

Artie knew he should have felt remorse for his infidelity and fear for his future, but the truth was far from it. Artie was glad he'd never have to plough another furrow in Angelica. He was pretty sure this servitude clause of the agreement was not legally binding on him, but somehow the idea of being a receptacle for these powerful and confident men was terribly attractive. Artie was only too excited by the prospect of all the cock he would be getting. This was where he belonged: under a man, fucked up the ass, made to swallow cum. A mere toy. He had never excelled at anything in his life, but now he had purpose given to him. He was fit only to submit. When Barry told him to take his clothes off, Artie discarded them willingly. Ferguson had Artie put his old clothes in a bag, and with them some of the last vestiges of his old life: his cellphone and hotel room key. Barry escorted Artie to his new basement room, a small chamber fitted with a bed, a chair, a night-stand and a basic bathroom. Barry explained that given the nature of his employment, clothes were mostly unnecessary. When he needed clothes to go outside for exercise or attend special functions, proper wear would be provided.

"Do you understand?" Barry asked.

"Yes, Barry," Artie answered.

"I'm not your brother-in-law anymore, Artie. You call me 'sir' from now on. In fact, everyone you will meet from now on will be a man. You can call them all 'sir.' That was Angelica's input into your new job. You may never see another woman again."

Artie wasn't sure he cared. Angelica's revenge might seem the worst thing in the world to some men, but Artie was pretty sure he would be amply compensated for the loss of feminine company.

"You just accept it, don't you? That you will spend the rest of your life paying for your transgressions and your debts with your flesh? That the only value in you is wrung out of you by making you into a fairy, sissy slut?"

"Yes, sir."

"Look at you, getting cock in your face and ass today. You're not just a faggot; you're an easy cumslut, aren't you?"