Unmasked and Exposed


"On your knees," came a sharp voice from the audience. It was directed at me. Silently, I got down on all fours. My partner smiled. The same voice then said, "Suck him." He slowly walked around my crouched form until his abdomen was level with my face.

His member was unusually long but not very thick. He pushed it into my mouth and kept pushing until he hit my hard palate. The back of my mouth was reached, but a few inches of his cock still remained.

"Give a good blowjob, slut," sneered a different voice.

That gave my friend some encouragement. He held the back of my head and pushed back and forth. The lack of girth meant no pressure on my lips, but every jab hit the back of my mouth with a sharp thrust.

"Deepthroat him, bitch!" came a different voice. This one had a Southern belle accent to it.

Suddenly, the thin cock was thrust into my throat. I spluttered and gagged, making a sloppy, choking sound. It attracted some laughter from the lovely ladies watching. It passed, I was used to the feeling. He held me head at an acute angle and viciously mouth-raped me to cheers from the watchers.

I shall refrain from the repetitive detail of him fucking my ass. His girth did not quite hurt, but his length felt like a poker, stabbing my rectum. I endured this knife-like rhythm to even more cheers from my new fans.

The next morning they would go back to domineering meetings, punishing students and tearing apart witness testimonies. For one night, they needed to let the boring mask slip and let the inner demons out. Stress release. My bruised behind would testify to that.

I was outside when I heard a voice nearby.

"Hey! Leslie."

I turned to see my partner from earlier leaning against the wall. He had a look of smug satisfaction on his face while counting out his earnings. He spoke again.

"See how much I make? I've got a condo in Midtown," he said, flashing the wad of notes. "You wanna get in on the real action?"

Intrigued, I asked, "Real action?"

"I've been watching you for a while. That's why I chose you for this event. It was your audition and you did well. I could hook you up with clients who'll pay much better than those bloody drunks you service in alleyways."

I nodded, taken aback. He extended his hand.

"Marcus. Marcus Emerson."

* *

The poker game was going well. Five men sat around the table holding their cards closely. Marcus Emerson sat, flanked on either side by thick, heavy-set men. On his right was a Mexican man with a snake tattoo on his forearm and on his left was a darker man with a thin moustache. The two others at the table were of average height, but worked out. One of them had shades while the other had a piercing on one ear.

It was your average poker game. Except their were no chips on the table. Or any money for that matter. Rather, the prize for winning any round was in the adjacent room, handcuffed to the bed. Yours truly.

Marcus grumbled at his cards. Two fives, one ace, a two and a seven.

"Fucking luck," he muttered.

"I call," said the man with the piercing. All eyes looked at him, trying to gauge whether it was a bluff or not.

"Too rich for my blood," said Marcus dejectedly, "I fold."

Tattoo and the black man folded too. The black man seemed thoroughly disappointed he would not get a turn at me next. Shades weighed his options carefully before throwing it down.


"Four of a kind," exclaimed the pierced man, emphatically throwing down his cards.

He got up and rubbed his palms eagerly. He was halfway to the door when Marcus stopped him.

"Not too rough though. You guys haven't paid yet. I want him in one piece."

The words registered superficially in his mind. He opened the door and spent a good few moments gazing at me. I was weak from the fever and sore from the victors of the previous rounds.

"Quit gawking and get it over with!" scoffed Shades.

He slammed the door shut behind him and gleefully walked towards the bed. It was the first time he had won and he wanted to enjoy the fruits of his luck. In the dim light of the room, I saw his organ. It was short, stubby and uncircumcised. He moved to the head of the bed and turned my face to the side.

Pushing a palm down on my neck to hold my face still. He pushed his diminutive member past my tired lips and pushed back and forth.

"Lick it!"

It had been a while since my last pill, so my fever was rising again. I used all my reserve strength to wrap my tongue around his member. His palms pushed his hairy crotch into my face. I took a deep breath just before my air supply was interrupted by a mass of pubic hair.

The length could not have been more than four inches. It barely tickled compared to those who had come before. He seemingly wanted to compensate by shoving his inadequate length into my mouth as hard and fast as he could.

A few minutes later, he held my head and plunged his entire length into me. The end spewed a few drops of distasteful semen into my mouth. I wanted to spit it out, but his groin remained clamped to my lips, forcing me to swallow it.

Leaving me, he hurriedly returned to his game. Maybe he would get another shot at me.

The clouds shifted across the sky and a moonbeam came in through the window, casting a white swath across the bed and floor. It might capture a stray tear on my cheek. Whether it is from exhaustion or from despair I cannot tell.

Marcus Emerson was not all I imagined him to be that night outside the nightclub. He had a suave air about him when he promised me a better life. I had a real bed to sleep on now and a room that did not reek of sludge.

But I had traded those for something much darker. Marcus.

Since then, he kept me as little more than a fucktoy. Contracts for gay male parties of the most depraved kind kept coming and he did not turn anyone away. The more shocking the theme, the better, because it translated to higher profits for him.

All I was for him was a means to more cash. Two holes he could lend out at his pleasure for a hefty sum each time. New York has enough gay groupies with creative ideas to keep me occupied. From bukkake to a mass sucking, I had done it all.

It was my mask. My cross to bear. I smiled at the end of each performance, giving a bow for good measure. It masked my pain. Of course, some of the parties were meant specifically to cause the pain. There I could writhe on the floor in agony, with no pressure of being unmasked.

The twain had cut somewhere in my life. Light and dark had lost balance with the darkness swallowing the light. I felt I was standing on a precipice, with a sheer drop on all sides. The drop went into a sea of inky darkness. My rock was crumbling, breaking and I wobbled. I felt like I would finally fall, but I didn't. This limbo between life and death was truly frightful.

I was broken out of my reverie as the door opened, showing Tattoo as the winner of the latest round. He was much better endowed than the last one and could do some serious damage with his thrusting.

I was still shaking with fever when he turned me on my front and sat on my buttocks. His obscenely large width rested against my crack for a second before he drew back for the first thrust.

* *

I still remember that day very clearly. The day when Marcus was short on money to pay for his cocaine. The drug dealers are less compassionate on payment terms than most, so it wasn't too much of a surprise when someone flung a Molotov cocktail at his car.

The drug dealer in question was the dreaded Hector Garcia. He was feared across the length and breadth of Alphabet City. Few dared to stand up to him and even fewer did it successfully. One look at him and Marcus knew he was outmatched.

So he decided to hand him a peace offering instead. Me.

Garcia had a safe house nestled in a little alcove. The bottom floor of it worked as a high-end strip club while he conducted his business from his office up top. Marcus dragged me over that night. I tried putting up some resistance, so he used his taser to stun me and bind me for the trip.

I was taken past the nude women gyrating against middle-aged perverts up to the top floor. Garcia had spoken over the phone and was delighted at the idea. He had one request though. He wanted me painted on my face. Like a mime.

So there I stood, with a black twinkle painted over each eye. It was the beginning of my harlequin persona. I had seen enough videos of Marcel Marceau. The amount he said through his silence amazed me. No words, just an elegant extension of his limbs. Like a swan arching his neck out of the water or a tender shoot peeking out of dense grass.

I watched his video over and over. Each time left me more amazed than the last. It was like poetry in motion. Like a work of art.

It was beautiful, just like I was.

There was one more slave in Garcia's expansive bedroom. He was a little shorter than me, probably turning tricks to earn his way through college. I could not help but notice the dazed look in his eyes.

"On all fours!" growled the mass of muscle from the couch. Garcia was fearsome in his stature. His eyes blazed with anger at everything. He crunched his thick, calloused hands together and swaggered behind me. My breath caught in my throat as I heard his fly unzip. Those large hands spread my ass apart painfully, as a prelude to what came next.

"Don't you dare make a sound," he snarled behind me. I nodded in understanding of my role as a mime. I deduced from his tone that he was living out a deep seated fantasy from a dark crevice of his mind. He had probably been the victim to an unpleasant (and unwilling) sexual encounter with a mime or a clown in his past and wanted revenge for what happened to him.

"Well. Better me than someone else."

Even though I braced for penetration, the first thrust shocked me. He buried himself in my ass all the way to his balls. In one fluid stroke, he pulled out till only the head remained inside me before cramming his distended organ deep inside my anus again.

I opened my mouth to scream, but the other slave immediately clapped his hand over it. A scream would have broken the illusion of a mime and given Garcia incentive to really hurt me. I did not know if I could take that.

I silently mouthed a "thank you" at my fellow slave while a steady rhythm built in my behind. Each stroke went deep into me, splitting me in two. The pain was blinding. I grit my teeth and clenched my eyes shut to stop myself from shrieking out loud.

Something was gently prodding against my face. At first, I was unaware of it. I opened my eyes as the sodomizer built a blistering pace against my raw asshole. The other sub was pushing something against my lips. It was a small blotter, laced with LSD by the look. His eyes met mine and he nodded in sympathetic understanding. I opened my mouth and held the blotter under my tongue.

The pounding to my posterior continued in a grim rhythm of flesh splattering against flesh. My mind slowly grew hazy and my eyelids fluttered. My vision was blurry and my self-awareness was indistinct. I could still feel a powerful pelvis slamming against my rear, but strangely I seemed numb the searing flare that usually followed.

In that moment, I realized something wonderful.

This chemical could take away my pain.

* *

The garden of my dreams is a lovely place. I wish you could see it like I can. There is a lush green meadow spread across the landscape like a felt carpet. It is never too dark or too bright there. The moon bathes the entire scenery in a silvery blanket.

My garden has many trees. They sway gracefully in the breeze. Their slender trunks divide into many branches. Some bear fruit which I pick, others hang gracefully. The fruits taste fabulous. I wish you could taste them with me.

I lie down against the soft grass. The quiet rustling of the leaves in the breeze is the main sound I can hear. It has a peaceful tranquillity to it. Millions of cicadas play their nocturnal aria. I close my eyes, imbibing the feel of all that lies around me.

The moonlight makes my skin seem even whiter. I have the complexion of a pearl. There is a lake where I see my reflection. The water is calm, the surface disturbed by the occasional ripple. It shimmers under the lunar halo surrounding me. I let my hand drift under the surface and gently push forward.

Now, I am floating in the water, face up. I am confident I will not sink. The stars look so alluring up in the night sky, like a myriad of sparkling specks scattered across the blackness of space by an unseen hand.

None of them seem to move, eternally embedded in place. Oh wait! I see one moving. One glowing dot, streaking across the sky. It precedes a short white trail behind it. A falling star! Quick, make a wish. It laughs at the other stars, fixed in place to form constellations, unable to break free and blaze through the cosmos like itself.

My garden is precious. It is my sanctuary. When I am in my garden of dreams, no one can hurt me. I am impervious to any kind of malice or hatred. I talk to Mother Nature and her beautiful star studded visage up above. The celestial beauty is made on a higher scale than what we humans are designed to understand.

The five men had just finished taking turns on me. The last one took his spent cock out of my ass and wiped the remnants of his cum on my abused bottom. His friend similarly pulled his shrivelling member out of my lips, having coated my mouth with his last load. The three others, who had presumably had their turns with me previously, completed the scene by ejaculating on my chest.

But I did not care. I was barely aware of their presence. The magic chemical had whisked me away to my garden again where I gazed at the stars with a childlike wonder.

Maybe I can count them if I try.

* *

On that fateful day. That fateful red-letter day. I ran out of LSD.

I shuddered in fear. Marcus had a new client and I did not have my shield to protect me from him. Scars, lacerations, welts and bruises all healed with time. It was the memories that made my cry myself to sleep. The images were what I feared the most. They caused me to wake up, covered in cold sweat.

Stuff of nightmares.

With my new-found magic, I was immune to them. But it had run out. For this night, I would be in the room with my paid lover. I mentally prepared myself for a bad one. I would eventually get over it. I always do.

At first sight, there seemed something different about this man. He was slim and of average height. His complexion and face was distinctly Hispanic. I did not get a good look at his face under a mop of curly black hair.

I settled into my usual position on all fours, waiting for the painful first entry. One would think my sphincter was inured to pain after so many episodes of violent penetration, but somehow the first contact still stung.

A hand crept around my side and softly held my cock. I was surprised. No one had done that before. The fingers deftly grasped my shaft and began moving to and fro. Each stroke was slow and measured. His hands glided over the length of my pale shaft.

My new client was silent as he continued jerking me off. A liberal stream of pre-cum oozed out of the slit. He stopped his movements and lathered it over his fingers. That hand teased my perinium and tickled it's way to my posterior.

No one ever used lube. This strange man smeared my precum liberally over my sphincter before taking out a tube from his small bag. I turned me head to see him unscrew the lube and pour a generous dollop on his fingers. The feeling of the cool gel against my anus calmed me.

His hand returned to my engorged erection. He resumed jacking it off slowly and deliberately while I felt the head of his cock against my rim. I involuntarily braced myself for the pain which never came. The lubrication worked and he was gentle.

He slid the first inch into me slowly, almost reverently. His hands had slowed their pace on my throbbing member to stretch out this experience. This sensual experience. I could feel a pleasurable ember burn somewhere within me. It was a glow of lust, quivering and trembling with every stroke he imparted to my organ.

His own penis was static, with just the crown having penetrated my puckered opening. He gave my muscles time to adjust to his width before he pushed it in a bit more. A current of pleasure radiated from my balls, firing up every neuron in its vicinity. At the same time, I could feel a rush of heated ecstasy around my crease.

"Give me more," I croaked out hoarsely, bursting with desperate arousal. I surprised myself here.

I suppose my Hispanic lover smiled and pressed on deeper until he was halfway inside me. Now he pulled back and paused to let the moment linger. In one smooth stroke, he plunged his entire tool inside me. My anal walls clenched his penis. I felt full, complete with him inside me.

It is strange how a total stranger, someone who paid for your services, can make you feel that way.

He repeated his motion by pulling back a few inches before ploughing in again. The tempo of his strokes was languid. It hurt a bit, but not nearly as much as I was used to. Mixed with the small hurt was a growing pleasure. It scorched within me, burning through my nervous system. For once, I could feel, and the feeling was intoxicating.

This was the piece of the sexual puzzle I had always missed. The part where someone would give pleasure to me. I always knew that there was pleasure to be had in sex, just never experienced it. The rise of the tempo was meteoric. It crested with each stroke, each stroke reaching a special place deep inside me which I thought did not exist.

He was no longer thrusting, but gliding in and out of me. His strokes had a lazy rhythm and a smooth flow. The pain had been overwhelmed by the deluge of pleasure which heightened the acute arousal in front. I teetered on the brink of climax, my entire body stretched to breaking point. It seemed as if ever nerve ending had coalesced into a massive erogenous zone which singed with a hungry, insatiated need.

The actual orgasm came suddenly. The crescendo of the erotic aria, it washed over me with a powerful wave of pleasure. I was numbly unaware of my surroundings as a torrent of sanguine euphoria swept over my being. I arched my back towards him, forcing him even deeper into me. He held me there, while his penis shook and released its entire batch of semen deep inside me.

It took a brief while for me to get my bearings right. My mind was working in overdrive, trying to decipher how this had happened. Even without my blotter, I had ridden the wave beyond pain until all was drowned in a ocean of bliss.

This was not my garden. It was different, yet somehow the same.

I looked down to see the olive coloured hand still on my cock. It was blotched with my white semen. Most of it had fallen on the sheet below. The olive hand now gently caressed my pale stomach. It tickled a bit.

I turned over to give him better access. This also gave me the opportunity to see his face. He had high cheekbones and a cheerful smile. His eyes were his most powerful features. Those eyes. Those hauntingly hypnotic eyes. Those kind eyes. If eyes truly are the window to one's soul, his soul was beautiful.

"Thank you," I murmured, but he was not done. He smiled at me, and then kissed my chest. His mouth moved lower down my torso. My limp organ began to swell up in anticipation of his wet lips.

I threw my head back in pleasure and concentrated on the rush as his lips suckled my cock head for the first time.

For the first time, being unmasked and utterly exposed was worth it. I knew at the back of my mind this was not going to last. The next client himself would be a return to the angst, but I could lose myself in this love while it lingered.

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