A gay story: Trapped Trigger warning: Although all characters are 18 or older, one doesn’t exactly have the capacity to consent to sex, and he is pretty degraded in this story. If that is triggering to you, please don’t read any further.
San Francisco 2049
He doesn’t say a word as he unzips. Some nights he makes small talk, but not tonight. He just walks into my bedroom and whips out his dick. He catches my eye, and half-grins at me, as if to say, “I got something you want, faggot.” Sometimes I want to punch his smug lights out.
I have to admit he is a good-looking dude. He’s probably in his mid-thirties. Wife and 2 kids. 6 feet tall. Dark hair, dark eyes, an unkept beard, chest hair, and a little bit of a belly where there clearly used to be a six-pack. He’s built, but chubby. He’s not talking right now, but trust me, he has a deep, sexy voice. Any woman or gay man in the world would desire him, damn it.
And here I am, his suck slave, hating the man as he waves his semi-hard dick at me and motions for me to come over.
I’m like his little treat. Some people have an ice cream cone or a coffee or a cigarette after work. He gets a blowjob. And it’s the fact that he feels so damn entitled to it that makes me most angry.
What am I supposed to do? Say no? It’s either suck his dick or suck no dick at all. So I suck his dick.
I take him into my mouth slowly, savoring the moment. Ugh, why do I treat him like he’s my lover? He is definitely not my lover. I despise this man and everything he represents.
His crotch smells good. I detect a little bit of sweat, but it’s not unpleasant. I can’t help but inhale his maleness, and it causes me to start getting hard. Damn it, I hate it when I get hard with him…
I slowly suck him for a minute or two, just bobbing my head, taking his whole length to the back of my throat. He is always so fucking hard. I bet he’s proud of that. Even though I detest him with every fiber of my being, I love the way his hard shaft feels in my mouth and I suck it in earnest with my lips. I’m in such desperate and unconscious need of his masculinity that my zeal for his cock is involuntary.
He takes his shirt off and throws it onto my bed. I run my hands up and feel his manly body. Even though I hate this son of a bitch, after a long day of work, it feels good to touch a man’s hairy body and feel his strong chest.
I tell myself stories about him, as if I can ascertain details about his life’s history and his personality just from the contours of his hot hard dick. I have soft pillowy lips, and they eagerly embrace every inch of his circumcised shaft and beautiful light pink mushroom head. The word I use for his dick in my mind is “supreme,” and it really is, in every way. It’s probably the most delicious dick I’ve ever tasted, and I enjoy sucking it.
He grunts with pleasure and I start to whimper. Fuck, I hate myself for it.
What he doesn’t know is that I’ve had a video camera running from the second he walked into the room. If I really wanted to, I could show his wife. I could show the whole town. And they’d know what a hypocrite he is.
He places his hands on my head, so he can start facefucking me. Sometimes he says degrading comments and calls me “faggot”. Sometimes he says endearing things and calls me “sweetheart.” I hate to admit that it turns me on so much when he does both of these things. But tonight he’s clearly not in the mood to talk and just fucks my mouth with no words spoken. I am turned on by his strong, manly, determined, intentional grip. I love the way the skin on his hands feels kind of rough. I hate that his touch is so arousing to me.
I’m firmly grabbing his ass with both hands to balance myself and it feels so incredible. I hear the way my lips are smacking on his big fat dick as the noise echoes throughout the room. I briefly make eye contact with my reflection in the mirror behind him, and I’m shocked by the look on my face. I look like I’m in ecstasy. If you walked into the room, you’d think that I was the one getting pleasure, not him. It kinda makes me sick to know that whenever he looks down at me, this is the view he’s getting. I need to get a hold of myself. I deserve better than this. I try to change my facial expression to something other than “sublimely happy”, but he glances down and notices as I do this, and it inspires him to speed up his facefucking, so I have to forget about the expression on my face and focus on sucking his dick.
I wonder if he knows that I know who he is. He must know that I know, right? I’ve known since the first time that I sucked his dick. I never would have sucked him off that night if I could’ve known the sick game he’d turn it into. Why did I suck him off in the first place when I knew that he was that homophobic state senator, Jason Tisdale? And not just a homophobic state senator, but the one who spoke most vociferously in support of the anti-gay laws that ruined my life and the lives of all my friends? I saw him on the news talking about how traditional families were under attack and society was crumbling, and he blamed it all on the gays. Before we could even blink an eye, gay sex was illegal. And yet, I still gave him a blowjob that first night in a dark alley when he propositioned me. The time to stop this madness was then. It is too late now…
So why exactly does he do this? Believe me, I’ve asked myself hundreds of times. I have no way of knowing. We never ever talk about anything of substance, and certainly not his personal life. So I’m left to wonder: what the fuck is he doing here almost every night making me, a gay dude, suck his dick? Does he get some kind of sexual thrill from the risk of it? Does he get turned on by the power dynamic, knowing that I cannot say no to him, knowing that I will never get any reciprocation and that pleasing him is the only sexual experience I will ever get to have for the rest of my life? Or is this just to prove some kind of point to himself about gay men, that we are so perverted that you can literally ruin our lives and take every single thing we have, and we’ll still happily suck your dick and dutifully swallow up your cum for you?
He usually cums pretty quickly, within 4 or 5 minutes, and tonight is no different. Not too long after he takes control and starts face fucking me with his hands, he’s at the point of no return and ready to shoot.
I know it’s coming, and I am determined. I’m on my knees servicing this man and I swear that this is the last time. I need to have some self-respect. I can’t allow him to degrade me like this and treat me like his personal fleshlight. I can’t let him go out and talk about how awful and perverted gay sex is while he comes to my house 5 or 6 nights a week to get his dick sucked. I can’t stand one more moment of this man. I hate him. I’m going to put out the video. Screw the consequences. I don’t care anymore. Whatever happens to me, I will get justice, both for myself and for all the other gay men that this douchebag and his political allies screwed over.
This man cost me my husband. Did I mention that I used to be married before society went to shit? I loved my husband. My wonderful Rick. The man who saved me. We owned a flower shop together. We made each other smile every day. We had to have our marriage annulled when they passed the new laws, and I haven’t seen him in 2 years. I try to keep track of him over social media, but I don’t dare contact him. I wouldn’t want to risk my life or his, and I know internet communications are monitored. I just hope he’s happy.
This man cost me my friends. My sweet Christopher, who I knew since college and who was my partner in crime at the gay bars in our 20s. He was always a rebel, and he thought he’d resist the new laws. They weren’t in effect a month before they executed him by firing squad. And Matthias, the eldergay, my rock, the man who gave me so much wonderful advice and helped me when nobody else understood. He just “disappeared” one day. And I wasn’t even allowed to ask why, or where he was sent off to, or have a funeral for him, or get any kind of closure. He was just gone, and I had to accept it. They’re both dead because of this bastard.
“Ahhhhhhhh,” he moans, and he violently shoves his dick deeper into my mouth.
He cums right down my throat. Then he quickly moves his dick back a little so spurts two, three, and four land on my tongue, so I have to taste his sperm. I want to gag, but I know that spitting is not an option. I am expected to swallow every drop, and I do, though I hate it. This is the last time, though. His wife will know. Even his kids will know that their daddy forces me to swallow millions of his babies every night. I’m putting my video on YouTube the second he leaves my apartment. I won’t bear another second of this grave injustice. For Rick, and Christopher, and Matthias, I will get revenge on this evil motherfucker.
And yet…
I am still sooo hard. Fuck, I have been hard the entire time. I look up. He smiles. Nooo. Not again. No, no, no. Concentrate. He has such great teeth. And big, beautiful brown eyes that I want to stare into for hours. Oh, God, it’s happening again. Fuck. Once more, a euphoria washes over me, and I don’t hate him now. I love him. I want him to make love to me. I want him to make me his. I want him to stay with me and cuddle with me. I have been so lonely. I need a man to take care of me. This man. Can’t he be my daddy? Please? I would be over the moon if he told me he loved me. Hell, I don’t even need that. What I wouldn’t give if he would just stay five more minutes and hold me a little…
He chuckles to himself, at my expense, as he notices my eyes lighting up. Damn it. The smug bastard. He must know that I’m in love with him, and that’s funny to him. I’m not good at hiding my emotions. So that’s how he knows I’ll never tell anybody about his nightly visits. The douchebag has me exactly where he wants me. Trapped. I’ll shut up and dutifully swallow his sperm for him whenever he wants for the rest of my life, and he knows it. I’m so fucked.
He puts his dick back in his pants and zips up. He still hasn’t said a single word to me. I wish he would at least tell me I did a good job. A pat on the head. Some sign of encouragement. Anything. Fuck, I’m pathetic. Why do I want his approval so badly?
Is this Stockholm Syndrome? Or is there something wrong with me and I like the degradation? Or am I just so starved of human contact that I’m desperately clinging to what little of it I have?
And even if I didn’t love him, he knows there’s really nothing I can do. The penalty for a man sucking dick is capital punishment. The penalty for a man getting his dick sucked by a dude is a $500 fine. He obviously wrote the law in such a way where he could shame homosexuals for sucking dick, while giving a certain homosexual (me) no other option for dicks to suck than his. He put us in our place but made sure he still gets to get his own rocks off. What I want to know is why did he choose me? How did he even know I was gay? Does he have any other poor gay men he has this sick relationship with? I honestly don’t know. I certainly hope not. Nobody deserves to be treated like this.
We briefly make eye contact once more before he goes, and I think I detect just the slightest bit of acknowledgement, somewhere deep down within him, that he cares for me, or at least regards me as human, somehow, on some level… A glint in his eye, maybe? Or am I just believing what I want to believe? Does he see me as just a poor lost gay man that he kindly feeds dick to, a pathetic fleshlight to fuck, or someone he actually hates and gets off on degrading? Or a bit of all three? I’m not sure what would be worse, honestly.
He turns around and leaves to go home to his beautiful wife and amazing kids in his great big mansion. He shows confidence even in the way he maneuvers around my apartment. God only knows where my own husband is right now. This asshole gets to do whatever the fuck he wants and fuck whoever he wants and swing his big dick around for me to suck whenever he wants it. And my sole outlet in life is to suck his dick every day for just 5 minutes. Just 5 minutes, all the sexual contact I will get today or any day. Forever. Any other sexual contact is too risky. Beggars can’t be choosers.
I stop recording and save the video file in the folder on the cloud with all the other recordings I’ve made over the past year. It’s really kinda risky. I mean, sure, I could release them and blur my face. But all that would buy me would be a little time. Jason could tell the police that I had been sucking his dick every night for a year, and they’d investigate and find him on CCTV coming to my apartment, or some unmistakable detail of my apartment in the video that I forgot to blur. Or he could just outright kill me himself, and it would be deemed a justifiable homicide when he told the police I had been sucking his dick. I’m really pretty dumb for keeping these recordings around where they’re not all that difficult to find. But maybe the risk is my own personal way of resistance and rebellion? Or is that just what I tell myself, so I don’t feel guilty about my collaboration horizontale?
Sometimes, I jerk off to the videos, especially on the rare nights where he doesn’t visit. Isn’t that pathetic? I jerk off to my own degradation. I notice he’s left a bit of his masculine scent on my bed somehow, and it’ll be useful for later to smell his manly musk while I masturbate. It’s amazing what this man has reduced me to.
So I quickly lose my resolve to expose him just like I did all the other times. It would mean dire consequences for me, and only a $500 fine for him and maybe his wife being angry at him for a week or two. It’s just not worth losing my life over. I need to accept that my role in life is to suck this man’s dick, and that’s all I have in the whole world.
I go back to my sofa and take a shot of whiskey. I look around my dull apartment. So this is all there is to life, huh? No, that can’t be it. Next time it will be different, next time I will finally publish those damned videos. I will blur my face, destroy him, and bravely face any consequences that come my way. Next time, for sure. Next time…
Thank you to the very wonderful and talented and sexy Edey for being my proofreader for this story.