Brains Over Brawn
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I called him that afternoon. No answer. I called again that night.
"Sir! I am sorry my attempt at breakfast was so pitiful and disgusting. May I come over, Sir?"
I heard Ryan snort. "Come over for what?" I paused. It was about this time of day, only two days earlier, that he had made me his cocksucker. He'd blackmailed me into it, threatened to turn me in for cheating on my calculus exam. I'd done it, and then he'd fucked me, and that had changed my life. It hadn't changed me, I was now what I always had been; now it was just no longer some repressed, denied, subconscious element of my personality, it was revealed and laid open, if only to me and Ryan.
"To be fucked, Sir."
"Alex? You really think you deserve to be fucked? I sent you home this morning because your incompetence was offensive. I couldn't stand the sight of you any more. You had a simple task and you failed miserably." His criticism burned into me, even if it was unjustified. I'd never known how to cook, I'd never cooked anything, and he'd expected me to create an omelet worthy of a television chef. "You made my kitchen a fucking disaster area and even then brought me the most vile, revolting collection of goo I've ever seen."
"I'm sorry, Sir," I mumbled quietly under his rebuke. I felt like a puppy who'd messed the carpet.
"You're fucking right you're sorry. You don't deserve my cock tonight, bitch."
"But Sir! I'm so fucking hot," I whined. "I haven't gotten off since last night and I'm so fucking hard I can't think straight. May I at least jerk off?"
Silence. I took it as a moment of deliberation on his part and an opportunity to beg, to persuade him in his indecisiveness. "Please, Sir. I have been good today, I didn't touch myself. I wore your collar all the way home. I'd never presume to jerk off and not tell you or to get off without permission. Please, Sir! Please let me jerk my cock."
I ought to have known, even after only a few days, that Ryan was never indecisive. "So, you're really, really hot?"
"And you need to get off because you can't think straight?"
"The mall," he said.
I was confused. "Huh?"
"The mall. The fountain by the food court has a bench in front of it. If you need to get off, you will go to the mall. You will call me from a pay phone there and then you will jerk off on that bench."
I froze. I was silent. Jerk off in public? At the mall? The week before Christmas? It would be fucking packed! And even if it weren't the week before Christmas -- it was the fucking mall! And not like it was some bathroom stall. A bench! By the food court! "What?!" I shouted.
"It's not an order. You can decide whether you really need to get off or not. If you do, I expect to hear a lot of background noise and Christmas Muzak the next time I hear your voice." His voice was perfectly calm and matter-of-fact. I was dumbfounded. "Oh, yeah. If you go, Alex, wear your collar."
My cock, which had never gone below half-mast all day, was flaccid now. The phone was dead in my hand as I leaned, half-sitting, on my desk. He couldn't expect me to really do it. I mean, fuck, it would be against the law. Gross indecency in a shopping mall. Fuck Ryan. At least the horniness had passed for the time being. I still needed to get off, but I could go help my parents put the Christmas lights up.
Later, I sat in my room and idly surfed porn on my computer. One of my favorite sites showed girls sucking cock and having cum sprayed on their faces. I used to love those pics, sitting back, jerking off, thinking about blowing my load on some cheerleader's face. I'd never dared to humiliate any girl I'd dated before like that. I realized that I'd had Ryan's cum on my face, though, just the night before. I'd sucked him, then he'd fucked me, and I'd thought that it was all being broadcast over his webcam. I looked at the porn on my monitor and imagined for a moment that the girl was me. I was on my knees in front of some faceless guy's cock, not her. My tongue was hanging from my mouth, dripping with cum, not hers. Cum was on my cheeks, up my forehead, in my hair, not hers.
I closed my eyes and remembered the smell of Ryan's cock. I could remember the way his cockhead felt and tasted the first time it had touched my lips and tongue. I could almost smell it, almost feel it, almost taste it. I could almost see him through my closed eyelids, standing over me, starting to slide his hips back and forth. Without thinking, I licked my lips. I was writhing slightly in my chair and I realized I'd taken hold of my cock through my jeans.
Fuck Ryan. He'd never know. I could whack myself off right now, and he'd never know! Fuck the mall. I was horny. I wanted to cum. I opened my fly and took out my dick. I looked at it, how hard it was, how wet the head was from precum I'd leaked into my boxers. I traced the rim of the head with my fingertip, then down the thick tube on the underside, the cum tube. God, it felt good. I watched myself, my hand caressing my meat. Something was missing. The feeling was great, the slow tease I was giving myself. I'd earned this. Fuck Ryan. I'd earned an orgasm. I'd gone almost 24 hours now without one. I'd eaten the most vile, revolting collection of goo Ryan had ever seen, I told myself, using the words with which he'd browbeaten me.
I realized what was missing. It was like the light bulb over some cartoon's head. I quickly unfastened my jeans and pushed them and my boxers to the floor. I paused for a second as I saw the bright, white patch of skin laid bare after Ryan had shaved my pubes off the previous night. I lifted my feet to the edge of the desk and wrapped my arm under my thighs. I closed my eyes again as I took hold of my cock with one hand and let the fingers of the other circle around my asshole. God, that was good. I pulled my hand back and scooped up my own precum on two fingertips and pushed them back to my hole. I rubbed the slime in, and then pushed with one finger. My eyelids flickered and a moan escaped my throat as my finger parted the lips of my ass and entered me. So good. I stuck the rest of my finger inside, all the way to the knuckle. I rotated my hand, twisting my finger, as I stroked my cock.
I remembered Ryan fucking me. I remembered how long and thick the cock was and how inadequate my finger was in comparison. It felt awesome, sure, and I felt like a fool for having missed out on it for all those jerk off sessions I'd had since I'd hit puberty. But a finger was no cock. The image in my head focused on Ryan's cock. I'd come to know it pretty well. I could see the coloring, that pinkish, yellowish, pale shaft, the red, spongy head. The veins that stood out when it was hard. I swallowed.
Suddenly, I sat up. He'd call me tomorrow. He'd want to get off. And, he'd expect me to cum from getting fucked. Sure, I'd have no problem cumming, but he'd be able to tell that the load was too small or something for it to have been my first since last night. He'd know. And he'd said that if I broke his rules, I'd lose his cock. I wanted cock. I needed cock. The only way I could get cock was Ryan. Unless someone else knew. I sure as hell wasn't going to tell anyone. I mean, fuck, my friends sure weren't going to step up to fuck my ass. If I asked them, they might beat the shit out of me, but no ass fucking, that's for sure. Fuck!
I looked down at my throbbing cock. It was so fucking hard. Precum bubbled out of it as I watched. I dropped my head to my chest and sobbed my shoulders. FUCK! Three fucking days ago! I'd been a happy, cunt chasing, soccer captain, high school senior. Now I was a sophomore's bitch! I couldn't even jack myself off! It was unbelievable. It was pathetic. It was inescapably true. I pulled my finger from my ass and pulled my boxers back on. I turned out the lights and flung myself on the bed in disgust. I stared up at the ceiling as the Christmas lights outside cast their colored glow through the gap in my curtains. My cock had poked through the fly of my boxers. I reached down and pushed it back inside and after a second, slid my fingers down and stroked my sack. I closed my eyes. It took a concerted, conscious effort to pull my hand out of my underwear.
After at least an hour of tossing and turning, humping my crotch against my mattress, and punching my pillow in frustration, I fell asleep.
I awoke hard. I groaned as consciousness washed over me. With a sense of resignation, I opened my eyes to see the low, pale light of the winter morning just after dawn. I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling as my cock throbbed, the quilt under which I lay bobbing with its pulses. I couldn't remember ever being so hard or ever wanting to get off so badly. I think that not being able to get off made me want to all the more, not just because of the lack of release but from the sheer psychological burden of knowing that I was not allowed to do it. It was a circle: every time I thought about getting fucked by Ryan, I wanted to jerk off; every time I wanted to jerk off, I remembered Ryan and knew I couldn't. If I could have just gotten the horniness out of my system with a quick orgasm, I'd be able to move my brain onto other topics. Catch-22.
I reached into the drawer of the table next to my bed and pulled out my CD player and headphones. I slipped the headphones over my ears, cued the player to repeat the tracks on the disc in random order, and closed my eyes. I didn't fall asleep, but the driving rhythm of the music punctuated my descent into a senseless fog. Soon the sounds echoed distantly and conscious thought was replaced with a series of mental images. Images of me sucking Ryan, of being fucked by him. Like my eyelids were the screen of a movie theater, I could see myself being used. I could see myself lying in bed as if hovering between it and the ceiling. I could look down and see through the quilt that covered my body, taking in the mussed hair, the headphones, the shaved body, the throbbing cock.
Today was Monday, some part of me realized. Friday, I had woken up normal. Straight. I think I'd jacked off that morning in bed. By that night, Friday night, Ryan had taken my mouth and ass. By Saturday, I'd wanted him to do it again. By Sunday, he'd kicked me out of his house without sex and I had almost cried with desperation after watching him blow his load without me. And today was Monday. How had I gotten here? I thought back to the exam, the blackmail. That had gotten me to Friday, but that hadn't gotten me to lying here in my bed, fighting the urge to take my cock in my hand and work it until it exploded.
I remembered the sneering looks, the smirks, the sarcastic comments Ryan made each time I'd reacted in horror to each new act of homosexuality. Acts of self-revelation. He knew some how before I did what I would be capable of, both physically and emotionally. I wondered how he did that. How he knew I would not only be able to do it, but want it, crave it, after he forced me to. But, in a flash, I remembered his first act of conquest. In his kitchen, as he told me his plans, he'd kissed me. And he'd ordered me to kiss him back. I had done it then, almost robotically, in a trance, obediently but unwillingly. I remembered the collar he'd given me, now locked in the glove compartment of my car.
I don't know how long I lay there because the CD player never stopped and I didn't look at the clock. I was only brought back to reality when a sharp knock at my door told me my parents were up. My mother invited me down to breakfast; I was out of school but they still had work to go to. I excused myself as too tired because I couldn't think of a way to hide my hard on. The wait was excruciating as I heard their bustling preparations, culminating in the firm slam of the door as my father left the house. The house would be empty now. I got out of bed and looked down at the cock jutting out from between the fly of my boxers. It had to be late enough to call by now. I couldn't wait anymore.
"Hello?" Ryan asked sleepily. It had taken a half dozen rings to get him to answer, but I didn't care.
"Sir? I have got to come see you, please! My cock is going to fucking explode, and I am so fucking horny! Please, I can't go to the mall, I can't jerk off in public! I mean, I'll get arrested! Please! I'll do anything," I begged.
"You won't do anything, you fucking slut, because you won't do what I told you to do if you really needed to get off. If you can't persuade yourself to go fuck off in front of the food court, you don't need to get off that badly."
"God damn it, Ryan!" I shouted. "I'll fucking get arrested! I almost fucking blew my load last night because I couldn't stand it! I want to obey your rules, but I can't if you make them impossible. You have to give me something realistic, this isn't a fucking fantasy."
"Alex, you've already broken one of the rules." It hit me that I'd called him by name. "The only way you're getting off with my permission is at the mall. If you don't do it there, then don't ever call me again. If you need some way to satisfy your cunt, call someone else. If you call me again, and I don't hear the fucking Christmas music in the background, if I don't hear milling crowds of happy fucking holiday shoppers, I'm emailing our DVD to the soccer team.
"I'm not ordering you to jerk off," he repeated from last night. "I'm just telling you that if you're really to the point that you have to do it, you'll do it where I tell you to. Otherwise, you're just whining. If you never call me again, fine. I'll know you're a pussy but I won't tell anyone. Your secret will be safe with me. But if you get off and ever ask me for my cock again, you're toast." I heard the phone slam into the cradle. I looked at my receiver. I wanted to scream or cry or both.
I put the phone down and sat on my desk. I rested my elbow on my thigh and started pounding my forehead on the heel of my palm. How the fuck was I going to get out of this? He was fucking serious. All I could think about was his cock and how good it felt inside me and how if I didn't do this, I'd never have it again. Three fucking days!! Suddenly, I had an idea. I went to my closet, and deep in the back I found the trench coat my grandmother had given me for my birthday a couple years before. I don't think I'd ever worn it, except once over my suit to a cousin's wedding.
I took the coat out and slipped it on. It was a little tighter in the shoulders, but it still hung loosely and down to mid-calf. I felt like an exhibitionist, one of those dirty old men who wear long coats outside schools waiting to flash the kids. I took the coat off and pulled on my jeans and a sweatshirt. I slipped the coat back on and sat back on the desk. Sticking my hand in my pocket, I could rub my fingers over the lump of my cock, through the thin lining of my coat, the jeans, and my underwear. I could feel it, but not well enough. Without taking the coat off, I dropped my jeans and replaced them with khakis. Better, but not good enough.
I dropped trou again, shucked my boxers, and tried again. Still better. But I'd blow all over my khakis. I thought for a minute. I opened the desk drawer, took out a pair of scissors, and sliced a hole in the lining of the coat, right behind the pocket. Now I could slip my hand through the hole and, except for the khakis, it was like stroking my bare cock. I thought about putting the boxers back on, but figured the length of the coat would hide the wetspot from my cum. I was peeved that I'd ruin a pair of perfectly good khakis, but at this point, between the pent up lust and my self-satisfaction at having found a solution to Ryan's riddle, I let it go. It was after 9. The mall would be open for holiday hours. Maybe they wouldn't be crowded yet, either.
I practically sprinted to my car. I drove to the mall, and one look at the parking lot told me my chances of a light turn out were nil. I found a parking place a football field from the nearest entrance and darted inside. I remembered the collar just as I got to the door, and had to turn around and go back to the car. I got in, opened the glove compartment, and fastened it on. As I looked up, a woman who had thought I was getting in to leave and who had pulled up behind my car to take my place was looking at me strangely. I blushed bright red as I realized she had probably seen the collar and watched me putting it on. I ducked my head and ran back to the mall.
The place was packed. My hands were shaking as I got to the pay phones and dialed Ryan's number. I had it memorized by now.
"Hello?" he paused. "I knew you could do it," he smirked as the cacophony of Christmas commercialism piped through the phone. "Are they busy?"
"Yes Sir, they're wall to wall."
"Good." His voice dripped with delight. "You know what to do and where to do it. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. You can start without me, but you'd better not finish."
I groaned. Some part of me had wanted to find a way out this. Go do it in the bathroom. Or a changing room. Or out in the car. Especially after seeing this crowd. But he was coming to watch me do it. I resigned myself to my fate and wove my way through to the food court. I sat on the infamous bench and waited. I didn't honestly think I could last fifteen minutes if I started now. After I counted ten minutes pass on the big, digital clock on the wall, counting backwards the time remaining until midnight Christmas Eve, I stuck my hand through the hole. If Ryan got here and I hadn't started, he might get pissed. I looked down as my fingers began stroking my dick through my pants. The trench coat was barely moving. I was relieved.
It was difficult to focus on my cock and watch to make sure no one noticed me as they passed, but it only took a few minutes for the stimulation to get to me. Before long, I was devoting a large part of my concentration on keeping my hips from rocking up on the bench or my breath from getting too ragged. I kept anxiously looking at the clock, waiting for Ryan so I could finish before I became too conspicuous, but ten more minutes passed. Then fifteen. I had been keeping myself on the edge for about five minutes when I panicked. Did Ryan even have a car? What if he never showed up? Should I go call him to see if he was just fucking with me?
That was when I saw him. He was standing in line at the coffee shop at the corner of the food court, staring at me. He was wearing a deep, forest green turtleneck and jeans. The green< would have matched his eyes perfectly. His blond hair was softly brushed to one side. The thin wire frame of his glasses caught the light. I saw his trim frame, that light build that betrayed both the dominating attitude and the disproportionately large cock. The sheer eroticism of this image, his casual, nonchalant appearance, which to the casual observer would have made him appear to be leisurely waiting his turn in line, made my cock leap. I clamped every muscle in my pelvis as I strained to keep my load in my balls. I stopped stroking instantly. And then I saw him nod, his eyes staring into mine from a hundred feet away.
It took one more touch. My fingertip hit my cockhead, and it began. Every muscle in my body clenched as I tried not to give myself away. I bit my lip hard to keep from screaming out. I held my breath as seconds passed and I felt my warm spunk shoot into the leg of my khakis and spatter against my thigh. I pumped my load longer than I could hold my breath, and I gasped for air as the orgasm racked my painfully rigid body. I almost lost my grip on my composure as the air rushed in and out my lungs. Ryan had been staring at me, an audience of one in a sea of hundreds -- or so I hoped -- and I at him, until I had to clench my eyes shut.
And then it was over. I don't know how long it took, but I became aware suddenly of the noise. In the moments of climax, I had heard nothing. The only information my brain could process was the feeling of sexual release, pent up for more than 24 hours in unbearably horny conditions, and the look on Ryan's face as he recognized my orgasm as a struggle between outward calm and inward upheaval. It was look of conquest. Smug. Satisfied. I opened my eyes again, and he was ordering. I sat, immobile, exhausted, feeling the sheen of sweat on my body. I slowly looked around to see if anyone had noticed, but if they had, there was no sign of it. Slowly, my breathing returned to normal.
Coffee in hand, Ryan walked passed me and subtly gestured with a nod of his head that I should follow him. I rose, wobbly, and made my way behind him. We walked passed the bookstore by the mall entrance I'd used, me trailing him by a dozen feet or so, until we got to the end of the mall. He stepped outside the exit and stopped. I joined him.
"I knew you could do it," he said, looking over the parking lot. He didn't acknowledge me except with his voice.
"Did you drive, Sir?" I asked.
"Yeah, I drove Mom's Saab. Parking was a bitch." He shivered. "It's cold out here."
"I'm on the other side of the mall. Are we going back to your place?"
"I said, it's cold out here," he repeated. He turned to me and gave me one of his blank, cruel looks. As his intention dawned on me, I stared back in disbelief. After a few seconds, he titled his head expectantly. As cars cruised the lot for parking places, I bowed my head and my shoulders heaved. I shrugged out of the coat and held it to him, in front of me. I looked down and the cum stain was unmistakable. It extended down the length of my thigh from where my now softened dick hung, drooling the last of its load, through a large smear where my precum had leaked, and to my knee. It could have passed for urine, except for the spatter pattern.
Ryan took the coat and slipped into it. Instinctively, I moved behind him, using him to block any view of the front of my pants. "Can I walk behind you to your car?" I pleaded for mercy.
He laughed out loud. "Yeah, right. Good one, Alex. Meet me at my place in twenty minutes. You've still got to pay up for calling me by name earlier. And don't even think about wearing those ridiculous pants inside my house."
With that he stepped off the curb. My cover gone, I freaked. I knew I couldn't go back in the mall; I had to take my chances in the parking lot. I ran for the nearest row of cars and slipped between a coupe and a sedan. The cum was cold now, even colder in the wintry morning air, and I felt each slap of the cloth against my slimy leg. Sprinting between rows, I managed to make it to my car. I don't know if anyone saw me, I just got the hell into the driver's seat and revved the engine.
Author's Note: I had intended, as written, to end this story after Chapter Six. I've moved on to two new serials, but the response for Brains Over Brawn and requests for more chapters were overwhelming. It would be unpardonably arrogant of me to ignore them, so I am extending this series. I will continue to work on Student Orientation and Behind the Eight Ball, because I already have chapters of each of them outlined. I would like to update all three equally as time permits, but writing is like any other capitalist endeavor and I try most earnestly to supply the greatest demand. Therefore, your comments on which story I should pursue will be most helpful. As always, I appreciate feedback, though I am infrequently able to provide personal responses.