Date: Fri, 23 Mar 2007 17:43:03 -0400
From: Josh Armstrong <josh_armstrong2007@hotmail.com>
Subject: Contracted To Justin - Chapter Ten

Contracted To Justin - Chapter Ten

NOTES>> This is the tenth chapter in the Contracted To Justin series. *Safe*
sex doesn't appear in this story all that often, but I trust it appears a
lot in your own lives. *Sex* does appear quite often though, sometimes quite
graphically, and invariably of the gay and BDSM nature, so only read on if
the law of your chosen land allows. The copyright is all mine, subject to
Nifty's rules on the matter.

Don't forget that I'm writing a second story concurrently with this one -
'Working For Darren' - which you can also read here on Nifty. Meantime, I
hope this chapter pleases - lots of degradation, which seems to be
especially popular!

Feedback always appreciated - do drop me an email to
josh_armstrong2007@hotmail.com.

CHAPTER TEN: Toilet Time & Sex Shop

Perhaps I should explain a little about my job.

I worked in the IT department for a fairly big corporation - or at least I
did on paper. In reality the rest of my department were based in another
city, which meant in my own office I was a department of one. And for that
reason I had my own little cubicle, next to an entirely different department
that I had very little to do with. And because I worked in programme
development - I wasn't the guy that fixed the printer or went round
rebooting crashed computers, that was another department - I only regularly
dealt with a small number of the other people who worked in my office. Even
my direct boss had relatively little to do with my working day, because he
wasn't an IT specialist, and really I was reporting to the bosses in the
main IT department on the other side of the country.

None of which is really that relevant, accept that it meant there were no
colleagues working directly next to or interacting with me, which meant
there wasn't really anyone to notice when I returned to my desk a shivering
wreck. Which was just as well that day, because shivering wreck was an
understatement.

Prior to that day, my work situation had often depressed me a little. I
found it hard to make new friends as it was, and because I had no real
direct colleagues based in the same building as me I'd not really got to
know anyone working at my company, not socially anyway, despite having
worked their for over four years. I chatted with colleagues at specific
meetings when they took place, and I corresponded by email and IM to some of
the IT guys based in the head office, but that didn't really count. All of
which meant my work life had often been as lonely as my home life
pre-Justin.

But that day I was glad that my work life was pretty isolated.

My lunchtime at Doc Roberts surgery had really shaken me up. I think it was
the thought of being made to serve, and be naked, and do all that other
stuff, in such a clinical environment, away from my apartment, and in front
of strangers, and without Justin leading the domination. And then there was
the horribly embarrassing moment in the surgery lobby when a passer by had
seen me, completely naked accept for my cock cage, desperately trying to
gather up the clothes the doctor had thrown all over the floor. That had
really thrown me, big time.

Once I'd finally found the courage to leave the surgery building I'd rushed
straight back to my office without stopping. I kept thinking everyone I
passed was staring at me. Earlier in the day I'd liked the fact that the
cock cage, and the horrid scummy cummy jockstrap, and the embarrassing pink
socks, all of which Justin had made me wear, reminded me of my new sub
status, but without revealing it to everyone around me. Now I couldn't help
thinking my hidden subservient attire wasn't so hidden after all. Nothing
had changed of course, but my lunchtime at the doc's surgery had made be
paranoid. I couldn't help but think every passer-by could see the shape of
the cock cage under my trousers, or smell the rank pissy, cummy, vomity
smell of the jock. And I kept finding myself looking down to my ankles to
check that no one could see the tops of my socks, which proclaimed 'I suck
cock' and 'I drink piss' of course. I'd originally planned to buy some lunch
on my way back to the office, but as it was I didn't bother. The thought of
standing in a queue at a sandwich shop, where people might get a closer look
at the cock cage bulge in my pants, or smell the rank jock I was wearing, or
read the words on my socks, was all just too much. I just wanted to be back
at my desk, where my groin and feet could be hidden.

Not that I could have eaten anything anyway - I was so shook up my stomach
felt really worse for wear - you know like it does when you're completely on
edge and stressed? In fact, as I've said, I really needed to shit. That too
was the nerves. I mean, I'd hardly eaten anything in the last three days
apart from piss and cum (I'd had that large Sunday lunch I suppose, but I
was sure I must have thrown most of that up during that horrific ball
bashing). But the stress and nerves meant I wanted to shit anyway. Certainly
there was no way I could have faced eating a sandwich in that condition.
Though it did occur to me I should probably have stopped to buy some mints,
because having been forced to drink a glass of my own piss by the doc my
breath probably smelled really dodgy.

Having got back to the office, I sat at my desk for a good half hour doing
nothing, except desperately trying to calm my nerves and steady my stomach
and persuade my mind to focus on something other than being paraded naked
around the doc's waiting room, and having his receptionist rub cream on my
balls and ass, and being wanked off by that naked fifty-something sub.
Because of the relative isolation, I'm pretty sure no one noticed. I wasn't
completely closed in - and there were co-workers close enough to see and
hear me if they so wished - but because I never really talked to them
anyway, they rarely paid me much attention. Which is just as well - given my
state that afternoon.

The pressing need to shit slowly started to dominate my thinking. And that
put me more on edge, which made my stomach churn even more, which made me
need to shit even more. The thought of shitting put me on edge because I was
going to have to call Justin to ask for permission before having a piss or
shit. Imagine if someone on one of the desks near mine overheard me asking
someone for permission to shit - what would they think? And it would only
take one person to hear for the whole of that department to be gossiping
about my perverted phone conversations.

I spent a few minutes agonizing over what to do, until I managed to pull
myself together for a minute or so, and hatched a safer plan. I'd go to the
men's room on the floor downstairs where less people would recognise me,
then I'd wait until it was empty and call him from there. Hopefully I'd get
my permission before anyone else came in - meaning there was no danger of
anyone hearing me talking to Justin.

That plan calmed me down quite a bit, so that I felt able to leave the
security of my desk and go to the men's room.

A guy I'd never seen before was pissing at the urinal when I got there, but
that didn't matter, I simply went into a cubical and waited for him to
leave. Then I quickly got out my cellphone and dialed Justin's number. He
let it ring eleven times before answering.

"What is it cocksucker?"

"Please master, I need to go to the toilet, can I have your permission?"

"Where are you?"

"I'm in the men's room in my office Master".

"Go back to your desk and call me from there, then I'll think about it".

And with that he put the phone down.

Shit.

So much for my plan.

As I said, although I worked in my own little cubicle, neighbouring
colleagues could easily see or hear me if they chose to. I hoped to God they
didn't watch or listen to this conversation. The thought that they might put
my nerves totally back on edge again, meaning I was now really desperate to
shit, meaning I really need to make this call. Nevertheless, it took me five
minutes sitting back at my desk before I plucked up the courage to call
Justin back.

"You took your time cocksucker".

"I'm sorry master" I said, quietly, hoping that no one near by would hear
what I said, while praying Justin wouldn't insist I speak up. Fortunately he
didn't.

"What were you doing?"

I couldn't think what to say to that. I decided to go with honesty. "I'm
really embarrassed about calling you at my desk, so it took me a few minutes
to find the courage to make the call".

He laughed. "Ah sweet, the cock sucker's feeling embarrassed about having to
say a few rude words. No problem parading around his doctor's waiting room
with his filthy dick on show for all to see, but he struggles with his
toilet words". I wondered if that meant he'd spoken to Doc Roberts, or if he
just knew that a visit to Doc Roberts on a Monday lunchtime would inevitably
lead to me, as a sub, being paraded around the wating room naked. I wondered
whether I should point out to Justin that exposing myself at the Doc's
surgery had been as embarrassing as hell also, but I thought better of it.

"So, what do you want?"

"Please master, can I go to the toilet".

"Piss or shit?"

"Both master".

"Ask me about each in turn".

I knew what he was doing. He wanted to make this as drawn out and
embarrassing as possible for me.

"Please master, can I have a shit?"

"Yes".

"Please master, can I piss".

"OK, but here's what I want you to do. Take a glass with you and piss in
that. Do that first, before you sit on the toilet. Then drink the piss. Once
it's all drunk, then you have can your shit. You understand?"

"Yes master".

He continued to talk. "To be honest I'm surprised you didn't need to piss
earlier than this. It's hours since you pissed at the flat this morning.
That's a long time to go without pissing".

Fuck. I had pissed earlier. At the doctors. And without asking for Justin's
permission. But did I need permission there? Shit, what do I say?

"Please master, I did piss at the doctors, because Doc Roberts told me to".

"You did what?" He'd sound amused so far, even when challenging me for not
calling him back straight away, but now he sounded angry again. "Why didn't
you call me for permission? Didn't I tell you to call me if you needed to
piss?"

"Yes... but... I didn't think I..." I didn't know what to say.

"You just didn't fucking think at all did you? You fucking ingrate. I can't
believe you'd do that. You're such a fuck up. A pathetic useless fuck up.
You're going to pay for that piss boy, get your balls ready for another
paddling, because you're going pay big time"

And then he cut me off.

Fuck.

I'd really really fucked up this time. The thought of taking another ball
paddling really worried me. Big time. I wasn't sure I could take another
ball paddling - mentally or physically. An ass paddling yes. Despite my
genuine belief on Friday that I'd not survive a substantial ass paddling
either, now I suspected that, in fact, I could. Even if he went over the 300
swats he'd administered the previous day. I mean, I could still feel every
one of those swats on my desperately sore ass now, but I suspected I could
take more if and when Justin wished. But another ball paddling? I wasn't
sure I could do it. That had been by far the worse thing so far - and I'd
really hoped it would be an incredibly rare event. A one off maybe.

But still. There was nothing I could do about it now. What was done was
done. I should go have my shit, then try to focus, and perhaps do some work.
What was going to happen when I got home later was going to happen whatever
I did now. I had to stop stressing about it.

So that's what I did. I grabbed a large glass from the office kitchen and
made my way back to the toilet downstairs again. I don't think anyone
noticed I was leaving the room for the second time in ten minutes, nor that
I was taking a large glass into the toilet with me. I hope no one did.

The men's room was empty this time, so I went straight into one of the
cubicles. I decided to completely take off my trousers and that horrible
jock strap, even for the pissing, because as I've said, it's quite hard to
piss with the CD3000 locked around your cock and I didn't want to splash any
piss onto my clothes. Actually, it worked quite well, and I quickly had an
empty bladder and a glass full of piss. I put it to my mouth and, for the
second time today, downed a glass full of my own piss. This time I didn't
really need to down it in one go - no one was telling me to hurry - but
actually I found it easier that way. Actually, I think I was already finding
it easier to drink piss in general. Within a week or two it wouldn't bother
me in the slightest, and as I've said before, in the end I'd grow to like
it, really like it even - whether it be my own or, even better, someone
else's, straight from the cock. Best of all, Justin's, straight from his
cock.

But that was the future. For now I was just happy in the realisation that
the piss drinking didn't seem as bad as it had 48 hours ago. And in the
thought that I was now half way though this toilet visit - I could now have
my shit, hope that settled my stomach a little, and then get back to work.
Except, of course, I couldn't. I sat down on the toilet and was about to
shit when I realized, once again, that doing so would make me fart. Fuck,
why hadn't I thought of that? You nearly always fart when you shit, don't
you? Which means [a] Justin would know that I'd fucked up because I was
unlikely to shit without farting, and [b] I really needed to remember to
always ask for permission to fart before I ask for permission to shit.

I got my cellphone out and called Justin for a third time.

"What?"

"Please master, please may I trump trump?"

"Oh for fucks sake, where are you?"

"I'm in the men's room again".

"Then go back to your desk and ask me there. Shit, you're really rubbish at
this. Oh, and shit head, no pausing this time, call me as soon as you're
back at your desk".

And with that he was gone gain.

Fuck, how could going to the toilet be so complicated? Because Justin wanted
it to be I guess. As I put the horrible jock strap and my pants back on, and
as I made my way back to my desk, I prayed to God that none of my work
colleagues were paying any attention to my movements - I'd be soon going
back to the men's room for the third time in half an hour, and that would
look very suspicious. I rushed back to my desk, returning the glass I'd used
to piss in to the kitchen on my way (don't worry, I rinsed it out). It
occurred to me that if my breath had smelt pissy earlier, it would smell
twice as pissy now.

As soon as I got back to my desk I called Justin again. His insistence I
call him back straight away was a good thing really, because it meant I
couldn't sit there for five minutes agonizing on when to make the call. And
not doing the agonizing was a good thing. Especially as I still needed to
desperately shit. And besides, at the end of the day there's no good time to
have to ask your master for permission to 'trump trump' in potential earshot
of your work mates. You might as well do it now as in five minutes time.

He let it ring fifteen times this time, then...

"Say it shithead".

"Please master, please may I trump trump".

"Yes, now stop bothering me with this shit. Oh, and talking of shit, no
wiping when you're done, right? You never wipe down there. Pussy boys like
you don't get to wipe".

And then he was gone again.

That last instruction, the latest rule that governed my new life, wasn't
good. I won't go into details, because it's pretty disgusting, but when I
did finally get to shit it was quite liquidy, if you know what I mean.
That's what it's like when you're all nervous or stressed out, isn't it? I
did all the shaking of my ass I could manage, but it was definitely still a
bit damp down there as I pulled up my jock and trousers. The jock didn't
offer any protection to my crack, of course, so any shitty moisture there
would just soak straight into my trousers. I hoped to hell it wouldn't stain
or smell.

Though to be honest, what with the jock strap and my pissy breath, I was
already a bit of a stink, I doubt a bit of shit would have made all that
much difference. Thank God I wasn't needed in any meetings that day - then
people would surely notice the smell. As it was I think I got away with it
though, despite my best intentions to get back to work after going to the
toilet, the thought someone could smell my stink, coupled with the thought
that I might now stink this way on other days when there would definitely be
meetings to attend, kept me really stressed out. I tried to work, but found
it hard to concentrate on anything.

And the last hour was the worst. Thanks to Justin again. At half four he'd
called me.

"Yes Master".

"Ah fuck boy, there you are. I've got a chore for you. On your way home I
want you to go to the sex shop on North Row, just off Chapel Street. I've
put in an order for you, and you need to pick it up. Tell them that you're
Justin's pussy boy and that you're there for your naughty toys. You'll have
to use those exact words or they won't give them you. And there'll be some
charges to pay too".

"Please master, I only have the five bucks you gave me for lunch".

"Why didn't you buy lunch?"

"I didn't have time master".

"Well, that's not good enough. You've got to eat".

"I'm sorry master".

"Well, I'm not having you stock piling cash. I want you to rip that money up
and put it in your bin"

"But master, how will I pay for the toys?"

"You're naughty toys?"

"Yes master"

"Say it".

"My naughty toys, master".

"I'm sure you'll think of something". And he hung up again.

What the fuck did that mean?

And what toys?

And which sex shop?

Is it any wonder my mind continued to race for my last hour at work? I
subtly ripped up the cash he'd given me and threw it in my bin, and then
started to panic about the chore I'd just been given. By the time 5.30pm
came round I was so nervous I really needed to shit again, but there was no
way I was going through all that again.

Instead I made a quick exit from work and head straight for Chapel Street. I
wanted to get this chore done as quickly as I could. I had no idea what
Justin had planned for me that evening - there was a very real chance it
would be ten times worse than anything that had happened to me so far that
day in terms of pain or degradation - but somehow the thought of being in my
own apartment, however painful or degrading what happened there may be -
seemed very desirable compared to what had happened to me so far that day,
and what could happen on my visit to this sex shop. Despite everything, home
now seemed very secure.

Chapel Street I knew well, and it only required a slight detour from my
normal route home - though it meant I took the bus instead of the usual
metro. I already knew that there were a number of sex shops on the side
roads that ran off Chapel Street, though I didn't know which side street was
North Row, nor what to expect when I got there. I'd never been in a sex shop
in my life. I'd past a few while walking round town - it was hard not to -
but I'd never considered going in one. I sometimes wondered who did in this
day and age - surely most people preferred the privacy of ordering sex toys
and porn on the internet? But enough people must have still used them to
justify the twenty odd that seemed to do a good trade in the Chapel Street
part of town.

I came across North Row much sooner than I'd expected, though my immediate
happiness in finding it so soon quickly disappeared when I looked along it.
There were five sex shops on North Row. Which one did Justin mean? Why
hadn't he given me a shop name? Didn't he know there was more than one sex
shop on this street? He must do. Shit, I was going to have to call him
again.

"Hello cocksucker, what can I do you for, looking for a cock to suck?"

That threw me - I'd not expected Jay to answer Justin's cellphone.

"Please sir, is Justin there?"

"Master Justin to you surely?"

"Yes sir, Master Justin, is he there sir?"

"No".

Thrown gain. Fuck, how was I meant to know which sex shop to go in?

"Please sir, do you know which sex shop I'm meant to be going to, Justin, I
mean, Master Justin, just said North Row, but there are five sex shops
here".

"I'm afraid I've no idea fuck face".

"But what should I do? I have to pick some things up for Master Justin"

"Well, try them all. Say your magic words and see which one hands over the
goods. Catch you later, shit features".

In a rare moment of clarity it immediately clicked what was happening here.
Justin knew how many sex shops there were on this street. But he'd
deliberately not told me which one he'd placed an order with. And he was
almost certainly with Jay right now - certainly he'd briefed his protégé
what to say. He'd set me up. I was going to have to pick a random shop, and
go in, and tell the staff there that I was Justin's 'pussy boy' and that I
was there to pick up my 'naughty toys'. And there was only a one in five
chance it would be the right store. Walking into a sex shop and saying all
that stuff was gutting in itself - going into the wrong sex shop and saying
it was beyond gutting. I was considering calling Justin's cellphone again
and begging that Jay or Justin tell me which shop I was picking my stuff up
from. And, despite knowing doing that would most likely be futile, I
probably would have done, had a text message not arrived at that second.

"Stop dithrng + do it pssy boy - pck a shp, any shp - ur fkd if u pick the
wrong 1 - ha ha - Jay"

Despite that order, it took me another five minutes of further
procrastination before I picked a shop. Firstly I tried to decide which
looked the least sleazy - I'd try that one first - it would be less
embarrassing. Except, it then occurred to me that I was going to have to
talk sleazy, and it would probably be less embarrassing doing so in the
sleaziest of these sex shops. Plus Justin would pick somewhere really sleazy
for me to go to, wouldn't he? Or would he? As I thought about it, I realized
it didn't really matter - all five of the shops on this street looked really
sleazy. I suspected this was the sleaziest bit of the city's sex shop
community. In the end I just opted for the one nearest to where I was
standing.

It was busier than I'd expected. Obviously you can never see inside sex
shops from the outside, but I'd never expected them to have so many
customers. And a real curious mix of customers too - men, women, smart,
scruffy. This made it all so much worse. I could just about stomach the
thought of having to say what I had to say to a sex shop employee - they
surely heard similar crap all the time. And if a few dirty old men, or
obvious BDSM scenesters, overhead me, well I could probably cope with that.
But there were so many 'normal' looking people in this shop. Normal's
probably the wrong word - but you know what I mean.

I browsed and loitered for a couple more minutes - though I couldn't really
tell you what I looked at (I think I flicked through some racks of porn
DVDs) because I was panicking so much about what I was going to have to do.
I considered leaving and trying another shop, or leaving altogether and just
taking whatever Justin dealt in punishment for not doing the task he'd set,
but, even as I was seriously considering that option, I suddenly found a
previous untapped source of courage within and found myself walking quite
assertively to the counter. There was a scruffy looking guy in his twenties
and a leather glad middle aged women serving.

I caught their attention and I said it: "Please sir, I'm Justin's pussy boy
and I'm here for my naughty toys".

The guy started laughing, and I'm pretty sure a couple of customers near by
giggled too, but I was riding on this wave of courage now, so it strangely
didn't both me. And the woman was really nice about it - which helped a lot.
She said, in a friendly voice, "sorry love, I think you've got the wrong
shop". Still in courage mode I responded, confidently, "I'm sorry miss, you
must be right", and I walked straight out of the shop, with my head held
high, and straight into the next shop along, where I repeated the process.
Again I refused to be embarrassed about being in the wrong shop, despite the
laughing assistants, and again I responded confidently "I'm sorry sir, you
must be right" when one of them told me I was obviously in the wrong place,
before storming straight onto the third store and then the fourth.

I was in autopilot by now, so much so that when I told the guy behind the
counter in the fourth store "Please sir, I'm Justin's pussy boy and I'm here
for my naughty toys", and he responded by saying "OK fuckboy, follow me" I
very nearly delivered my confident apologies and stormed out of the shop.

Strangely, and unfortunately for me, as soon as I'd registered what he'd
said my burst of courage vanished as quick as it had arrived. My stomach
started churning again, and my mind started racing anew. I'd been so worried
about what I had to say when I got to this sex shop, I'd not really
considered what would happen once I'd delivered my line. That question now
filled my mind. Where was this guy taking me? He was probably about my age,
perhaps slightly younger, but he looked much tougher than me. He had a skin
head haircut, was wearing leather trousers and tight black leather vest -
both ears were pierced and he had tattoos on both arms. I know you shouldn't
judge a book by its cover, but while you'd never guess Justin or any of his
friends were into the BDSM scene when you first saw them, you'd probably not
be surprised to find out this guy was. I followed him behind another counter
at the far end of the store, and through a curtained off door way, and up
some stairs, through another curtain, and into moodily lit room.

I looked around me, and if I'd been nervous before, it was nothing compared
with now. The main room of this shop had had the same rows of porn, and
kinky underwear and fancy dress, and shelves of dildos, vibrators, cock
rings, lubricants and novelty condoms all of the other sex shops I'd just
visited had boasted. But this room was in a whole different league. Ropes,
chains, scaffolds, whips, paddles, gags and every BDSM device I had ever
seen pictures of, or read about, or imagined, and a whole load more were
lined up on shelf after shelf (a number of things I could see I had no idea
what they could be used for). There were four people browsing - one of whom
was wearing just a pair of denim shorts, very revealing shorts, not
altogether unlike the ones Justin had made me wear the previous day. He was
diligently following another fully dressed guy around the store - so I
guessed the half naked guy was a sub, and the guy he followed his dom. I
wondered to myself whether Justin would ever take me shopping like that. The
thought of that, coupled with all this merchandise around me, excited me a
little and I could feel my dick pushing against the sides of the CB3000.
Though the excitement was tempered with a real sense of fear. Being in this
place on my own with these strange guys was very very unnerving.

There was yet another counter in this bit of the shop, and behind it there
was another guy about my age. Ironically given the surroundings, he was
wearing a pair of jeans and t-shirt - pretty smart and fashionable clothing
- looking a bit like he worked in a high street fashion store rather than a
BDSM sex shop.

"This is Justin Ford's bitch, he's here to pick up his package" the vest guy
said.

"Ah, about time too" the smart guy replied. "There's a service charge to pay
- but he's paying in flesh - so do you want front or back".

"It's your client, you take back".

"Cool," the smart guy was walking towards me now, "lose the clothes fuck
boy".

Shit, so this is the kind of payment Justin had meant. Of course this is the
kind of payment Justin had meant. What else would he have meant?

"If you're not naked in twenty seconds I'll cut those clothes off you".

He slapped the back of my head as he said that. Where was that courage thing
now? My stomach churned a new - I was terrified. Though, I should add, the
feeling of terror was accompanied by an increasingly intense horniness. I
quickly removed my shirt, then my shoes, then my socks, then my trousers,
leaving me in just that horrid horrid jockstrap. I looked up and noticed all
four customers had now formed an audience - including the other sub guy. His
tight denim shorts were bulging big time - his cock clearly wasn't caged.

"You can leave that filthy thing on" the smart guy said, pulling the elastic
waste of the jock as he pushed me towards the counter he'd been standing
behind.

Once I was standing by the counter he pushed on the back of my head, hard,
forcing me to bend over and expose my bruised ass to my gathered audience -
all of whom had followed us over to the counter I noticed. The smart guy had
walked round the desk and now stood in front of me. The height and width of
the counter meant my head was now resting on the edge, conveniently lined up
to the smart guy's crotch - no coincidence I suspected.

I was about to be fucked, I was sure of that, and from what the smart guy
had said and how the vest guy had responded, I suspected the former would be
fucking my ass while the latter fucked by face - like what Justin and the
guys had done on Saturday night. Strangely, this didn't bother me anywhere
as near as much as I'd have expected. And that wasn't because my courage had
returned - it really hadn't. I was still terrified of these surroundings,
and of the strangers that were gathered around me, and of what else might
happen here before I got to leave with Justin's toys. But the fucking -
well, I knew what that would be like and, while it would be degrading, and
probably painful, I'd done it before and I knew I could get through it.
Maybe even enjoy it a little. Certainly the thought of being fucked in that
way, in this place, was making me even hornier. My dick was pressed hard
against the sides of its cage. And sex drive, while not the same as courage,
can have similar effects.

Smart guy unbuttoned his flies. He wasn't wearing any underwear, meaning I
immediately got a glimpse of his shaven uncut cock - still flaccid but
clearly rising to attention as I looked on. "You've got thirty seconds to
get this as wet as you can, and that's all the lube you're getting, so I'd
get it very wet if I was you". I did as he said. I immediately opened my
mouth and started to lick his growing dick from top to bottom, desperately
trying to get as much saliva as I could on it. To be fair to this guy, I
think he gave me quite a bit more than thirty seconds to cover his dick in
spit, and when I was done he got me to lick his fingers too. That had
confused me at first, until he wandered round to my ass and started finger
fucking me. One finger, then two, then three. I'd never realized how good a
finger fuck could feel (rent boy Simon had done it a little, but nothing
like this) and while, when he replaced his fingers with his now throbbing
seven inch dick, it still hurt, a lot, it didn't hurt anywhere near as much
as when Justin had first entered me on Saturday night.

Not that I had much chance to focus on all that, because as soon as I'd
finished licking the smart guy's dick and fingers, the vest guy was at my
mouth, with his six inch dick already out and hard, demanding I lick his
balls, then his cock head, and then that I open up so he could thrust his
full dripping cock deep into my throat. But even he seemed to go quite
gentle compared to the guys over the weekend. Perhaps I was just getting
used to such throat assaults. Once they were both inside me the two guys
quickly got into a rhythm, the vest guy pulling out of my throat as the
smart guy plunged into my ass, the smart guy withdrawing as the vest guy
pushed back in. A couple of the customers were now shouting encouragement -
and pretty degrading stuff - "fuck that pussy boy", "fuck his lights out,
the filthy scum boy", "give it to him, he's just a cum bucket, fill him up"
- but that didn't bother me either, in fact it turned me on more.

In fact there was only really one bad thing about this whole experience. The
CB3000 still locked to my cock. The dicks inside me - throat and ass -
coupled with the degradation of the setting, and the audience and their
remarks, was turning me on big time. Yet my dick, desperate to grow to full
size, was still constrained by its cage. And the cage was pushed tight
against my body by the jock. It was horrible. I'd have given or done
anything to have someone remove it at that moment.

Fortunately that torture didn't last long. After about ten minutes I heard
the smart guy say "OK, go for it" and then both he and the vest guy started
really speeding up, thrusting their rock solid dicks in and out of my throat
and ass until I felt that now familiar sensation as a dick inside you
prepares to shoot its load. Smart guy shot deep inside my ass, vest guy deep
inside my throat. In fact it was only as the vest guy got me to lick his
dick clean that I got to taste his cum. The smart guy cleaned himself off on
my shirt which would have bothered me - [a] because it meant I'd have to
wear a cum stained shirt home and [b] it was depriving me of the taste of
his cum - but then again it looked like there was some shit on his dick
(Justin hadn't let me wipe remember) and just the thought of having to lick
shit again was nearly bad enough to bring me down from my highly sexually
charged state.

But not quite enough.

Which meant I was still feeling really horny as the smart guy ordered me to
get dressed, and as he handed me my bag of merchandise, and as he told me to
"fuck off out of his shop", and as he all but pushed me down the stairs. So
horny, in fact, I was in a bit of a daze as I left the store. Meaning I was
on the bus back to my apartment before I noticed the bag I was carrying had
the words 'dirty sex toys' written on it in big red letters, and that the
shitty cum stain on my shirt was really quite obvious. And that the smell of
that horrible jock strap I was still wearing seemed to be getting ever more
poignant. And that the guy sitting opposite me was giving me the filthiest
look I'd ever seen.

Those discoveries, however, were enough to bring me back to reality.

My horniness seemed to disappear as quickly as my courage had gone earlier.
Suddenly I felt my face burn red again. At the next stop I quickly got off
the bus and opted to walk home. That wasn't much better, but at least people
would be less likely to smell my disgusting jock strap, and even if they
noticed what the bag said, or the shitty cum stain on my shirt, they
wouldn't be able to fix me with a disgusted stare for the rest of my
journey. Nevertheless, I was very very stressed, now that the horniness had
gone.

And the stress rose as I got closer to my apartment. Mainly because I'd just
remembered that when I got home I was going to have to again strip naked in
my hall way and pronounce I was a cocksucker to anyone wanting to hear,
fifty times. And despite everything I had experienced that day, the doctor's
surgery nakedness, the toilet trauma and the sex shop fucking, somehow that
seemed like one of the most scary degrading things of all.

-----------------------------------------------------------

To be continued - chapter eleven coming very soon! Meantime, comments and
thoughts positive or otherwise are always much much appreciated -
josh_armstrong2007@hotmail.com