Job Openings! By Throne (Patreon)

Job Openings!

By THRONE

© 2019-2055 QoS Comix All Rights Reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email to [email protected]

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

**DEVIN DICKIE NOTE**
All characters are OVER 18 years of AGE! This is a bullying fantasy and not real. The acts in the following written work are only consensual sexual choices and fantasy humiliation scenarios.
Bullying is NOT OKAY and If you or someone you know is being bullied, please alert the authorities.

Job Openings!

By THRONE

The three guys — Bert, Darren and Ricky — and were all short and physically unimpressive. Their wives were stunners. This disparity might be explained by the fact that the male trio all had plenty of family money, enough that their jobs were more for show than from need. They had arrived in three cars, after their wives had gotten them to take off two weeks, time out of work that

it was easy for them to use, as they were minor functionaries at best. Where they arrived was an enclosed parking lot alongside an unassuming building, deep in the city, tucked in among wholesale showrooms and low-end retail businesses. Those from that former group were closed now. Most of the others were too, as the neighborhood was not welcoming at night. When the guys got to the unmarked side door of the building, three tall Black men emerged from other parked cars. The women casually stepped aside, showing no signs of alarm.

One of the wives said to the husbands, "It's okay, fellows. These are friends of ours. Very close friends." The other young women laughed at that. "They're just going to escort you inside, where we have a surprise waiting for you."

The white men acted uncertain but were in the habit of trusting and obeying their wives. They lived in the constant fear of displeasing them and losing the limited bedroom rights they possessed, which had dwindled to almost zero lately. The imposing Black figures herded their pale-skinned counterparts through the entrance and along a narrow corridor. They emerged into a dimly lit club. It was occupied by scary looking Black men, with some meek-acting white ones mixed in. The dark ones were oddly dressed, with lots of denim and leather, some metal studs, and plenty of boots. Their nervous companions wore limited clothing, with plenty of skin exposed.

A muscular Black man in leather pants and a vest of the same material strode up to the new arrivals. He said, "I'm Jesse. You must be the dudes we've been waiting for. Real nice of your wives to arrange for you to fill some job openings we've got."

"Oh, no," said one of the short fellows. "There must be some mistake."

"No mistake." He told the Black guys who had just arrived, "Thanks, brothers. We won't need you now. Why don't you get back to your bitches."

"Yeah," said one of them with a wolfish grin. "Those white chicks are just about drooling for some more Big Black Cock."

As they turned and moved back the way they had come, the white guys tried to follow. They were restrained by Jesse and several of the others, and they weren't gentle about it. Held by strong hands, the captives looked to each other for help but none of them had anything to offer.

Jesse said, "First things first. Let's get you into your work outfits." He glared at them and barked. "Strip! Right now." When they hesitated, he added, "Or else we're going to have to hurt you."

Scared witless, they threesome began to unbutton their shirts. With plenty of interested eyes on them, they kept going until they were down to only their jockey shorts, which were in different pastel colors.

Jesse whistled appreciatively. "Look at those sissy panties, with nothing much in them between your legs. You all just passed the job application." They huddled together, at the same time trying not to touch each other. "Now finish getting naked."

Visibly quivering, they peeled down their shorts and stood there, ringed in by hulking figures with mocking expressions. The big men inched closer. They made comments.

"Get a load of that. Instead of cocks, they got little ding-a-lings." "And baby balls."

"But cute asses," another offered, reaching out and grabbing what he was admiring.

The guy who had been touched yelped and stumbled forward, into the waiting arms of a shirtless brute. He was grabbed, spun around, and pulled close. He felt a bulge against his lower back. It was too large to be the man's penis... wasn't it? The other pair were seized and similarly restrained.

"So, here's the deal," announced Jesse. "Those fine ladies of yours said there was a vacation coming up. That's true. What they didn't mention was that you chumps aren't going. Those dogs in the parking lot are taking them. You losers are just paying." He guffawed. "Meanwhile, you'll be safe under our watchful eyes, right here at our club, which is called SWEAT. Maybe you're starting to figure out why it's called that."

The pieces were falling into place, though the picture they formed was unthinkable. Bert, Darren and Ricky tensed up. The clothes they had shed got collected by two unspeaking white males and taken away.

Bert said, "After we get out of here, at the end of the night, you people are going to be in a lot of trouble."

He was told, "You'll be leaving at the end of the night, except it won't be this night." Jesse paused to let that bad news sink in. "You'll be staying with us for the entire vacation."

In disbelief, Darren said, "Two weeks?"

"You got it, white-bread."

The complexions of the three, naturally very light, grew even more so. They were walked to the bar and shoved up against it, between some of the drinkers. Dark hands settled on white shoulders and rubbed them with easy familiarity. Fingers ran down backs. Anonymous patrons pinched bare bottoms.

"I'm treating you fairies to drinks, to get you relaxed for what's to come. I suggest you drink them all the way down, cause you're going to need what's in them."

He rapped on the bar and held up three fingers to the bartender, and older guy with a shaved head and a chinstrap beard. The mixologist nodded and filled several tall glasses. He set one in front of each of the naked figures.

Bert had watched them being poured. He said, "These are kind of strong."

Jesse assured him, "You'll thank me later for any liquid courage they give you."

The new drinkers sipped carefully, coughed, and sputtered. With those unwanted hands on them, they kept the level in their glasses dropping, until they were almost empty. There was a final 'bottoms up', after which they stood there, with the impact of the alcohol registering.

The Black man running this mad show told them, "Real soon, we'll show you your office. You're going to have some important duties. A lot of my friends here are going to be counting on you to handle their business."

Another Black voice repeated, "Handle their business," and then chuckled.

Ricky didn't understand the source of that amusement, but he forced himself to show a weak imitation of a smile. The nearest Black roughneck ran a finger over Ricky's narrow lips. He stood over sex feet and was husky.

"I'm Tiny," he introduced. "I'll be your friend. You be my friend and I'll take care of you." Before Ricky could absorb that, he was told, "Open your pretty mouth."

Not sure how to respond, the quaking, half-buzzed husband did as he was told. Tiny's long thick finger went in and explored, rubbing the tongue and then going deeper to cause some choking.

"Not bad," the supposed protector concluded. "I'll be your friend and help you make a lot of other friends."

Ricky's stomach clenched. This was a nightmare. Another man approached, carrying some objects. He handed one of whatever he had to Jesse. It was a metal collar with a locking mechanism. Jesse fitted it around Bert's neck and fastened it. There was a ring in the front, where something could be attached, and similar ones on the sides and in the back. Two more were handed over, to be put on the remaining involuntary guests. A hand roughly explored Darren's ass, with a stiff finger poking at his tight rosebud, almost but not quite entering it. He whimpered. The other two had their ears tweaked and their nipples fingered. Darren's upset was contagious and soon all of them were whimpering.

"Now that you're dressed for your jobs," decided Jesse, "it's time to get you to that workspace, like I said." He pointed across the room and ordered, "Move it."

The guys stayed close to each other as they walked barefoot across the room. More remarks were made.

"Fresh meat." "Choice rump roast." "Fillet of faggots."

The prisoners didn't like the sound of that. Even so, naked and collared, heavily outnumbered, they had no choice but to keep going. They arrived at a nondescript door. When they went through it, they were confused. Why were they in the lavatory? What sort of work could they do there? And why did they have to

be nude? Again, the truth about their situation began to make itself clear. It set them to sobbing. Where were their wives? What were they doing with those Black men? There were plenty of urinals and stalls. Several sinks ran along one wall. The guys were taken to that latter area, forced to their knees and the backs of their collars were locked to rings set into the counter. There was even an old-fashioned shoeshine spot, with a padded chair and two moveable footrests. The Black men left them there alone.

"This isn't possible," Bert said tearfully.
"But it's happening," Darren contradicted.
"I don't think we can reason with them," Ricky moaned.

The doors swung open, a man in a rubber shirt and pants strolled in. He was dragging along a frightened white guy by a lead attached to a nose ring. The obvious slave was wearing red long johns, with the rear flap open. His exposed bottom bore the marks of a spanking. When the man in rubber stepped up to a urinal and snapped the leash, his submissive understood and dropped to his knees. The detained ones had a view of the porcelain fixtures from the side. The rubber man pulled out his impressive cock and took a leisurely piss. When he was done, he snapped his fingers. The slave got his head between the penis and urinal, to lick the final drops of bladder-brew off the end of the organ. The other whites grimaced at what he was doing. His Master pointed toward the floor and, as he departed, his property got on all fours and followed him that way. He couldn't quite keep

up, which caused the ring to pull at his nose. He mewled each time it tugged at his septum.

Alone again, the collared threesome glanced at each other. Darren spoke softly. "Maybe if we make a show of cooperating, they won't go too hard on us."

"Are you kidding?" Bert said. "Didn't you see what that poor fellow had to do? In this place, I think they're hard on everybody who's under their control."

"What's it going to be like if we're here for eight weeks?" Ricky wanted to know. "Who knows what it will do to our minds?"

"Just try to hold yourself together," Darren encouraged. "Maybe our wives will have a change of heart and come back sooner for us."

Their conversation was cut short as another of the Black dominants came in, this one unaccompanied. He took the end urinal, closest to Ricky. This user freed his member, another whopper. Ricky gasped. The man enjoyed a long piss. He was so near that Ricky could smell the strong scent. Then, with his tool in his hand, he turned toward the hapless husband.

"Lick the end clean, boy," the man commanded. Ricky gagged. "I can't. That would be... disgusting."

A Black hand came up and pointed to a spot at the other end. There was no urinal there, only a ring set into the wall. Over the place something dangled from a cord that ran to the ceiling.

"You know what that is, hanging there?" "N... no."
"That's 'No, Sir', stupid."
"Um... err... sorry. No, Sir."

"Those are dental pliers. The kind you use to pull teeth. Would you rather polish my knob, or lose a couple of your pearly whites?"

"I..." Ricky sniffled. "I'll... um... do what you want... Sir."

"Damn right you will." He brought his cock within easy reach of Ricky's tongue. "Do it, boy."

Out came the tongue. There was still a drop of pee glistening golden on slit. Ricky lapped it up and drew his tongue back.

"See what you did?" the man demanded. "You started to get me hard. Give it a few more licks."

Ricky made a pitiable sound, but he couldn't stop thinking about that dental tool. He hated that his buddies could see what he was being made to do. Nevertheless, he extended his tongue again and gave a few flicks. The man told him to get his lips around the

knob. The collared husband's nose began to run. He fought back tears and fitted his lips around the bulging piece of man-meat. It pushed down on his tongue and touched the roof of his mouth at the same time. He gave a half dozen sucks, hating every second of it.

With his business still part way in the revulsed mouth, the man said, "Usually, the rule around here is that if you get a guy hard, you have to finish what you started. In this case, I've got my own sissy out at my table. Under the table, actually," he went on, and then chortled as if he had said something witty. "So, you get off easy. But I know you'll be eating your first load of cream before long."

"I can't," Ricky objected. "I'm not gay."

The man snorted derisively. "From what I heard, you're here for two weeks. Try telling me that again, at the end of your stay." He put away his cock and sauntered out of the room.

"I'm sorry," Ricky said to his friends, as if there was a need to apologize and as if his words would make a difference. He began to shed hot tears.

That was when Jesse reappeared. It was as if he knew how to

perfectly time his moves. That was actually the case, because there were hidden cameras all over the bathroom. Their video feeds would appear on the several televisions mounted high up, behind the bar, and several other locations around the main room. There was a control unit for the bartender to operate, so that the patrons could have the best view of whatever action was

taking place. There were also high-quality microphones that could be turned on, for the drinkers' listening pleasure.

"Time for some division of labor," Jesse told them. "Each of you white beauties will have your own work station." He pointed at Ricky, "I hear you just had your first taste of both piss and dark meat. So, let's put you down at the end of the row of pee-catchers."

"Noooo," Ricky cried out desperately.

Jesse unhooked him from the counter. He pinched Ricky's ear and gave it a half-twist, so he could easily lead him along. Once they got to where they were going, he clipped him to the wall with a short chain, leaving some play on it. The dental pliers were overhead. Then he playfully tweaked his nipples, one at a time.

"Don't go anywhere," he joked. Pointing to the dental instrument, he inquired, "Were you told about those?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Be on your best behavior if you don't want somebody to use them on you. The customer is always right, so do whatever they want and you won't have anything to worry about... probably."

Ricky raised his eyes. The pliers hung over him like The Sword of Damocles.

Jesse went to Bert next. He grabbed his arm and hauled him to the shoeshine chair, chaining him to one leg with enough excess

links that he could sit several feet in front of it. Then he went to Darren and led him to the first of the stalls. There were two rings on the exterior wall, with short lengths of chain hanging from each. He slapped him on the back of his head, made him bend over, and fastened a chain to the ring on either side of his collar. That left him uncomfortable bent over, looking at the floor, with his ass jutting out.

Jesse swatted his exposed buttocks. "You make a tempting target. I'm sure you'll be popular. The men's room prom queen."

Darren said, "You don't mean...?"

The Black man pawed that available ass. "I sure do, Darren White Gurl. Want me to finger your hole, just to get you loosened up? Or was the drink enough to get you ready for your first boyfriend?"

"Please."

"Correct on the first guess. Don't blame me. Your wives insisted that there be no limits, so long as we didn't do any major damage. Extracting teeth is allowed. If your balls should meet with some unfortunate accident and you lost them, well, that's just the way it works out sometimes."

"You mean...? We could end up as... eunuchs?"

"Give the man a cigar. He's a mental giant. Figuring stuff out like a mind reader."

In the main room, everyone was watching and listening. After Jesse rejoined them, they were all entertained by the helpless ones' agitation.

"This is unthinkable," Bert said. "Those big Black men are into having their way with guys like us."

Darren said, "Maybe if we say the right thing to them, they'll come to their senses."

"That's easy for you to say," Ricky offered. "You're not the one who had to... do what I did. He was going to remove my teeth. I could lose my balls."

"Shut up and let me think," Darren shot back.
Bert whined, "I don't want to lose my teeth. Or my nuts."

The TV watchers had a good time seeing their victims not getting along. They drank in their fear. Then it was time for some real action. There was a brief debate about whether they should start slowly and build up, or go straight for a mind-blowing shock. In the end, they decided to start in the middle and see how it went. Tiny volunteered to continue what he had started with Ricky.

The big man swept into the bathroom. He went directly to the white guy who he had vowed to protect, which had been done only to give him false hope. He stood in front of Ricky.

"Hey, little buddy," he said with a sly smile. "I have to convince the other guys I'm being nasty to you, or they won't let me take your side later."

"If you don't do anything," the one chained to the wall said, "they'll never know."

"Nah. Some of those dogs can sniff out a lie real easy. Sorry, man, but I have to do the deed."

He freed his cock, which was ginormous. Rubbing it against Ricky's cheeks, he had it hard in no time. He complimented his prey on how soft the sides of his face were. Because Ricky's hands were free, and because Tiny wanted to prolong the white guy's humiliation, he told him he could do some stroking. The kneeling 20-something saw a glimmer of a solution. Perhaps he could make the horny giant finish that way. The one-eyed monster faced him, long and thick. He gingerly placed his hands on it and used his double-grip to massage the shaft. Tiny made a sound of approval. Planting one hand against the wall, he rubbed Ricky's little genitals with the toe of his shoe. The risk of damage to his testicles gripped the victimized husband. Thinking he had to protect his essentials by distracting Tiny, he did the only thing that came to mind. There was enough looseness in his chains that he was able to crane his neck and capture the head of that rampant organ.

Tiny said, "Well, how about that? Seems like you want to get right to the main act. I suppose you had some sissy in you all along, boy."

He brought his hips forward, cramming two more inches between those stretched jaws. Ricky grunted and had to take it. What had he done? Trapped by his own mistake, he commenced sucking. Tiny affectionately mussed his hair.

With his cock preventing Ricky from closing his mouth, he soothed, "I'm glad you like what I'm doing." Of course, he knew that wasn't true. But undermining his plaything's confidence in his own masculinity was amusing. With the time that lay ahead, the poor boob's self-image could be permanently warped. This was a fine start. Tiny eased his pelvis forward and back, effectively fucking Ricky's mouth. It was rather soon to go deeper but he didn't mind, as this method would make everything last longer. Putting his fingers lightly on the sides of his cocksucker's face, he continued using him. Ricky looked up, not sure about how Tiny had said he was his guardian, who was now using him like a cheap whore. It went on and on, with the other two white guys mentally putting themselves in their friend's place. In the end, Tiny told him to keep sucking but to stroke at the same time. After five minutes of that, he was finally ready to come. He blasted his load into Ricky's mouth. Because he wasn't overly deep in it, most of his spunk didn't get swallowed right away. Instead, it coated the insides of the prey's mouth and even puddled under his tongue. Afterward, Ricky realized he shouldn't spit it out, especially not with Tiny so close that some would probably get on the man's pants or shoes. Therefore, Ricky had to make himself gag down the creamy mess. Tiny patted him on the head, like he was an obedient dog. Then he made a show of taking a leak.

He returned to Ricky and said, "You can kiss off that last drop. And then lick clean all the goo that's still on me. I know you'll love that."

Ricky wanted to deny that conclusion, but was too unsettled from everything, including the potent drink, to do it. Instead, he cooperatively obeyed. When he was done, he realized that his fellow husbands, hearing what the Black man said and viewing how Ricky appeared to be willingly playing his perverted part, might even imagine that he truly did have the sissy gene lurking in his DNA. He moaned and hung his head.

All too soon, another of the club's patrons appeared. He went to the shoeshine chair and sat in it, with his shoes close to Bert's face.

"Hey, shoeshine boy. My name's Jonah and I need some service. Right?"

"Yes, Sir."
"Start by taking off my shoes."
"Taking them off, Sir?"
"How else are you going to get to my feet. They're hot and sweaty,

so they need a full tongue bath."

Bert made a retching sound. "I can't..." That was as far as he got before he recalled the dental pliers.

He told himself that what he was expected to do was much less demeaning that how Ricky had performed. There could be a big element of relativity in scenarios like this. The more fortunate participants tried to console themselves by seeing their dilemmas as less awful than those of others. When the club was fortunate enough to have two male victims who were acquainted, playing them against each other could add an extra dimension to the games. That was rare. Having three had been unheard of, until this happy occasion. Bert carefully untied and worked the shoes off the feet. Under them were smelly socks. As he tugged them down and got them off, worse odors were released. His nose crinkled. His eyes watered. He could see deposits of uncleanliness between the toes. With his stomach threatening to lose its contents, he dipped his head down. At first, he couldn't make himself do more than kiss the tops of the unwashed extremities. Then Jonah made a sound of disapproval. Naked, collared and chained, Bert was in no position to stint on giving what was wanted. He protruded his tongue and licked. And licked. And lapped. And covered every bit of skin he could reach. The Black man put one foot up on the rest provided. That gave Bert full access to his protruding toes. He began to suck them and even put his tongue between them. It was disgusting. He bobbed his head up and down. Then it was time for the other foot to be elevated. After he was done with the toes, Jonah adjusted the platform, so his heel was supported and the sole was totally accessible. Bert closed his eyes and ran his tongue over the bottom of the foot, feeling every ripple of skin as he passed over them. He lost track of time. In the end, he had to hold up each ankle so he could use his lower front teeth to scrape dead skin off the backs of the heels and — to his utter shame — swallow it. How could he ever recover from such mortification? As a 'reward',

Jonah stuffed his filthy socks into Bert's mouth, so that his cheeks swelled out. Bert's saliva leeched dried perspiration and secretions from the material.

Jonah cupped Bert's chin in his palm. He locked eyes with his foot sucker and told him, "I know a natural when I run into one, and that's what you are. It wouldn't surprise me if you had been fantasizing for years about doing shit like that."

Carrying his shoes, he went back out to the bar. By that point, Bert was so intimidated that he left the unwashed socks where they were. At least it prevented him from conversing with the other two white guys, which might lead to him confessing his new self-doubts, or blaming his friends for his plight, irrational as that might be.

There was still Darren, bent over at the waist, dreading what the target of his posterior might inspire one of the Black badmen to do to him. The door opened several times and he flinched every time he heard it. But it was only men coming in to relieve their bladders. One of them used Ricky to lick off his tip and another made Bert do the same. Those two sufferers felt bonded by their mutual disgrace. They resented Darren for not having been used. That was about to change. A tall rangy man in cowboy drag entered. He even had boots with spurs and a ten-gallon hat. With the hardware on his footwear clinking, he put himself behind Darren's buns.

"I'm Wade," he said curtly. "And I'm here to take a ride. But first, let me get you prepared. I got something that'll kind of tame you,

though I don't mind if you buck some." He chortled, as if he had made a joke.

"Mister," Darren said cautiously, "can we talk about this? Maybe there's some compromise we could make. I have plenty of money on the outside."

"I heard that. And I'd be open to some easy cash." "Great."

"Except for one problem. Your wife and the other two gals paid a bundle for the club and its members to babysit the three of you for two weeks. If I took an individual payment, that wouldn't be fair to the ladies."

"But... but..."

"Besides," Wade added laconically, "you're about to have a cashflow problem, from what's been said. Did you sign a pre-nup with that busty gal of yours?"

"Sure. That's pretty standard when you have considerable assets and..."

"And did you read it closely?"

"No. She assured me it was fine and I was deep in love and..." His words failed. "Oh, no."

"Oh, yes. Same thing for your two failure friends here. Once we let you go, those girls will have you by the cojones. If they go for a divorce, you three chumps will end up broke. You'll even owe them money. If you're lucky, after they let their Black boyfriends move in, they might hire you as domestic help and give you a place to stay in the basement or wherever. By the time we're done with you, you'll be practiced at dick-licking and taking it up the butt. With some at-home instruction, you could become experts at eating pussy, too. Ever done that for your wives?"

The guys all said they hadn't. They made sour faces from just considering it. Darren said, "Just the thought turns my stomach."

"As I was saying," Wade resumed, "if you can keep your wife's pussy happy, and her new man's cock satisfied, and maybe lick them both clean after they've been kicking it, that might give them enough of a reason to keep you around. Otherwise, out you go onto the street, with no money and lots of support payments to make."

That told the guys the enormity of their troubles. Wade repeated that he had to do something to tame Darren before he mounted him. That made the bent-over butt-boy tense up. Wade took something from his back pocket. It looked like a lemon squeezer, with two hollowed halves that were joined by a tightening screw mechanism. He fitted it over Darren's balls and gave the handle a few turns. As it closed, the wearer's testicles were compressed together. It began to cause pain.

Darren blurted out, "Please, stop. Sir. You're hurting me."

"That's the idea. My mount needs to know who's the boss. This sends that message." He added two more turns, which left Darren groaning through gritted teeth. "That's sounds about right. Any tighter and I might cut off your circulation. Wouldn't want to do that and then have to castrate you after. Any looser and it wouldn't do the job as well." He gave the device an underhand whack, which made Darren yelp. "So now I get in the saddle and you won't forget to give me a good ride." He bent down far enough to whisper in Darren's ear, but spoke loudly enough for the others to hear. "When I push in, you shove back. Try to get into my tempo. If you don't, I might have to tighten that ball-masher until it wrecks your prairie oysters, and that would spoil it for you if your wife ever wants to give you a thrill in bed again, though I doubt she will."

Wade retook his spot behind Darren, uncovered his cock, and rubbed it against the vulnerable one's bum. That got Wade hard. Darren couldn't see what he was packing, so the Black faux-cowboy told the other two white guys to describe it.

Bert timorously offered, "It's so huge, buddy. He's totally going to split your ass."

Ricky, still somehow irked at the guy who he had been turned against, said, "You'll get what you deserve. I hope he busts your hole and turns your nuggets into jelly, too."

It was a weird scene. Another guy came in to use a urinal and went to Ricky instead. He had to slap his face several times to convince him to open his mouth and keep it that way. The pliers were referred to as well. Ricky stretched his jaws, while the club

member aimed his long slender rod. The human urine receptacle began to weep piteously, but without closing his mouth or even making it less accommodating. The Black customer hummed tunelessly to himself. Without warning, he let loose a powerful stream of golden fluid. It hit the back of Ricky's throat and flowed down his gullet. The pisser adjusted his aim to make sure he drenched his piss-pots tongue. With no way to rinse and spit, Ricky would have to endure the lingering taste for so long as his captors made him. There seemed to be no end to what he was being fed. He gulped and gargled. The jet lost power and the last of it hit his chin. Pee leaked from the corners of his mouth. His eyes unfocused for long seconds. The Black man in front of him recognized that as a very early sign of an eventual breakdown. Once that advanced state of defeat arrived, it would be easier to get inside his head and increase his confusion about his true sexual orientation. By the end he wouldn't know whether to beg for a Black cock to suck or plead for a used pussy to clean out. Probably, he would be doing plenty of both.

That club member went back to the bar and the hit show on multiple TVs. Meanwhile, Ward was still hard. He slid his rigid tool up and down in the valley between Darren's nether cheeks, giving him more time to fret about the inevitable penetration. Darren sniffled. Ward took aim and positioned the business end of his cock against the puckered hole. He made sounds as if he was chewing tobacco and spit on his hand, to smear some lubricating saliva over that tight bullseye. This time, when he touched the rounded head of his member to it, he didn't stop, but kept applying pressure. The ring was forced open. His thick cockhead entered, to the accompaniment of Darren's howls. Ward paused to savor the moment.

"Please," Darren implored him. "Don't do any more. Let me use my mouth on you. Or use one of the other guys. Fuck Ricky in the face. He probably wants you to. I've always had my doubts about him. Or take Bert's ass. His wife is leaving him here because he's a dud in bed, I'll bet. Another case of a repressed sissy just waiting to have his butt busted."

Ward let him run on. That speech must have the crowd in the main room hooting. The guys with their own sissies would get so worked up that they'd be especially mean to their subs. The resulting orgy would likely go on until morning. New records for cruelty would be set. And there would still be the big finale that was planned for this presentation, which would be a mind-fuck for the three who starred in it.

Just as Darren was in mid-rant, Ward plunged deeper, and was rewarded with a cry of shock and suffering. The spur-wearer reached one long lean arm around and under. To his delight, he found Darren had an erection. It might just be a nervous response, or his prostate could have been stimulated. Instead of offering either of those possible explanations, he gave the modest penis a friendly squeeze.

"Somebody got stiff from having their rear reamed. Somebody likes what's happening to them."

"No, no, no."

Ward laughed. "Spoken like a true sissy in denial." He took hold of the ball cage and gave it a twist. That would likely reverse the

erection, but he was confident that it would return, to Darren's further dismay.

The Black Westerner set up a rhythm, going deeper with each forward movement. Darren's ravaged ring would be sore for a long while. His worries about why he had become aroused would last much longer. Ward rode him spiritedly. He altered his tempo and the length of strokes, to increase his own pleasure, as well as to make sure he hit every nerve ending back there. Darren was moaning steadily. He was in a trance. The need to have his rear entrance violated might already be getting imprinted on his mind. Ward gauged his personal needs and tried to bring them in line with how Darren was being edged toward his own climax. This wasn't the first kinky rodeo event for Ward. He had violated many anal rings. He considered himself the master of them, a sort of lord of those rings. He kicked his pace up a notch and it succeeded perfectly. He came in Darren's bowels and the captured husband spurted onto the dirty floor. His two white friends witnessed that ultimate shame. Darren sobbed in defeat, having lost control of his own body, with it taken over by a superior Black male. He couldn't even slump to his knees, because the chains attached to his collar weren't long enough to allow it. Instead, he maintained his awkward posture, swaying slightly and feeling excess cum leak from his burning hole. He stepped in his own spilled spunk. Ward considered making one of the other guys slurp it up, to create more hard feelings among them. Maybe even both the others. But there was still that more important final act waiting to happen.

Ward left. The white boys were given time to catch their breath and to let their emotions run free. They agonized over what had

gone on and what else might await them. They spatted with each other. That continued until Jesse returned, accompanied by Tiny and Jonah. The three Black men freed their prisoners and arranged them in the middle of the floor, below an overhead camera that was there to capture moving images like those that were about to take place. The three naked bodies were in a loose circle, with each young man's head at another's feet. They were snapped at to tighten up the arrangement, until they found themselves with their faces on each other's crotches. They were nose-to-dick. It wouldn't take much to change that to mouth-to-dick. Once that was accomplished, they simultaneously got a sinking feeling about what came next.

Jesse praised them with, "That's a lovely daisy chain, you pansies. Hold onto each other's hips and open your mouths. Time for a three-way BJ. Get ready, get set — SUCK. If you don't, Tiny will have to use those tooth-pullers on you." He drew his lips over his teeth, in imitation of a toothless person. Speaking like someone with that condition might, he said, "Do you want to go home with no choppers, or would you rather suck each other off one time, you dirty fairies."

The guys were too beaten to say no, despite how much this final indignity repulsed them. They attached their mouths to each other's undersized dicks and applied suction, along with licking, kissing, and lapping. There was even some attention paid to scrotums, except for Darren's, which was unfortunately and unpleasantly still in the vise. Back at the bar, there were endless comments about what was on the TV screens and what came from the speakers. One by one, the white boys squirted their pent-up loads into whichever mouth they occupied. Darren even managed

another one so soon after his recent embarrassment. It was a sloppy cum-fest. There were noises of sickened swallowing and blubbering self-pity. It was the perfect ending to a perfect evening, at least to those who were the predators.

The three losers were locked into a cramped storeroom on a dirty mattress, to allow their moods to fester, and their mutual loyalties to further erode. In the dark they huddled together for warmth. From their captors' POV, the half-a-month stay was already going quite well. Who could say how warped their minds would be by the time it was over?

At the bar, Jesse observed to those listening, "Best of all, this weekend doesn't count. We get tonight, Saturday and Sunday, before the fourteen-day countdown begins. Their spouses will be having the time of their lives, in some island paradise with their Black studs. And these poor slobs are getting their masculinity turned inside out, so that by the time they're taken home, they'll have a hell of a time trying to say that they're not full-fledged sissies." He raised his beer stein. "Here's to their unhappy endings." After draining half of the glass, he concluded, "We'd better get them back in the lavatory now. There's a lot of golden champagne waiting to get pissed, and it needs somewhere to go."

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