Mind Games! By THRONE (A bonus Throne one!) (Patreon)

Mind Games!

By THRONE

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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. 

Mind Games!

By THRONE

I honestly couldn't complain.  After all, what was a short and unimpressive nerd like me even doing with a stunner like Paris?  She is tall and blond, with a temptress's figure that's dominated by perfect huge breasts.  Just being with her was enough for me.  As a matter of fact, it had to be enough, because we weren't actually having sex.  To be precise, it was intercourse that wasn't happening.  She did allow me to satisfy her with my mouth, though I was limited to the half of her below the waist.  As much as I craved kissing and licking those vanilla treats, they were off limits to me.  At first, I provided oral sex because I assumed she would reciprocate in kind.  That turned out to be very wrong.  She had her insatiable appetite for orgasms taken care of, and I was left with sore unemptied balls.  My V-Card had yet to be punched.  

Even so, I had no intention of asking her to leave the apartment we shared.  With my job as a computer specialist, I was able to afford the place, as well as our utilities and the groceries.  In exchange, I got to have her sleeping next to me, usually after I had gone down on her lightly furred pussy.  During the day, she would be around the place, usually wearing very little.  One reason for that was that, like me, she worked from home.  While I was entering figures into my computer, she was on her laptop conducting video chats with horny guys who drooled over her magnificent bust, babbled on about what they'd like to do with her, and listened as she responded to their fantasies as if she was ready to be a willing partner, though nothing like that occurred.  Sometimes, as she went back and forth with them and I could hear their words, it was like she was simultaneously playing with my head.  

One Monday morning, she was on the sofa with her screen on the coffee table in front of her.  All my lovely Paris had on was a filmy nightie that showed off her chest-level charms through its sheer material.  As usual, she read the texts that came through and picked from them who she would accommodate.  A new customer had just paid her hefty fee with his credit card and bought himself an hour of her time.  They chatted, with him paying her compliments and her acting flirty.  Then he requested that she give him a close-up of her upper frontals.  I had never assisted in any way, so I was surprised when she summoned me over.

"Dicky-poo," she said in her most sugary voice, "would you pick up my laptop and bring it close for a zoom-in of my girls?"

That made me uncomfortable.  It was hard enough to listen to her becoming verbally intimate with her callers and knowing that they were getting an eyeful.  But now I had to participate and that took it in a new direction.  

"Sure, dear," I said, keeping my voice down.

I got between the table and sofa, lifted the machine, and brought it toward her mammary man-magnets.  The pervert who was with her started issuing orders to me.  He wanted me to keep going, until her assets filled his POV, with the camera of the laptop nearly touching them.  After he instructed me to return everything to its starting point, he asked Paris about who had given that assist.

"Oh, that's my roommate, Dicky-doodle," she replied.  "He's helpful in all sorts of ways."

"I'll bet.  He's damn lucky to be able to hit the sheets with you."

"Well, we sleep together, but there's no screwing.  Our relationship hasn't gone in that direction...  yet."

I didn't like being part of their exchange, especially with her speaking so candidly.  On the other hand, that final word held out new hope to me of achieving penetrative sex with her.

"Hold on," the guy said.  "You mean to tell me that he shares a bed with you but doesn't get laid."

She giggled.  "That's right."

"What about your needs, girl?"

She brightened.  "There's no problem.  My Ricky-Dicky uses his talented lips and tongue for that.  It works out well, because his pecker is kind of below average."

"Whoa," her caller said, followed by a hearty laugh.  "He goes downtown and you — what? — give him head?"

"I don't.  There was a chance earlier on, but he didn't insist, so it hasn't happened so far."

My cheeks went warm and I knew I was blushing.  Paris acted as if nothing was wrong with any of what she said.  After that, she got away from the topic of me.  The talker went off on a tangent about how he wanted to get his 'king size sausage' between her boobs, and how it was so long that she'd still be able to suck the head and several inches besides.  She cooed appreciatively.  It would be easy for him to believe that she was sincere, though I reminded myself that everything Paris said during those calls was only for her to earn her considerable income.  

That left me rattled.  It seemed to have an opposite effect on her.  That evening, she was even more heated up than usual.  I had to go down and stay down while she was shaken by multiple orgasms.  In the end, my jaws were sore.  She told me to stay in bed with her, which meant that I couldn't go and clean my mouth.  After what she'd mentioned earlier, and how I'd taken it as possibly meaning that I was at last going to get lucky with her, I was happy to comply.  As usual, I was naked in bed, the way she preferred me.  Paris ran her slender fingers over the sides of my face, down my neck, and along my arms, igniting little fires everywhere.  I writhed and moaned.  She had pointed out how it gratified her to see and hear me react, so I never held back.  

She moved on to my nipples.  Paris knew that they were my vulnerable spot.  Once she touched them, I was sent into ecstasies of arousal.  My less-than-impressive penis would get hard and my equally immature balls would be drawn up tightly.  If she wanted to drive me to the brink, all she had to do was wet her fingertips in her mouth.  She would do that tantalizingly, making a mini-show of it, for my delectation.  Then they would be reapplied to my receptive nipples.  There was always the hope, somewhere in my overheated mind, that what she did would end with me getting laid.  It would be like I had saved myself for her, though the truth was I had retained my male maidenhead, if you can call it that, through a series of failed efforts to reach lift-off with other gals.  In the meantime, while she still didn't let me go all the way, I managed to sneak off to the lavatory every few days for shameful masturbation.  It was so humiliating to sit on the toilet and tug my admittedly tiny dick until it squirted into a wad of tissues, which I could then flush into oblivion.

My failure to launch could be summarized into two categories.  There were the dates that had included me spending money on a girl and getting only a chaste goodnight kiss in return.  Then there were the dates that involved me spending money on some girl and, in rare instances, proceeding to the stage where she freed my dick.  Once a female got a peek at what I was packing, or rather not packing, it would end in tittering that she could only partly suppress, or laughter that there was no effort made to contain.  

Paris had gotten me to confess about my unsuccessful history.  She worsened the situation by sympathizing, but always in terms that included feeling sorry for me because no girl would ever want what I had to offer.  Her consolations made me desperate to hold onto what I did have, which was her, despite the fact that our bedroom time was so one-sided.  So, there we'd be in bed, with me squirming under the touch of her talented ministrations, getting close to blowing my load but never actually being taken over the finish line.  

After that call which involved me moving her laptop, she got an idea about trying different camera angles.  Online, she found a videographer.  He had credentials, which included recording and editing numerous videos for rap and hip-hop artists.  Paris decided that we needed someone like that to create some mini-movies starring her, which would be available for her established fanbase to view for a fee.  Though I disapproved, I couldn't come up with any convincing argument about why she shouldn't try such a potentially lucrative endeavor.  I was on edge for several days before the video pro, who went by the name Boss, was due to appear.  I had glimpsed him on her screen when they had video chats, and knew he was handsome, muscular, and Black.  Those were three things that bothered me, as did the way he exuded confidence and male charisma.  

Boss arrived with several pieces of equipment.  He towered over me.  His hair was worn very short and he was clean-shaven, though I could see that if he let his beard grow it would be heavy.  There was a gold earring in one lobe, like a pirate might display.  They talked while he set up two cameras, which he did with smooth competence.  The way my girlfriend looked at him, especially when he wasn't aware of it, gave me stress shivers.  He wanted to show what he could do during several of her calls, before they went on to make any short-form videos.  

The first caller wanted to see her brush her hair.  Go figure.  She sent me to fetch her brush.  I returned and managed to stay out of camera range while I discreetly handed it to her.  She fulfilled the request with long slow strokes, making the act appear quite sexual.  The guy watching her was panting and I guessed that, below the area his camera covered, he was taking some long strokes himself.

Caller number two wanted her to put on a series of bras.  I became her errand boy once more to find them.  She took her time donning each support garment, removing it, and moving on to the next.  Paris, in her erotic wisdom, made sure to wear the least exciting one first and gradually proceed to the final example, timing it so that the guy got his biggest thrill moments before his time ran out.

There was one more caller in line, who she had picked from the text requests that came in.  She smiled for the camera Boss was behind and said to her remote enthusiast, "So you want to see someone rub oil onto my twins?"

The payer made a throat clearing sound.  "I was only asking for you to do it to yourself.  But if you have someone who could use their hands..."  He took an audible breath.  "... I'd be delighted to add a generous tip."

"Ohhh, oh, oh," she bubbled.  "You're so sweet.  I can do that for you, sweetheart."  She told me in her best dulcet tones to scamper off and get her baby oil, so I could apply it.

Jeez, Louise.  I was going to get to touch her knockers.  Maybe they would no longer be off limits after that.  When I got back there had been an unfortunate change of plans.  

She told me, all wide-eyed innocence, "Boss made a brilliant suggestion.  As a video expert, he knew that his large dark hands would show up so much better against my tatas than your small pale ones.  Isn't he clever?"

"Yeah," I said morosely.  "Sure."

Instead of acknowledging my disappointment, she just tittered.  Boss snapped at me to stand behind the camera and not touch anything unless he explicitly told me to.  There I stood, like a fencepost, while he took the oil.  Paris licked her lips as he effortlessly pushed the sofa out from the wall and slid behind it.  He spritzed his hands and passed the plastic bottle to her.  Then Boss reached over her shoulders, to settle his massive paws on the fronts of both her globes.  I moaned, which earned me a disapproving scowl from Paris.  That expression was soon replaced by constantly shifting smiles as the big intruder into our lives made circles with his slick palms.  The spiral motions narrowed until he was concentrating on the erogenous zones of her nipples.  He worked on the sides and bottoms of those irresistible tits, so that their glistening fronts were visible to his stationary camera.  Then he surprised her and me by getting his thumbs and forefingers on her nips, so he could concentrate on massaging them.  The customer must have been startled too, because I heard him gasp.  

The man behind Paris offered, "Why don't you squirt a little more oil onto those beautiful bazooms of yours?  Not too much."

"Yes, Boss."  She was just using his name but the respect in her words hinted at willing obedience.  

Paris applied an additional few drops on either side.  Boss rubbed it in.  She let her head fall back.  Her eyes closed submissively.  She parted her lips in invitation.  He brought his head down and let his mouth brush hers.  She made a hungry sound.  He fastened his lips to hers and they shared a long kiss.  I didn't need to be told that there was plenty of tongue contact involved.  The action of his hands on her jugs resumed.  Near the end of the customer's allotted time, he wanted to see another kiss.  The two performers had no objections to giving him what he desired.  I went cold inside as they finished their scene with Boss flicking the stiff points on her breasts.  That transformed her face into a mask of hedonism.  

After he had cleaned his hands and turned off the camera, he declared that the two of them needed to talk alone.  Paris dismissed me as if I was a servant, which at that moment was what I felt like.  When I was allowed to return, a half hour later, not knowing what might have transpired in my absence, they were seated close together.

Boss explained to me, "I came up with a business plan that involves the usual live streaming, the short movies I said I can create, and a subscriber service for a specialty audience that I'm aware of.  It's a rather large group."  He went on, "There are guys who want to see a woman cheat on her significant other.  We're going to cater to them.  Paris will be the girlfriend.  You'll take the role of her boyfriend.  As you might guess, I'll be the guy who turns you into a cuckold.  There are plenty of other details, but we can work them out as we go."

Paris interjected with, "There's one thing that we have to take care of now, so we can record a teaser to let guys know what's coming.  Boss even figured you and I would be perfect for it, after I told him online about how things are here.  He brought what you'll need to wear."  She flashed me a devilish smirk.  "Drop your pants, Licky-Dicky."

"Drop my pants?" I echoed back at her in confusion.

The Black man barked, "You heard the pretty lady, fool.  Do it."

"Yes, Boss," I said, automatically addressing him that way.  

When my pants were around my ankles, I had to shuffle forward so Paris could easily reach me.  What Boss had brought was a chastity device, one that would be small even for a miniature dick like mine.  My girlfriend snickered as she passed my testicles, one at a time, through a ring and snugged it up against the base of my scrotum.  She then fitted the cap over my male member, compressing the organ until it was a mere nub.  Then, with Boss encouraging her, she lined up the halves of the barrel lock that was attached, with a key already in place.  My girlfriend turned the key and I heard a click that sounded to me like the fastening of the doors of Hell, with me on the wrong side of them.  She patted the cock-lock and blew an air kiss in my direction.  Boss gingerly removed the key, threaded a silver chain through it, fitted the chain around Paris's slender neck, and hooked it.  The instrument that could free me hung at the top of the valley of her cleavage.  

"There you go," Boss said with a chortle.  "We can get started on that video real soon.  But right now, little man, you need to squeeze in behind this sofa, and get down on the floor.  This sweet girl and me need some time to get better acquainted, so we can fulfill our new roles with conviction.  You know.  Like them method actors."

"Bye, bye, Dicky-Dummy."  She waved me away.  "Scoot.  You can listen to us rehearse.  It's going to be an intense session."

I went where I had been sent, aware of the snug fit of the plastic restrainer on my maleness.  There was no way I could achieve even a partial erection.  Any attempt by my body was going to be unpleasant.  If Paris continued to dress how she usually did, and to tease me frequently, with me unable to obtain release, I would soon be on the verge of distraction.  And if Boss was going to do what he must, to reduce me to her cuckold, the physical discomfort and frustration would be nothing compared to my mental torment.  That would be ten times worse, at the very least.  Paris had been playing mind games with me all along, I belatedly understood, but now they were going to be elevated to unthinkably high levels.