A Perfect Plan! By THRONE

A Perfect Plan!

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. 

A Perfect Plan!

By THRONE

A PERFECT PLAN by Throne

Fred was privately gloating as he got behind the wheel of his car.  He glanced sideways at his wife Layla, beside him.  He loved those big boobs of hers but now someone else was going to get their hands all over them.  He had contacted a sex club online and made an appointment without consulting his spouse and only told her afterward.  That was even though she was the bigger earner of the two of them and it was actually her income that was paying for this extravagance.  The deal was that she would have to get together with another woman and act out a lesbian scene.  Watching that would fulfill one of his biggest fantasies.  Just as importantly, or maybe more so, it should bring Layla down a few notches.  With her stunning good looks, she was always the target of male attention.  He didn't like that.  It was especially stinging because, being short and having a small frame, he was far from being a chick magnet.  Let's see how easygoing she was around other guys after what was about to take place.  He figured it would be especially demeaning for her since the one she would be partnered with was Black.

"What's the matter, babe?" he asked snidely.  "Not having a good day?"

"You know I didn't ask for this, Freddy."

"It's Fred, not Freddy.  And I'm the man of the house, so what I say goes."

"Or else I just gave in to shut you up."

He hated it when she stood up for herself.  Let's see her do that tomorrow.  Then, all he would have to do was remind her about how she'd gotten down and dirty with another female, while he sat and enjoyed the show.  

They got to the place, a big old mansion out in the sticks.  Good location.  Lots of privacy.  He parked among some other vehicles in the back lot and went to the rear entrance.  When he rang the bell, it was answered by what he first took to be a cute girl.  A moment later he realized it was some young guy in drag, all fitted out as a French maid.  The freak even had a feather duster in his hand.

"I am Fifi," the crossdresser said in a wispy voice.  "Please come in.  I will show you to your room."

Fred made a sound of disgust.  How could any male make himself look like that?  They followed the man-maid to a red door.  Beyond it was a room like a small performance space.  There were two rows of chairs and, opposite them, on a low riser, a set made to resemble a bedroom.  The bed itself was a large four-poster with a pink spread.  Fifi said that someone would be with them momentarily.

The wait wasn't long.  A woman entered from a side door, which it might have been assumed led only to a closet.  Her complexion was a rich chocolate brown.  Hair short and natural.  Features strong, with high cheekbones and pillow lips.  She was tall and had stupendous curves.  Fred preferred his women smaller, but this one's thrusting bosom, wide hips, thick thighs and sturdy calves intrigued him.  Most impressive was her ass, which was double-wide and stuck far out.  Those attributes were shown off by a snug sleeveless top and tiny shorts.  It was obvious from her jutting nipples and plump camel-toe that she worn nothing underneath.  Fred shifted around in his seat as anticipation mounted.

She came to them and put a hand on Layla's shoulder.  "Hello, there, pretty lady.  You must be the one I'm going to get up close and personal with."

"I am," Layla said, a bit too warmly for Fred.  He would have preferred her to sound uneasy.

"Well, I'm Chanteuse," said the confident amazon.  "And this is going to be real nice for both of us."

Fred broke in with, "Hey, I'm the one paying for this.  My orders were for you to use her, not make her fall in love."

"It's all good, honey," Chanteuse purred.  "I know what I'm doing."  Ignoring him, she asked Layla, "You ever been with a girl?"

"Yes.  Back in college."

What?  She had never told Fred about that.  This changed the dynamic of the current event.

Chanteuse wanted to know, "Got a taste for something dark and sweet?"

Layla hesitated only seconds before telling her, "I could go for that."

Fred felt a sense of loss of control as the Black woman took his wife's hand.  Layla stood and was led to the bed.  That was when the door behind Fred opened.  He swiveled his head around to see two towering Black men come through.  They took seats on either side of him, though there were others available.  He felt oppressed by their silent presence.  

The husband asked, "You here for the show?"

"Well," said one, "we ain't waiting for a bus."

"Right.  Sure."  Fred didn't like this.  He said, "I'm Fred."

The two guys introduced themselves as Marco and DeJohn.  When Fred took their proffered hands to shake, they nearly crushed his fingers.  

He went on, "That's my wife up there, the white girl with the big tits.  Are you boys, uh, customers?"

"Us 'boys'," said Marco, "are friends of Chanteuse.  We like to keep an eye on her.  Not that she can't handle whatever comes up herself, but we still hang around."

DeJohn, sounding easygoing, added, "Besides, her shows are always a trip."

"Right."  Those words eased Fred's mind.  "This is to teach my wife a lesson.  She acts all high and mighty.  Needs to be put in her place.  I guess having a bigger audience will help show her she's not the queen of anything."

"For sure."

"Truth."

Chanteuse made adjustments on a control box that sat on the dresser behind the bed.  The lights over the viewers were extinguished.  Those above the bedroom dimmed enough to create the right mood but still leave everything easy to see.  Soft music began to play.  The three men stopped talking and concentrated on what was about to take place.

The Black seductress eased Layla back onto the bed, with an attitude of complete authority.  The blond did not resist.  Chanteuse lay on the far side of her and lighly stroked her arm.  She brushed aside Layla's hair.  Kissed her cheek.  Moved her lips to the exposed neck and nibbled on it.  Everyone could hear Layla's gasp, followed by her moan.  Taking her time, Chanteuse got up on one elbow and dipped her face down to kiss Layla's parted lips.  The men were close enough that they saw the Black woman's tongue slide into the other's mouth.  What began as a soft kiss progressed into a fervid exchange.  Chanteuse's hand found its way to Layla's melons.  Fred had insisted that his wife not wear a bra, so their warmth must have been easily perceived.  When her nipples got hard, Chanteuse expertly teased them.  That had Layla's hips squirming.  

"Damn," Fred exclaimed in a soft whisper.  "That Black bitch sure took over."

After another five minutes of smooth foreplay, Chanteuse folded back Layla's short skirt.  She massaged the wife's mound through her thin panties, effortlessly getting her wet.  Chanteuse eased off that filmy piece of lingerie, held it up, and sniffed it like it was a fragrant flower.  The two Black men chuckled.  Then her dark hand went down.  Long fingers drifted teasingly across pale yellow pubic hair.  One fingertip ran along Layla's pink pussy lips.  The reclining girl purred happily.  She took her bed partner's wrist and brought that hand to her mouth.  Layla licked her own moistness off the finger that had been tantalizing her.  Chanteuse kissed her again, so they could share the flavor.  

Fred didn't appreciate that his wife was particpating that way.  He had wanted her to be an unwilling player, distressed by having to be in an intimate situation with another female, particularly a Black one.  He thought it might go more in that direction when Chanteuse slipped that finger inside the waiting slit.  The digit went one, two, three knuckles deep.  Chanteuse began finger-banging the willing wife.  After Layla had enjoyed plenty of that, a second finger joined the game.  At some point, the blond's G-spot was touched and she cried out with pleasure.  This was not what Fred had paid for.  He should have included more specifics in what he requested.  

"Come on," Fred urged in a hushed voice.  "Get rough with her, you Black-assed dyke."  

The closest he came to having that wish answered was when Chanteuse added a third fingers.  She played with Layla, easily taking her to the edge of a climax over and over, making her whimper and even beg for more.  The Black sexpert removed her own shorts.  She got on top and began to grind, pussy-to-pussy.  Her double-bubble ass moved excitingly.  She bared Layla's exceptional knockers.  That elicited sounds of appreciation from the Black guys, which set off flashes of jealousy in Fred.  The women on the bed locked lips and feasted on each others tongues.  

That was when Chanteuse snuck a hand under the pillow and came out with a two-headed dildo.  She raised her broad hips and planted one end of it in Layla's snatch.  Then she eased herself down, simultaneously inserting the other into herself.  With it in place, she began unhurried humping.  Fried waited for that to finallly unsettle his wife.  When Layla got her pelvis into a mutually satisfying rhythm with Chanteuse's, it was like they were having great sex.  Fred was infuriated.  He wanted to say something but was intimimdated by the two figures who blocked him on either side.  They were obviously delighted with the action and he feared what they might do if he interrupted it. 

In the end, both women had explosive orgasms.  Layla clung to her partner as she was taken places Fred could never have brought her to.  The peak passed and they subsided into cuddling.

A hidden microphone picked up Chanteuse saying, "That was fine, baby girl.  But what I want now is your mouth on my passion pit."

Instead of being revolted, Layla giggled.  "Yes, Ma'am."

Out came the dildo, to be set aside.  Chanteuse rolled onto her back and parted her legs.  Fred's spouse eased down until her face was aligned with the intended target.  Fred could see some of what was happening and hear the slurping sounds that went along with it.  His wife set an unhurried pace, perhaps paying the other in kind for how she had drawn things out earlier.  Chanteuse wrapped a long lock of blond hair around one dark finger and held it loosely.  It was almost romantic, which made it the polar opposite of what Fred longed to put his wife through.  

After enough of the oral service, Chanteuse's breathing deepened.  Her heavy hips jerked.  She let out an uninhibited groan.  Then she had a full-body orgasm, with her inner thighs clinging to Layla's head, as if she wanted to never let her go.  At last it was over.

Fred was caught off guard when his wife got up, rearranged her top over her substantial breasts, retrieved her panties, and stepped down off the platform.  She came toward him.  Her lower face was slicked with Chanteuse's juices.  

"Honey," she said, holding out her arms, "I want to give you a kiss."

"Whoa," Fred said.  "No way. Not after your mouth was on that dark snatch."

To the husband's shock, his arms were seized by his neighbors.  They forced him to rise and walked him forward.  Layla took his face between her hands and brought her mouth so close that he could smell pussy juice on it.  

She coaxed, "Come on, lover.  It's your turn to play a scene with me."

He made a retching noise.  When he tried to turn his face away, one of the powerful Black men twisted his head back into place.  The other one told him to open his mouth and keep it like that.  Too afraid to disobey, he did as he was ordered.  Layla sealed her lips to his and invaded his mouth with her tongue.  While he struggled impotently, she made the unwanted contact go on and on.

After she broke away, she wanted to know, "Did you like that, Freddy?"

"You know I didn't.  Real men don't eat pussy, and I certainly didn't want to taste it.  Especially not that Black bitch's twat."

"Hold on, boy," cautioned Marco.  "You just insulted our friend."

DeJohn dug his fingers into Fred's slender bicep, making him wince.  "Let's go up there so you can apologize."

The two superior men marched him to the bedroom set.  The Black woman sat up and swung around, to put her feet on the floor.  She made sure to keep her legs far apart.  Fred was forced down onto his knees in front of her.  He was confronted with her bare pubes, his wife's saliva now dry there.  Unlike Layla, this one had thick protruding nether lips, rippled ones that it made him nauseated just to see.

Marco told him, "You can say you're sorry, little guy."

DeJohn suggested, "And then give her some lip-loving to seal the deal."

Fred gagged.  "I can't."

"No problem," Marco said.  "You can just suck our cocks, instead.  That okay with you?"

"I'm not a fag.  You want that, go to the Fifi freak who answered the door."

"Oh, crap," Marco said, his voice level.  "You might owe our housekeeper an apology, too."

The seriousness of his situation hit home for Fred.  He wanted his wife to tell him, "What happened?  This isn't what I paid for."

"The truth is, Freddy, they called us back with a few questions about details.  You were busy online, probably drooling over internet porn.  I got to talking with one of this place's people and we had a productive chat.  Turns out, they were sympathetic to my plight.  When I mentioned that you were paying with my money, that changed everything.  They allowed me to flip the script on you and turn this into my show.  So, for your first scene, make me believe you're loving it while you make a meal of my new special friend's hot box."

Chanteuse put her hands on Fred's head.  She said, "Once you get past the smell, little dude, you've got it licked.  And licked and licked."

He choked up.  "I can't."

Marco advised, "You sure can."

DeJohn upped the stakes with, "Or else."

Fred saw that resistance was futile.  He sniffled.  Chanteuse eased his head forward until his nose touched her wet jutting clitoris.  

She said, "I like my apologies long and slow."

There was laughter from behind Fred, including his wife's.  She put herself alongside him, for a better view.  He extended his tongue and got a first taste.  It sickened him.  Nevertheless, with worse waiting if he stopped, he began to run his licker from the bottom to the top of her furrow.  She told him not to neglect the pearl.  Even though Chanteuse had just had a climax from his wife's ministrations, she acted ready for one more finish, or multiples.  Layla sat beside her.  The women kissed ardently.  There was mutual fondling, with no guilt or second thoughts.  Fred wasn't sure if was from his efforts or those of his spouse, but the Black woman's fluids increased, forcing him to accept and swallow them.  He got his hands on the sides of her tremendous ass.  Instead of increasing his disgust, touching her there had a curious erotic effect.  Hell, no.  He didn't want to get aroused by that traitor.  Even so, his dick twitched insistently.  

The two women kept him there long enough that the Black men had time to step out and grab four beers from a fridge.  The quartet clinked bottles.  With perfect timing, as they chugged brew, Chanteuse erupted into a finale.  Fred learned that she was a squirter.  Kissing his wife after she ate the Black woman had been bad but this was unthinkable.  

Marco said, "While we were out of the room, I ran into Fifi.  The little princess said that Fred does owe her, but that we could collect in her place.  The way Freddy acts around us, I think he's a secret sissy."

DeJohn offered, "He hates pussy and that's a telltale sign.  Don't want the little kitten, must want the big dog."

Fred shook his head.  Marco decided that the one who was in debt should be naked for what came next.  They dragged Fred to his feet and helped him undress, if giving him bitch slaps and telling him to do it himself could be considered helping.  Stunned from the blows, getting no sympathy from his vindictive wife, he unbuttoned his shirt.  Under everyone's amused stares, he was soon down to just his jockey shorts.  Knowing what was going to happen, Layla had made sure he would have on ones she had gotten him that he had never worn before, pale red with pink hearts all over them.

"Jeez," said Marco.  "Those are one step away from being panties."

DeJohn pointed out, "There ain't much inside them, from what I can see."

"For sure," Layla confirmed. "What my husband is packing looks like it came out of a box of puppy biscuits."

"Go on," the Black woman told him.  "Show us what you got, stud."

Fred blushed.  He lowered his shorts.  When the three Blacks saw his genitals, with barely any pubic hair, they burst into raucous laughter.

"That's no cock.  It's an accident."

"A mistake of nature."

"Something no woman would want near her pussy."

He was humiliated.  Chanteuse motioned for him to approach her.  She diddled his nipples until he got stiff.

"Nope," she declared.  "His dingus don't get much bigger when it's hard."

Marco observed, "But Freddy does like to have them nipples tickled.  That's another sissy sign."

DeJohn was quick to speculate, "I wonder what other clues he got to offer."

They led Fred out of the bedroom setting and to another room in the sex club.  This one was a dungeon.  He eyed the weapons of ass-destruction hung on the walls.  There were bondage clothes visible in an opened wardrobe.  A low stool with an upright dildo mounted on it would be a painful place to sit.  He shuddered at the possibilities offered.  

"The deal is," Marco reminded Fred, "that we got to collect what you owe to Fifi.  At the same time, you can get in touch with your sissy side, so we can fix two problems at once."

"But I'm not...", Fred began.  

DeJohn cut him off with, "You are what you is.  So let's get right to the business at hand.  How about if I flip a coin.  Heads or tails.  Heads and you give us head.  Tails and we jam your tail."

With his voice quivering, Fred asked, "Do you mean fellatio and anal intercourse?"

"No," Chanteuse answered for the others.  "They damn well mean cock sucking and ass fucking."  

Fred turned to his wife.  "Honey," he pleaded, "you can't let that happen."

"Why not?  You brought me here to have sex you thought I didn't want.  It's equal opportunity payback time."

He stood there, nude, with his hands over his inferior male parts, trembling.  Chanteuse selected some tall, red leather boots for him.  With a devilish grin, Layla found a hood from a gimp suit and held onto it.  They sat him on that dildo stool, letting the ungreased rubber cock enter him slowly, to the accompaniment of his wild wailing.  When it was all the way in, he was given the boots.  It took him a while to work them up his legs and onto his feet.  The entire time, his every movement tormented his probed butthole.  He was soon weeping.  That was partly dealt with when Chanteuse fitted the mask over his head and Layla zipped it in back.  There were holes at his nostrils.  The mouth opening had a built-in ring gag, which they pushed into his mouth and locked into place.  The eyeholes allowed his distressed expression to show.  Unable to close his mouth, he was soon drooling down his covered chin.  

Marco pretended to flip a coin, then catch and slap it against the back of his hand.  He looked at where it was supposed to be.  "Heads!" he announced.  "Now you get a mouthful of me.  Is that okay with you, Freddy?  Do you think it'll help your with your sissy issues?"

Fred made inarticulate sounds.  Marco pretended to understand and said he was glad the masked one agreed on both points.  DeJohn took hold of Fred's shoulders and pushed down.  Their prey risen slightly to try to relieve his discomfort.  Now he was planted more firmly again on the faux cock.  He was facing Marco's crotch.  There was a threatening bulge under a layer of fabric.  The Black tormentor slowly undid his belt, opened his pants, and lowered the fly.  He worked them down, while Fred dreaded what would be uncovered.  The white guy's concerns were not unfounded.  When Marco's pants and boxers got dropped, what hung there was impressive.  It put Fred's dick to shame.  At the end of a long girthy shaft was a fat knob.

Marco went into a deep squat.  He forced Fred's thighs apart and got close enough to rub his monster all over the seated one's poor substitute.  The Black man said, "There they are.  The sausage and the peanut."  

DeJohn observed, "And the peanut is growing."

Fred was humiliated to see that his pecker now stood up.  He had to wonder if all that talk about him being a closet queer was true.  Chanteuse suggested that maybe he was drawn to Layla's huge tits to outwardly deny what he truly wanted.  Marco patted him patronizingly on the top of his head and ruffled his hair.   From its previous contact with Fred, the Black man's cock was rigid.  He placed the end of his tool into Fred's mouth, held wide by the ring gag.  The warm meat rested on his tongue.  He couldn't close his lips to suck, but his taster was still mobile.  With a few threats from Marco, the seated one got busy, licking and swirling.  That wasn't enough for the one he was trying to service.  The Black man began to push in and withdraw.  As he went deeper, Fred gagged, but not much.

"See that?" Marco said.  "Not much of a gag reflex.  Sissy sign number six."

Being rocked forward and back, even though the movement was limited, made Fred's rear passage hurt even more.  It was as if he was being taken back there.  He dreaded the possibility of the fake prick being replaced by the real thing.  Maybe, he told himself, if he did a good enough job with his mouth, when it was DeJohn's turn he would want oral too, and not the alternative.  That was why the husband employed his tongue the best he could to pleasure the man using him.  He even pushed his head forward and pulled it back, to help the effort.

"Day-am," crowed Marco.  "Look at him go.  This boy sure love having me stuffed in there.  He must have been starving for some Big Black Cock.  Now that he's getting a taste, he wants more, more, more."

"I always suspected my little hubby might be a closeted queen.  Now I won't have to be bothered by him having sex with me.  His new love life will be strictly with dudes."

Chanteuse mentioned, "He ate my snatch real good, girl.  You should put him on pussy duty, too."

Layla laughed.  "That's not a bad idea.  His mouth will get a workout, eating dicks and sucking pussies."

"Yeah," agreed Marco, his voice thickened by lust.  "Right now, it's all about the cock-loving part."

He worked his hips harder.  Fred stopped trying to placate him.  Now, it was more like the guy on the stool with the rubber rammer up his chute was having his face used.  He made choking sounds as his automatic response was triggered over and over.  Marco seized the sides of his living sex doll's head.  With a final half dozen thrusts he drove himself over the edge.  His thick spunk spurted out in generous gobs.  Fred barely managed to glug it all down.  After he was spent, Marco removjed the gimp mask and wiped his tool off on Fred's face and hair.  

DeJohn allowed no time for their plaything to recuperate.  He planted a foot on the bar that ran between the front legs of the stool.  That way, when he yanked Fred to his feet, the low piece of furniture stayed were it was.  The artificial phallus was ripped free, which delivered the worst jolt of pain yet in the white guy's tender orifice.  

The second Black man told the others, "Why don't you all take a break and grab some more brews?  I'll keep our boy company but won't get into anything serious with him until you're back."

"Sure," said Marco.  "Give us a little time."

After they were gone, DeJohn surpised Fred by saying, "Sorry I had to jerk you up off that stool all at once.  I needed to make it look good."

"What are you saying?"

"This is getting out of hand.  But I've got a way for you to suffer less and get the rest of it over with.  Sound good?"

"Yes," Fred said with relief.  "Please.  I just want it to be done."

Sounding concerned, DeJohn went on, "The thing is that you'll have to put on a performance for the others.  Okay?  Instead of reaming your rump, I'm going to demand a blowjob and you're going to act like you're really into it.  Otherwise, the way Marco is, he'll come up with something incredibly nasty to do to you."

"I don't know..."

"Maybe he'll go after your balls."

"I'd rather not..."

"Or he might push me to take you from behind.  The thing is, if I do that, it'll be rough on you.  Let me show you why."

He opened his pants and took out his piece.  Fred had expected it to be big but it was more than that.  It was ginormous.

"OMG," the sufferer gasped.  

"I know."  DeJohn shrugged.  "It's not something you want jammed all up into your poop chute.  Mine is so much larger than that junior model you got.  Am I right?"

Even though that truth was incontestable, Fred was still ashamed to confirm, "Yes.  You're right.  I'm... small."

The Black guy chuckled.  "S'cuse me.  It's just that I never seen one that tiny.  What you got is more like one of them pickles."  He held his thumb and forefinger a few inches apart, to indicate the size he meant.

"A gherkin," Fred clarified, though he didn't like contributing to the disparagement of his manhood.  

"What you said.  So, here's the deal.  When they come back, I'll act all angry and threaten you.  Pretend you're scared at first.  Then get busy on my Big Ben.  Use your hands and mouth.  Make like you're hungry for it, like you love it, as if you've been waiting for this chance a long time.  That way, my man Marco can't whack your nuggets or get on me to stuff your butt, which would be like cramming a one pound summer sausage inside an egg roll."

"It's just that..."  Fred sighed.  He didn't like that plan.  The logic seemed flawed.  But anything was better than the alternatives.  Having his testicles targeted or his anal virginity taken would be so much worse.  Even if he went along with this, there was no way Layla would believe he was as into it as he would appear to be.  Sure.  He could explain DeJohn's strategy to her later, if needed.  

DeJohn threw a long arm over Fred's unimpressive shoulders.  He drew his slender white body against that dark mass of muscles.  "You gone do all right, little dude."

Soon, they heard the others returning.  Chanteuse had a beer for DeJohn, which he swilled from thirstily.  Then he took a step back from Fred and glared at him.  

"All right, cracker," the tall Black snarled.  "You're going to suck my cock so hard I'll still be feeling it next week.  Understand?"

"Y... yes, Sir."  He didn't have to perform to be convincing.  DeJohn honestly did unnerve him.  He reminded himself of what had to come next.

DeJohn raised his open hand, as if to slap Fred.  He barked, "Get down on them knees, boy.  NOW!"

Fred assumed the demanded posture.  DeJohn got himself naked from the waist down.  His humongous shaft hung in front of Fred's face.  He told him to take hold of it, and then to kiss it.  The others couldn't see it when he gave a conspiratorial wink.

Relieved that he wasn't going to be abused, if he played along, Fred took the dangling length in both hands.  It was so thick.  He lifted it respectfully, his eyes going wide at the sight of it so close.  Then he leaned forward and puckered his lips.  At the last moment, he saw that there was a drop of clear leakage on the end of it.  Hating what he had to do, he kissed the waiting knob, catching the fluid on the tip of his tongue.  

Layla said, "Wow."

Chanteuse offered, "Looks like he was born to eat what he's got there."

As much as he didn't want to, Fred purred contentedly while he placed his lips there several more times.  He even managed a smile that he hope didn't look as strained as it felt.  Taking a deep breath, as much to brace himself as to assure he had enough oxygen, he opened wide and managed to take in the head of that rising rod.  It overfilled his mouth.  He sucked on it and hummed.  That brought it to full tumesence.  Wanting to convince his audience he had the attitude DeJohn had suggested, he cradled those big balls on the palms of both hands and gently massaged them.  Their owner grunted his approval.  

DeJohn said, "You sure liking what you doing, faggot."

Fred cringed inwardly at the use of that term.  Even so, it was part of DeJohn aiding him and keeping the threat of Marco at bay.  Layla's husband licked from the bottom of the shaft's underside to the top.  He lapped it lovingly.  Murmured sweet nothings to the object of his feigned affections.  The others watched in rapt fascination as he lavished more of his efforts on the enviable member.  He even rubbed his cheek up and down its side, before spending time give those big nuts a tongue bath.  

In breathy voice Fred cooed, "So good.  Delicious.  I love Big Black Cocks."

Then he capped the end and sucked like his life depended on it, or at least his balls and ass.  In the end, he pumped the rod with both hands while keeping the knob past his lips.  DeJohn swore vociferously and erupted, sending gout after gout of his thick cream across Fred's tongue and down his revolted throat.  At last, the well-used victim told himself, his ordeal was at an end.

"There you have it," DeJohn concluded.  "Proof positive that our Freddy is a total pink-boy, hungry for dick.  A sissy homo, through and through."  He turned to his male friend.  "Yo, Marco.  I know you.  Your tool should be ready to go again by now.  Why don't you make this size queen's dreams come true and bust her butt-cherry?"

"Sounds like a plan, my brother," Marco confirmed.

Fred couldn't believe it.  DeJohn and the other one had played him.  They had used a good cop/bad cop routine to make him act like a 100% pansy in front of his wife.  Maybe he'd been wrong about her not falling for it.  And now he had been betrayed the pair.  They locked him into an upright stock.  With his neck and wrists trapped, he was helpless.  Marco got behind him and pawed his bare buttocks.  This couldn't be happening.  All too soon, the end of that killer cock was nestled between Fred's ass cheeks.  Layla herself held up a tube of lubricant, in front of her spouse's eyes.

She said, "I'll use some of this to make it less painful.  We wouldn't want friction to hurt Marco's glorious cock.  After all, he'll be putting in me before long, just like DeJohn will be doing, too."

The vengeful woman jabbed the end of the tube into Fred's outlet and squeezed a dollop of the slippery stuff into his tightness.  She stepped away and threw him a kiss.  Before he could think of anything that might help him, Marco pushed, slowly but inexorably.  The wide head of his member opened Fred up and passed inside, with lots of accompanying pain.  Then he fed him the shaft, inch after girthy inch, until he was in up to the limit.  He stood there while Fred made bleating noises.  Then DeJohn began to pump, slow and steady.  He kept on like that while Fred writhed and groaned.  The unwilling partner did something else.  He got an accusing erection.  It made it appear, more than ever, that he appreciated what was being done to him.  After that shaming evidence had been pointed out to the others, DeJohn picked up his tempo.  As he humped, Fred couldn't contain cries of overstimulation.  

"Holy crap," DeJohn exclaimed.  "Imma gone bust my nut."

He did just that, blasting his load into Fred's ass.  Layla cheered when she saw that the man she had married was also blowing his load, with it going onto the upright of the stocks.  After both men were drained, DeJohn withdrew and Fred slumped, still supported by the locked device.  Chanteuse released him but only so he could lick up the runny mess he had left.

"So," Marco said to Layla, "do you still want to go along with the deal we discussed?"

"Damn right I do," she assured him.  "Especially now that we've all seen what a big fairy my husband is.  In exchange for a year's membership in this club for me, you get him as your unpaid sex worker, every weekend and whenever else you have a special need for him."

Chanteuse filled in, "He can do gloryhole duty and be a men's room attendant.  Plus, we've needed someone who could be there for our most perverted members and Freddy will fill that bill to a tee."  She chuckled.  "He's going to make a lot of men and even a few women happy."

Fred shook his head.  What would be left of his old self after twelve months of being on regular duty in this crazy place?  And Layla would be jumping into bed with Marco, DeJohn, and presumably others.  It was too much.  He hugged the vertical section of the stocks and sobbed, with his mouth and butthole generously besmirched by cum.  His perfect plan for mortifying his wife had taken such an ugly turn.  

Layla came and tickled his ear.  "Thanks, lover.  This is the best gift you've ever given me."

*********