Scarface

After two years of working in a below-the-line advertising agency, I decided to start my own business. I had been moonlighting for several months and realized that with the work I was doing at night, unbeknownst to my full-time employer, I could make a reasonable living, going it alone. With frugality and a substantial reduction in travel expenses, I would get by. It was a nerve-racking decision, but within a couple of weeks, I knew that I had done the right thing. Working from home was fucking awesome!

At a party one evening, a friend working at an opposition agency mentioned in passing that a brief that had been sent out to several agencies. He informed me that apart from my former company, several other agencies would also be submitting artwork to a well-known paint company to redesign the artwork on their paint tins. Having met the lady in charge of that division on a few occasions, I phoned her, and after explaining my situation, asked if she would allow me to submit. Somewhat condescendingly, she agreed to entertain a proposal from me.

I was very familiar with their current packaging, as my previous employer had done the artwork years before. I slaved night and day over the next three weeks and presented what I believed to be a fantastic concept. Upon delivering it and asking for her, I got dismissively told to leave it at the reception desk. I was now in the hands of the advertising gods.

Five days later, I got a call from Ms. Condescension, informing me that I had won hands-down and that my tender had blown her directors away.  

The following week, I had a few meetings with her and by Friday, the deal was signed and sealed. I had just made a shitload of money, with a promise of much more business to follow. Elated, I decided to visit my favourite gay bar that evening to celebrate. With my hectic schedule, I had not been there in almost six weeks.

Upon my arrival, I encountered an acquaintance I had not seen in a while. We weren’t ever great friends but always chatted when bumping into one other at the bar. When our conversation got down to recent sexual activity, my cupboard was bare. Carlin, however, was brimming with news. Excitedly, he told me that he was having sex twice a week with a hot policeman named Rob. I smiled, reflecting upon the fact that my mother’s younger sister was married to a policeman named Rob. When I asked Carlin where Rob got stationed, shock number two hit home. They were at the same precinct. Shock three followed later when I learned that he was also married.       

Passing this off as a huge coincidence, we continued our conversation. When Carlin, however, told me that the policeman had a huge scar which ran from below his right ear to within half an inch of his mouth, I almost shat myself. Coincidence, be screwed, this queen was being fucked by my aunt’s husband, simple as that! A few other details followed, which left me in absolutely no doubt that Rob was leading a double existence.

Gail, my mom’s sister, was married to Rob. Gail was about thirty-three-years-old and Rob thirty-four. Gail was eleven years younger than my mom, and because of their differing ages, I had always referred to them as Rob and Gail, dispensing with the aunt and uncle formalities. Rob was a hot man, and I found him incredibly sexy. Standing six-feet-two tall, he was hunky and good looking. I would, however, never have thought in a million years that he would be fucking boys.

Every two to three weeks, Rob would pop by my apartment for a cup of coffee. He knew I was gay, as did the whole world. But I supposed, because of our familial connection, Rob had never come on to me. True to form, two weeks later, he arrived at my place for a cup of coffee. As we chatted, I decided to employ the coup de grace. I told him that I had met a friend of his named Carlin. My shit-faced grin left him under no illusion that I had just exposed his double existence.

If I thought that my revelation had put him on the back foot, I got sadly mistaken. Rob moved towards me, and after spinning me around, pushed my body down on my worktable. He then pulled my tracksuit and underpants downward before unzipping himself. All my protests were in vain as he held me down firmly while verbally abusing me.

“Time to teach a cock-teaser like you some manners,” he growled. There was no compassion as he then speared his thick cock into me. Yelping, I begged him to slow down.

“Stop whining, you fucking sissy,” came his curt reply.

Next, after grabbing me by my elbows, he pulled my body harshly onto his knob. Hoping that this wouldn’t last too long, I was in for a shock because Rob had unbelievable stamina, and he continued banging me for the next twenty minutes. His hands actively thwacked my arse as his verbal abuse escalated and his cock speared into me. Rob thumped the hell out of me, pushing and pulling his knob in and out of my arse.   

Although my presumed upper hand in this situation had backfired, I did not mind in the slightest. Having an alpha male fucking my lights out, I realized every domination fantasy I had ever dreamed about was coming true. When he finally came with me yelping like a girl, he slumped onto me, and after biting my ear hard, said, “You’re going to be seeing a lot more of me pussy-boy.”

Afterward, he grabbed me by the hair and pushed my head into his crotch. I cleaned him as commanded before he departed. With a sore and happy arse, I eventually got back to my work.

I did see a lot more of Rob after that. He visited me two to three times a week and never became a gentle lover, and only got rougher. I also grew into the rougher sex and even began to encourage it. A particular favourite of Rob’s was face-fucking me very hard. With his left hand gripping my head, his right hand would slap my face as he dragged me around, hurling abuse. My head would often get wedged in one or other manner as my throat got pulverized. He was the sexiest bully I had ever met, and I couldn’t wait for the torture he doled out during his visits.

I had always fantasized about being a blue-collar wife, being sexually subjugated in some or other skanky trailer park. Every time he left my apartment, I would run to my bedroom and lay on the bed, playacting the part of a woman who had just been punished and fucked by her brutish redneck husband. After that, I would then shoot a huge load, revelling in my imagined hell as I clutched my non-existent breasts while sighing, and groaning.

Following Rob’s initial visit, future family gatherings were not as difficult as I had feared. Rob always played it straight on those occasions and never did, or said, anything out of place.

After I finally became involved in a relationship months later, my trysts with Rob continued. Unfortunately, we had to tone down the rough stuff, because it would have been difficult explaining my welts and bruises to my partner.

No one ever found out about Rob and me.