Suck it up and do whatever Dale wants.

You resign yourself to your fate, knowing you could never overpower Dale and doubting you could outsmart the sneaky scumbag. You hope he will get bored of blackmailing you soon, but you are not looking forward to spending your spring break spit shining his shaft. You pull on your least sexy plain white t-shirt and wear a looser fitting pair of jeans in the hopes that the less enticing you appear, the sooner Dale decides you aren't worth the trouble of blackmailing into blowing him.

Your little ploy backfires as the first thing Dale says as he welcomes you inside is, "Nice idea, brah, wear old clothes so I can just fucking blast you with my load without worrying about ruining a nice shirt. Heh not that I care about your lame ass clothes anyway." He laughs like he just made the funniest joke in the world, and you chuckle politely, not sure if that's part of the deal. You follow him inside, noticing he seems to be wearing just a robe and nothing else today, but you are still laughing along. However, when you take a step in the livingroom, the laughter dies on your lips. The furniture and floor are covered in clear plastic.

Dale must sense your apprehension, because he says, "Yo, don't worry. I'm not gonna Lethal Weapon 2 you. This is just so you don't make a mess if sucking my cock makes you jizz or something." Relieved is probably too strong a word, but you take what you can get. You shuffle awkwardly in place, wondering exactly what sort of schedule he has in mind for the day. Is he just going to flomp out his dick everytime he gets the urge? Will you get bathroom breaks? Is lunch on a per diem deal or are you expected to eat what's provided? And why is your cock so hard and hurting in your baggy briefs?

"Haaaaaaa. The look on your face, dude. I can't tell how much is worry and how much is wanting. Anyway, relax. I like you better all stoned and slutty. So lets get high, eat some breakfast tacos, and then we'll see what happens." Dale has a strange effect on you: calming, yet unsettling. There is an implied 'or else' to his every casual command, but as long as you go along willingly, he is super chill, almost kind even. You take the easy way as always and accept his proffered joint. You take a huge, lung searing hit, and your nerves start to ease up and the knot in your stomach unwind. You try to hand it off to him, but he motions for you to finish it, and you definitely don't want to argue with him.

You settle in on the couch, feeling a little less carefree than you did yesterday with the crinkling beneath you reminding you of what comes after breakfast. 'Breakfast tacos' apparently mean the leftover Taco Bell unfinished from the night before, but you find them surprisingly good cold, if only because weed and anxiety have you craving something heavy and salty. You dread what will happen after breakfast, and try to take your time eating and smoking, but you can't help but hit it hard and scarf it down.

Dale, on the other hand is taking his time, "Daaaamn, dude, no need to rush. You got all day to shlobb' my knob." You both laugh as if this is the funniest thing you've ever heard, and you don't even care that it's at your expense. You're high, well fed, and you aren't feeling any pressure to get started on your 'job' for the day. If anything, Dale seems content to just have someone to get high and hang out with. You finish breakfast and another joint, then watch a Judge Judy marathon that seems to go on forever. Or is it a single episode of Judge Judy that just seems to drag due to your stretched sense of time? Either way, you begin to wonder when, or if, Dale is going to make you suck his cock.

It's not that you want to, of course. Sure, you can't stop thinking about what Dale said about liking you better when you were 'stoned and slutty', and for some reason that has had your cock throbbing since you took your first hit. Maybe there was a kernel of truth to it, after all. Not that you were a slut, since you couldn't be both a straight virgin and a gay slut, but getting high definitely makes you hornier and more open to new experiences. And it's not that you actually want to suck his thick, veiny cock, you just want to get it over with. Sure, there is just the slightest bit of curiosity if it will taste as good as it did in your hazy memory, or if you really will 'jizz or something' just from sucking Dale's dick. Eventually, the endless waiting gets to be too much, and you ask, "Uh, Dale? Did you want me to uhm, you know...help you out now?"

Dale laughs and opens his robe, letting his cock out as he chides you, "Man, I was cool just watching Judge Judy yell at lowlife criminals, but if you really need to feed that craving, I guess I can help you out." You want to tell him he's crazy. You want to point out that he's one of the lowlife criminals Judge Judy would yell at if he had enough money to sue in small claims court. You want to tell him you wouldn't be within 50 yards of his cock if he hadn't bullied and blackmailed you. But you NEED to have him in your mouth again. You don't say a word. You just lie down on the couch and bury your face in his lap, planting increasingly urgent kisses from his balls to his cockhead.

"That's a good girl." Dale strokes your fine hair as he calls you his girl again. For some reason that makes you hornier, and hungrier. Maybe it gives you the excuse of playing a role for him. Strangely, you feel less conflicted about running your around his sack in slow, sucking circles before running it along his shaft. It's like it's okay for you to be his little stoner slut as long as it stays a secret game of make believe between the two of you. You get a giddy thrill, like you're getting away with something as you wrap your supple lips around his cockhead and suck hard and hungry down his rock hard rod.

"Fuuuuuck. That's my NNH sexy slut. Let's see you get all the way down that shaft, sweety." As if his words of encouragement aren't enough to motivate you, his hand finally finds its way back in your pants, squeezing your ass as you writhe against his huge hand. You feel his cock slide up against the back of your throat, feel your gag reflex rise up and your tears swell, but you fight past it, pushing past what feels like an insurmountable barrier. You get a few inches deeper before stalling out again, but your efforts earn you your first throatful of the morning, and you squirm against the plastic sheets, practically humping the couch as Dale floods your throat.

"Good NNGGH girl. Now just stay put while Daddy Dale watches his stories." You know you should be angry. You are still nursing his nut out of his spongy cockhead, and he apparently has the rest of your day planned out for you too. Then again, it's not as if you were that focused on the daytime dramas that Dale seems to enjoy, and you are curious how long it will take you to beat yesterday's record of three loads and if you really will cum just from sucking his cock.

You have your work cut out for you on the first front. Dale seems satisfied to feel you suckle his balls and lather his prick with your tongue and lips without giving up another spurt. This only spurs you on, forcing yourself deeper on his dick until you can almost taste his balls with your tongue outstretched. Dale finally takes notice and begins kneading your ass again. You can feel his pulse racing against your tongue and throat, and you can almost just make it balls deep, when he grips your generous globes with a frenzied fervor and unleashes another explosion of ejaculate down your hungry hole.

That's how you spend the rest of your day, hitting joints hard before inhaling Dale's hard joint. Coaxing out his cum by trying every trick you've seen in porn, and more than a few Dale suggests during commercials. You lose track of how many times over you beat yesterday's record, and you forget the slutty sweet talk you moan between muffled sucks to get Dale closer to his next climax, but there is one moment that sticks with you, long after it's drowned by countless more cumloads.

It is after a lunch break taken at Dale's insistence. He needs to recharge with some Deep Dish before you try deepthroating him again. You eat ravenously and eagerly await your next turn up at bat, knowing you were getting closer and closer to reaching your gluttonous goal. Finally it gets to be too much waiting and you drop to your knees and crawl under the table cooing, "Please, Daddy Dale, your lil' girl is hungey for dessert."

You don't know if it's the sing song slutty voice or just how dick **** you are behaving, but Dale's dick grows hard and drooling precum before you even get it in your mouth. This time he slides in effortlessly, stretching your throat and pushing past your gag reflex without resistance. You can feel something different about this time, something special. You just know this is the time, and you are right. Before you know it, his pubes are tickling your nose and your tongue is bathing his balls in your stoned, slutty slobber. You pull off slowly, savoring the taste of his lust before plunging back down balls deep. You stay there a few sputtery seconds, licking his sack and milking his shaft with your tight throat, and then start to pull off slowly again.

"FUCK! SO! FUCKING! HOT!" Dale apparently tires of your teasing, and grabs your head with both hands, using your face like a fuckdoll and your raw, ravished throat like a cocksleeve. It doesn't take him long to explode inside you, this time proving too much for even your greedy gullet and spilling down your cheeks and chin. That's the moment...stuck to you like a faceful of stud seed...the shame and sensuality searing into your brain as you experience the most euphoric climac of your life. Your cock sprays your weak watery seed inside your baggy pants, staining them as you spurt out what feels like gallons of pure liquid pleasure.

By the time you are drained dry, Dale has dragged you back to the couch so he can skull fuck you and finger more spurts out of your ass. You lose track of how much cum he feeds you or how often you drool and dribble onto his plastic sheets, but by the end of the day you feel like a hollow husk filled with filthy, feverish fantasies and fuck milk. Dale amiably says, "See you tomorrow, slut.", and you wobble home, barely remembering to wipe your face before sneaking up to your room.

You crawl under the blankets again and beat off to the hazy memory of what you've done. You are still 90% sure you are straight, but 100% sure you are a cocksucker. You decide to worry about that glaring contradiction in the morning. You are more worried with what to wear, but you are 190% certain you will think of something.