Caught!

I was sitting in Dad’s study using the computer when something hit me in the chest and fell into my lap. Surprised, I looked down and saw that it was a dog collar, one of those black leather ones with little pointed metal studs all over it and a surprisingly delicate silver buckle.

“Put it on,” the voice from the doorway said roughly. My mind went blank. The idea was too much to comprehend and I couldn’t even begin to process it. Uncle Mitch wanted me to put on a dog collar?

It was pretty late at night, and I really shouldn’t have even been up. Probably wouldn’t have been, but Dad and Mom were on vacation and they’d left me in the care of Mom’s little brother in spite of my protestations that I was old enough to be left alone for a few weeks. Legally I was. I was old enough to vote, even. But Mom insisted that she’d feel safer if there was a ‘responsible adult’ watching over the house, and I was not to consider him a babysitter.

Babysitter or not, I had no idea what he was trying to get me to do. I shook my head in disbelief and squeaked out a response that was disbelieving and angry.

“What?”

“Put. It. On. Now.” And yes, I could hear the periods. Uncle Mitch spoke in a low and reasonable tone but with an undercurrent of demand, as if he knew I was going to obey him eventually and I just didn’t know it yet.

Uncle Mitch had never talked to me like that before. He was usually an easygoing guy, and in spite of my fears we’d gotten along pretty well. He worked as a manager in the annuities department of a life insurance company — all business suits, lunch meetings, Blackberries and talk of cross subsidies and equity indexed products.

Today when he got home he had doffed his white shirt, tie and jacket and changed into a soft suede shirt in a dark shade of gray that complemented his darker gray slacks and almost matched his prematurely dark gray hair. The one splash of color on him was his eyes; a pale sky blue which I’d always been jealous of. But overall he was an all grey man, with an ever-so-slight roughness to him and a stocky body. I’d always thought he was kind of sexy. In a guy-I’d-never-ever-really-do-it-with kind of way.

Uncle Mitch sighed as if I was a willful child who might behave someday if she was only taught some proper lessons. He put his hand on the top of my head and turned me to face the computer. He kept his hand there, forcing me to watch the screen while he typed with his free hand. A few clicks later and what he wanted me to see was up on the screen.

It was me.

And I’m not talking about a picture from my yearbook or the tame ones that I kept on MySpace and facebook. It was a movie. A movie that I’d never seen before, one that I never even knew I was in. My mouth fell open and I blushed in stunned shame.

You could easily see that it was me through the open driver’s door of the car, sitting in the passenger seat but bent over so that my face was in the driver’s lap, a slight smile on my face and my eyes closed in mute pleasure while I sucked Billy Whittier’s dick until it shot a huge load of sperm all over my lips and face. I watched myself giggle and lick everything clean, using my tongue to gather cum from everywhere until my mouth was full. I smiled and showed my bad-girl tongue-load of sperm to Billy. He told me to swallow it all like a good little girl and I did, just before the video faded out.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

I remembered that night well. Billy had driven me up to Lookout Mountain, which had long been the local necking spot because of the romantic view of the city. I thought we were going to have some hot backseat sex, but Billy begged me to blow him. Not that I minded. There’s something about hot sticky sperm splashing around my lips that I’ve always loved. I remembered Billy had insisted on leaving the car door open because he claimed he was hot. Of course that also left the dome light on, which made it easy for someone to make a video from the safety of the nearby bushes. The realization that I’d been used by Billy and somebody else so that they could sell the video to a website called Cuntsincars.com made me sick to my stomach.

Uncle Mitch pushed my head down, turning my attention from my cummy lips on the screen back to the studded black leather in my lap.

“Put it on,” he said patiently.

“No!” I practically screamed, shaking my head free of his hand. I was so goddamned mad at what Billy had done to me that the anger just spilled out onto Uncle Mitch. I didn’t know why he wanted me to put on a stupid dog collar, and I didn’t know why he thought that showing me a movie of me with sperm all over my lips would make me want to. I was such an idiot I couldn’t even predict what he said next.

“Put it on, sweetie, or I show this website to your mother.”

Oh, God.

I couldn’t believe it. This was exactly the kind of thing that my father had always warned me about. Being a little too loose with my affections had just led me to a place I didn’t want to go at all.

And I bet even Dad never thought that the trouble I’d let myself in for would come from Uncle Mitch by way of Billy Whittier.

If Dad saw the movie he’d kill me. And then Mom would kill me. And then Dad would kill me again. They knew I’d been dating, and they even had seen me kissing a boy now and again, but they probably hoped that I was still a virgin and turned a blind eye to the instincts that told them I wasn’t.

You try to hide your sex life from your parents for as long as you can, hopefully until you’re old enough to move out. But the lure of all of those hot high-school cocks longing for attention was too much for a girl to resist, and I’d had my share. Maybe a little more than my share. I was so dead.

The video started again, Billy moaning as he shot his load all over my face. My mind raced. Was there a way that I could claim that it wasn’t me, or that I was being forced? Nope. The video, though grainy and dark and clearly homemade, showed my face perfectly. And the way that I smiled when the hot sperm hit my lips pretty much belied any coercion. I was screwed.

Uncle Mitch let go of my head with a little shove downward, so that I wouldn’t forget his presence or the order he’d issued.

Reluctantly I reached down into my lap and picked up the collar.

I stared down at it, stalling and turning it this way and that in my lap. It was really kinda pretty, and I felt a little tingle between my legs. Why did Uncle Mitch want me to wear it, anyhow?

He cuffed the back of my head hard enough to hurt. Then he said it again, but this time with a trace of impatience. “Put it on.”

I was so mixed up. I wanted to scream at him, to unleash some of the anger that Billy Whittier’s betrayal had generated in me. I wanted to throw the damn collar at him and storm up to my room to cry and lick my wounds and plot my revenge. I was going to kill Billy.

But there was something else, a sweet little tingle that had nothing to do with my anger. It took me a second to realize what it was.

I’d never been ordered around before.

All of the teenage boys I knew were so pitifully grateful that a pretty girl was willing to pay any attention to them that they’d never in a million years take a chance of displeasing me by daring to tell me what to do. No boy had ever talked to me in that tone of voice before, issuing stern commands that he expected me to obey.

I felt myself blush when I realized I kind of liked it. It was so masculine, and it made me feel shy and girly.

Besides, I was wondering just what Uncle Mitch had in mind. I mean, was he going to make me stand in the corner and take a picture of me to show Mom, letting her see what a slut I was without showing her a video of me with a cock in my mouth? Or was he going to just threaten me with a picture of me wearing a dog collar so that he could blackmail me into behaving forever? Or was he just going to laugh so that I’d be even more humiliated than I already was and yell at me about showing some backbone and stop blowing boys in cars? Maybe he was going to stop me the second I tried to put it on and give me a lecture about not doing just any old thing that I was ordered. That was it. It had to be.

Stalling while I thought, I felt the collar, stiff and heavy in my fingers. The leather smelled rich, and the silver studs and buckle were cool. There was a ring attached to the buckle, so you could attach a leash to your dog.

There was the possibility that Uncle Mitch wanted something more, something sinister. It was a visceral intuition, one that was more a feeling between my legs than a conscious thought. My brain felt deadened and confused at what was happening to me, and I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I could not let Mom and Dad see me blowing Billy. That was the one thing I was sure of. Almost without permission from my conscious mind I lifted the collar toward my neck.

Uncle Mitch didn’t stop me. He didn’t laugh, he didn’t whip out a camera. He just watched, my somber grey uncle standing right beside me as I slipped the studded dog collar around my neck and under my hair. Swallowing hard, I fastened the little silver buckle on my throat.

“Good girl,” Uncle Mitch whispered, patting me on the top of the head like I was a good dog. I raised my chin, the weight of the collar a tactile reminder of my submission.

Before my head was all the way up, Uncle Mitch grabbed the sturdy metal ring on the collar and whipped out a studded black leash from behind his back and snapped it into place.

“What are you doing?” I screamed, trying to stand and grabbing the leash so that I could yank it away from him. Angrily I tried to throw the leash away from me but since it was fastened to my neck it didn’t go far. Uncle Mitch calmly endured my hissy fit and pushed me back down into the chair, preventing me from standing.

With his hand on my shoulder like I was some kind of pet he was trying to train Uncle Mitch picked up the end of the leash and yanked hard, causing my head to jerk and my throat to gag as he wound up the leash around his hand. I frantically tried to swallow away the knot in my throat so I could breathe again. Right away I realized how serious my trouble really was — with the collar around my neck and the leash in Uncle Mitch’s hand there was no way to resist, no way to fight back. All he had to do was yank and I would choke and gag until I did what he wanted. There was no escape.