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Macho: adj., n., (pl. -chos). Having or characterized by qualities considered manly, esp. when manifested in an assertive, self-conscious, or dominating way; denoting or exhibiting pride in characteristics believed to be typically masculine, such as physical strength, sexual appetite, etc.
Machito: adj., n. (pl. -chitos). A faggot pretending to be macho.
* * *
“Start from the beginning, jotito.”
I looked nervously around the café. Was he being too loud? Why did I agreed to meet him here?
I had been meeting the man in front of me infrequently since a year ago, when we met on an online forum for casual hook-ups while I was more than a little drunk, enough to lower my barriers and allow myself to be with a man. I don’t remember much of that night other that I had been all over his dark skinned, slender body and that he had somehow managed to convince me to be fucked even though I don’t really go for those faggy things; ever since then he had little by little got into my head, screwing with me. Last time we spoke he had gotten me so hot I had agreed to do things I’m not proud of… and now I was here, reporting them back to him.
When I made sure no-one was looking in our direction I took a deep breath and began my story. He loves hearing every small detail, so he never hesitates to interrupt me. He knows how uncomfortable that makes me, but he doesn’t care. Actually, I’m pretty sure that’s part of what he enjoys.
“I arrived at the gym at around 6, same as always. I started with the-“
“What were you wearing?” He interrupted me. As I said, he constantly does.
“The white short, and that sleeveless shirt you made me buy… the one full of holes on the sides…” he knew damn well what I had been wearing, as he had chosen the clothes for me beforehand. I also knew the answer would not satisfy him, but for some stupid reason I kept clinged to the belief it would.
“You know you have to tell me your full attire. I will ask you once more: what were your wearing?” I defiantly stared at him for a few moments, challenging his stare. He looked down on me with a firm expression, not angry, not irritated, just… looking at me. I ended up looking away, unable to meet his dark eyes.
“I was also wearing the red socks, and the white sports shoes.” I paused before I forced myself to continue. “I was also wearing the underwear you asked me to wear.”
“‘Asked you to?'”
“Ordered me to,” I corrected myself.
“Mm. And, remind me, which underwear was that?” He asked, as if he didn’t knew damn well what it was.
I muttered the response, but he wasn’t satisfied with it. He pretended not to hear it, cupping his ear in an exaggerated gesture. I squeaked my reply once more, and when he was unsatisfied, I looked around once more and told him in increasing volume before he finally cheered in approval. I was alarmed.
“A thong!” He loudly repeated after me in mock surprise. From the corner of my eye I could see a few people in a neighboring table looking in our direction. The tips of my ears felt hot and I hunkered down. “You used a tanga at the gym? Que chingados, I wasn’t aware that’s the kind of thing you jock types usually use. Hey, didn’t you mention you used that white short too? I know the one, it’s very thin… and tight, too! I probably should have mentioned this before to you, but when you sweat, the short becomes see-through…” My face turned red. Nothing of what he said was news to me, I had thought of every single one of those things ever since he had decided my attire for the day.
“Fuck, it was hard for me to just walk into the gym. I felt so ridiculous, every step I took I felt the damn thing riding up my ass. A part of me was so sure that little queer at the front desk of the gym knew, just knew, what I was wearing under even though it just made no damn sense, I couldn’t get it out of my head.” I was getting riled up and the words just came pouring out. I wanted to get it all out.
He laughed softly. “Little queer, huh? I wonder what does that make you.” I ignored him and continued.
“It was leg day. I did my usual routine, but I also added those exercises you, uh, you ordered…”
“The ones for you ass.”
“Yeah, uh, the ones for my ass.” My confidence was once again slipping, he knew how to throw me off balance but I quickly bounced back, protesting once again. “The whole routine was hell! Every movement, every time I squatted, the fucking string was in my damn asshole and…!”
“What?” I looked at him, confused.
“Your coño, your asspussy. What you have between your legs is a pussy, so you’ll refer to it in the appropriate way.” I blushed furiously and looked down. I’ll be damned if he didn’t made me feel like a goddamn faggot. So why did I always find it so hard to protest?
Looking at my reaction, he laughed heartily and signaled me to continue.
“The training was OK, I guess… I did feel like I was being watched all the time, one guy in mecidiyeköy escort particular always seemed to be behind me.”
“Must have been uncomfortable,” he said with a smile.
“Psh, yeah! And I was so self-conscious, especially when I started sweating…”
“Why is that?”
“Well, it’s, ah, like you said, right?” Why was I tripping? Fuck. “The, huh, shorts… I was afraid someone would notice the thong underneath when the shorts got wet.”
“How the fuck would I know!” I said in a low voice trying to contain myself. He was always so patient and never seemed to lose his cool even when I protested. It’s probably why I always ended up returning to him… he never went after me, I’m the one who always came back to him. I thought that by suggesting we meet in a public place he would at least restrain himself from saying such embarrassing things. Clearly I was wrong. “Everywhere I turned someone seemed to be looking in my direction, and I only got more nervous and started sweating more and it only got worse…”
He waited patiently for me to get back on track, and after taking a few deep breaths I did.
“Nobody bothered me. Maybe it was all in my head, maybe it wasn’t. The real problem was when I finished the routine and went for the dressing room,” he was listening intently, and made a gesture for me to carry on. “I waited for a moment in which I would be by myself there so that I could take that photo evidence you asked for… I quickly took off shoes, shirt and shorts and just as I started posing in the stupid thong… someone came in.”
He was listening to my tale with a sardonic smile, and I reached that part his smile only widened more. I sometimes had trouble getting the right words out as the humiliating sensations of that moment came back to me.
“I… I covered myself immediately with the shorts, but the guy saw me… he saw what I was wearing. He stopped at the door and sneered.”
“Hah! Can’t say I’m surprised! And how did you felt?”
“Like shit! I wished I would die right there and then, I even thought of running away… he just walked right next to me and laughed right in my face. Worst thing is, I know him by sight! He’s always around when I’m working out, and now every time we cross paths he’ll think of me wearing that… thing.”
“Well, it’s only natural. He should get to know the actual, real ‘you’, don’t you think?” Once again, I ignored his comments.
“Fuck! I was so… so fucking humiliated… I felt not only pathetic, but also disgusting. He’s gonna think I’m one of those sissys… I should have said something, but I was paralyzed at the moment. I never want to do anything like that again.”
“Then why is your dicklet so hard?” I looked away. It was true, but I didn’t want to admit it; I had crossed my leg in an attempt to hide it, but he had noticed. “Aw, did I touch a sensitive vein there, nena? Are you embarrassed about being a faggot? Or is it you don’t want to admit how hot and bothered you get every time I order you around? You’re not fooling anyone, you and me both know your true nature, and the sooner you accept it the more you’ll enjoy.”
My nature… he frequently touched on that subject. Sometimes I thought about that but I tried not to. I hated having those obnoxious thoughts and I knew it wasn’t true what he said, he was completely wrong: I was not the kind of person he said, I’m an actual, goddamn man, a macho who doesn’t fuck around and do all those faggy things like hold hands and sway their hips like a bitch. No, that’s not me, I’m not one of ‘those’, nevermind the fact that at the moment I was hard as a rock in front of another man while telling him about the degradation I knowingly submitted myself.
You might think that’s insane, but I tell you I’m no faggot, it’s just that sometimes I felt the urge to scratch an itch inside of me. There were times when I hated myself, or at least that part of me, but there were others moments, moments like this, in which I liked nothing more that feeling his hand scratch the back of my head like a dog while he talked to me in such a degrading way, a way I would not let anyone else talk to me. In those moments my defenses came crumbling down and I felt fulfilled, wanting nothing more than to obey him.
There was a moment of silence between us. He looked at my reddened face, amused, savoring my discomfort and knowing I couldn’t hold back his stare. He knew what was next, and I knew it too, but neither of us was in any hurry.
“Good boy… now, show me the pictures, I want to see my perrito in that skimpy thing.”
I took out the cell, unlocked it and gave it to him. I hadn’t sent them to him yet, he likes it more when he sees them right in front of me, probably because he enjoys looking at my face as he does. He swiped through the pictures, making approving noises and occasionally commenting on something or another; in them, I was posing front and back, striking poses as if I was a bodybuilder showing şişli escort off my biceps, tights, shoulders, chest… in a different situation I would have been proud since I have the body to pull it off, but in many of the pictures the center of attention was the thin piece of fabric riding up my ass, which could only barely in between the big mounds of flesh called my ass.
Naturally, the miniscule thong has been his idea too. He had forced me to buy it myself some days ago, walking with me to a department store and making me stand there while he loudly asked about one for me from a young clerk. ‘He’s so big, the strap broke from the last one,’ he claimed, much to the clerk’s amusement.
He was obviously enjoying seeing me in those pictures posing with the thong; he discreetly started rubbing his package over his pants in such a way only I could see him. I couldn’t help it, I was panting just thinking about it. I hoped I could get to see it soon, I really enjoyed looking at it and there truly was nothing like seeing it in person.
He looked back to me.
“They do look nice on you in these photos. But I bet they look even better in person.” He hunkered down and made me look him in the eye. “Show me.”
I let out a small whimper. I wanted to see him… not show him, especially here… but that was what he wanted, what he ordered me, so I had no choice in the mater. Once I nervously made sure there was no-one paying attention to us I begrudgingly raised my t-shirt, just enough to show off the sides of the sheer black thong over the waistline of my shorts, which was the way he had indicated I should wear them. He wasn’t satisfied, and grabbing my shorts by its leg he gave them a quick yank before I could react, lowering them a little. He laughed at my panicked reaction in raising them back up again.
“Not bad, puto. Don’t ever say I have bad taste. And I can tell how much you like it. Hey, maybe I should sign you up for one of those bodybuilder’s competitions; you would need to keep working on those muscles, but audiences will eat you up. And you’ll get one more chance to experience that exhibitionism vein of yours.”
I remained silent. Anything I said could be used against me, and I was afraid he would make good on his word.
“Well, c’mon, ya me pusiste cachondo. Let’s go to my place.” He got up and I followed after him, careful where I was facing to hide my erection. He made me pay for our drinks without even asking, but I was used to it. He always made me do it.
We walked to his place in silence. It was a quiet area, full of parks and tall trees in between the houses. The darkness of the night was only dispelled by the occasional street light, infrequently encountering a passer-by or a couple on a bench.
Shielded under the shadows of the trees, walking side by side as if we were friends, I felt his hand making his way down the back of my shorts, taking hold of my thong. I looked at him, alarmed, but he kept on walking without so much as a look in my direction. He pulled my thong upwards, giving me a wedgie and forcing me to tiptoe.
“What the hell are you doing?” I whispered, angrily.
“What? Oh, you mean this?” He pulled on it once more, causing me to wince. “Nothing, just felt like having a little fun on our way. Which reminds me… I do seem to recall you begged me for a chance to kiss my feet.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. I had, indeed, asked for a chance to kiss his feet when I had been too horny to think, last time we messaged each other. This, however, had not been how I had pictured it.
“Man, I don’t…”
“Time to make your fantasies come true, then,” he said, all but ignoring my protests. Letting go of my thong, he walked to the side of the street and very quickly took out his shoe and sock. The tan skin of his naked foot shone at the edge of a circle of light from a street lamp, and… it really did look as stunning as I remembered. He propped up his foot against a stoop and looked back at me.
“Put your fucking lips in here, bitch.”
I looked around nervously. In the still night no one seemed to be around. I knew based on previous experience the faster I got this over with the faster we would be on our way, so after a brief hesitation I approached him, and pretending to lace up my shoes I bent down and kissed his naked, hairy foot.
“You really think that’s going to be enough? C’mon, put some work on it, perra!” He raised his foot and started pushing it against my face. A musky, strong smell emanated from it, filling my nostrils with his masculine odor. I was getting hot and bothered, and the excitement of the situation was making it harder for me to think straight. I stuck my tongue out and started licking his sole, covering his foot in my saliva. I passed my tongue in between his toes, savoring his sweat, losing myself in his masculine aroma.
I reached into my own shorts but he immediately pushed my face away with his foot, causing me to lose balance and taksim escort to fall on my ass. “Who said anything about touching yourself? C’mon, let’s go.” Sticking his foot on his shoe without bothering with the sock, he started walking away as I quickly got up and followed after him.
I was a little shaken about what I had just done. I don’t know when I gave him so much power over me, but it was a little scary. Meanwhile, he didn’t really said anything, and I was having a hard time trying to cover my erection. My short did little to conceal my enormous hard-on, so I was grateful for the dark streets.
He soon found a different way to entertain himself. Walking behind me, he raised my shirt under the cover of darkness and grabbed on to my nipples, lightly pinching them. Already excited, his touch was electric to me. I couldn’t help but moan.
“Shit, you’re one noisy faggot. You really need something to fill up that pretty mouth of yours, huh? You want verga, is that it? You want some dick?” I clenched my eyes shut and nodded, embarrassed. “I know you fucking do. Open up, queer, here’s something in the meantime.”
Eyes still closed, I opened up my mouth, which immediately got filled by something with a bitter taste. Opening my eyes, I looked down to see the sock he had taken off hanging off from my mouth. He pushed the rest of the sock inside of me, forcing my jaw to open up more.
“Let’s see if that’s enough to keep you quiet. You’re going to wake the whole neighborhood with all your moaning.” He kept pinching my nipples and I could do little more than suck on his dirty sock, ripe with sweat. My moans were indeed muted thanks to the cotton and I was gagging a little, but managed to keep it down.
We heard someone walking in our direction before we saw them. He simply lowered my shirt and carried on walking as if nothing had happened, but when I reached into my mouth to get the sock out he slapped my hand away. As a couple walked by, I had no choice but to close my mouth as much as I could, cheeks comically inflated, trapping as much as I could of the sock inside of my mouth.
When we were on our own once again he chuckled, told me to throw the saliva-coated sock in a trash bin (‘You’ll buy me a new pair later’) and we were on our way once more. By the time we arrived at his place my cheeks were flush.
He was on me as soon as the elevator doors closed, aggressively kissing me. I wasn’t really into kissing men but it’s not like he gave a choice, really… and besides, the way he hungrily covered my mouth is his, pulling on my lips and sucking on my tongue could hardly be called ‘kissing’. So I endured it, and started getting into it as he grinded his hips into mine and ravaged my ass under my shorts.
“Damn, I really love your fat ass!” He whispered as we exited the elevator, slapping my butt. He was all but groping me as we entered his apartment, and I myself was a little breathless and clearly aroused, not to mention happy to finally be in a private place.
“A’right, fag, let’s see it. Take off your shorts and shirt, I don’t want a dog like you wearing clothes at my place.” It was the same order I had received last time I was here, and just like then I jumped to fulfill it. In no time I was almost completely naked except for the ridiculously small black thong, now stretched to its limit thanks to my engorged member; for some reason that made me feel even more vulnerable than if I had been naked.
Sitting in a sofa, he whistled in appreciation at the sight and raised a finger, slowly moving it in circles. I understood his order, and as slowly as I could I turned around for him, embarrassed, showing off the rest of the attire. The thong accentuated the size of my not inconsiderable cheeks, and according to him they were one of my best attributes.
“Not bad… not bad at all, puto. And look how excited you look… is this the kind of faggy clothes you use every day? Or perhaps do you prefer to wear a jockstrap, something to rise those melons of yours? I wouldn’t be surprised to find out you used panties.” He got up, approached me and brusquely grabbed my ass while grinning to my face. “It’s actually not a bad idea… but we first need to do something with all that hair of yours.”
His words brought me out of my stupor. Remove my hair?
“NO WAY, MAN! That’s out of the question! I’m straight, I won’t have a faggy look, that’s…!”
In an instant, he grabbed the back of my thong and raised it, giving me one hell of a wedgie as he had done before. I squeaked in protest, asking him to let me go while I stood in the tips of my toes. But he only raised me more, making my asshole sting even more from the thin string of fabric.
“YES, WAY!” He said with a wide grin. “Shit dude, did you just said you’re straight? You are the biggest fag of them all. Look at how you’re dressed right now, puto, you’re just a whore in heat looking for a real macho to breed you.” His harsh words cut deep, deep inside, and I knew it was because there were some truth to them. He had transformed me to his bitch, and despite my protests I knew I loved it… and he knew it too. My eyes began to water as I thought about it, but I still felt the need to fight it.
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