Connor Chapter One: Making Contact

I had obtained Connor's email address a few years ago, back when I'd needed to contact him about organising his mother's birthday party -- at which he was the surprise guest. But I hadn't used it since then...well I couldn't exactly ask him for an updated one, so I just sent my planned email to his old address, and crossed by fingers that it would reach him.

From: "Ben Dover" <> To:

<> Subject: Your Drugs Business

Hello there,

The name's Ben; I'm a concerned citizen who lives in the same area as you. I was walking home from the weekly Church hymnal recital the other day, and I couldn't help but notice you were consuming Class A drugs in your back garden. To make sure it was definitely you, I took a few snaps -- one of them is included here. Now, good God fearing lad that I am, my first thought was to hand the piccys over to the police; I mean, who knows? For all I know, you could be in the sort of profession which expressly prohibits the consumption of any illegal narcotics, for any reason. But then I thought, NO. Don't assume the worst in people, Ben; don't do that. That's what Kevin (my former long-term sexual partner) did, and you're NOT him. So after tracking down your email through the internet, I thought I'd give you one teensy, weensy chance to avoid that prison time, and let you know that we're going to play a little game. You get that reference, Connor? Yes, I'm sure you do -- I imagine you're the sort of

person who goes to see every 'Saw' movie at the cinema on the day it comes out, and lists it as one of your favourite films on facebook, completely failing to realise that not only is it a series of films which is consequently NOT an applicable response in a category where you're required to pick SPECIFIC individual films you like, but also failing realise that they're all total wank anyway.

Anyway, as I was saying -- you're going to get a chance to redeem yourself, and all this can remain our secret. Now, I know you probably think this is all a joke, or something you can get out of, so just let me say that it isn't a joke, and you can't get out of this. The pictures -- like the one I sent -- exist, and if you fail to comply with my instructions, they'll all be sent to the police, together with your name and address. Oh, and I'll send them to the Army, too. Just in case; are you in the Army, by any chance? Not knowing you personally, I wouldn't know. What happens if a person in the army is caught red-handed consuming illegal drugs? Bad things, I imagine.

Royal Mail will deliver a package to do in two days. Open it in private, and comply with the instructions therein. Once you do so, I'll know that you're serious about avoiding prison, and we can then begin the game. If you fail to comply by this time next week, I will send the pics to the police.

All the best,

-Ben xxx

Obviously, my email was jam packed with lots of lies and falsehoods, to throw him off the scent of my real identity, together with a strong dose of sarcasm which I hoped would just confuse him.

I must say, it was all very exciting. I felt a bit like Jason Bourne.

I didn't have to wait too long for a reply; about two hours later, I got in response:

From: "reap" <> To: <>

Subject: RE: Your Drugs Business

lol who r u

u sound fookin insain and saws gud so stop beeing a dik about it

shuv ur package up ur arse u queer wanker

-Sent from my iPhone

Now obviously, I could've replied with any manner of things to that. My first thought was something along the lines of 'oh, I think you'll find I'll be shoving my package up YOUR arse, *knowing wink*' but after a moment of quiet reflection, I decided against it.

I'll let the package speak for itself.

Sure enough, two days later, I found a new email in my inbox.

From: "reap" <> To: <>

Subject: RE: Your Drugs Business

wut is this shit u sent me

howd u kno my email and adress

if you contact me again im gonna find out wher u live n break ur face

-Sent from my iPhone

I sent my reply straight away.

From: "Ben Dover" <> To:

<> Subject: RE: Your Drugs Business

Hi Connor,

Thanks for your last email. Just a couple of questions; how are you going to find out where I live? I hate to break it to you, but Columbo's dead, the A-Team are retired and Miss. Marple ain't even real, so you'll have to figure that one out all by yourself. And call me crazy, but you don't exactly strike me as the owner of a coolly methodical, viciously thorough intellectual mindset?

Also, you said 'if I contact you again' -- does this email count as that contact? Because I'm just sort of replying to your email; it hardly seems fair for you to go all Poirot on me and start tracking me down when I'm just responding to the contents of your own email.

Also, just because I know you probably have trouble with sums involving large numbers -- two away from seven is FIVE, so that means you've got FIVE days to comply with the instructions, before you get a visit from the police.

Cheerio and toodles,

-Ben xxx

An hour later:

From: "reap" <> To: <>

Subject: RE: Your Drugs Business

il find u if u contact me from now

and i dont need columbos help I got friends who can trak down anybody

no way im doeing what the box said

-Sent from my iPhone

I replied myself five minutes later:

From: "Ben Dover" <> To:

<> Subject: RE: Your Drugs Business

Okie dokie. Well, I guess that means you've got five days to find me and break my face -- good luck! You might want to try the gay directory enquiries; I'm probably in there.

And maybe instead of thinking on such a long-term scale, you should just take each challenge as it comes? The situation is what it is, Connor, and the only way the police will DEFINITELY find out about your drug habits is if you don't do what you've been told to do.

And I'm glad you've got 'friends', Connor. I'd hate to think you were enduring this challenge alone -- I'm sure you're druggie mates are a veritable rock of support in such trying times.

Oh, and lastly -- the 'box' didn't tell you what to do, Connor; it's not Kitt, with a mind of its own, creating directives for you to follow; I'M telling you what to do.

Get it right, son.

Take care,

-Ben xxx

The remainder of my week was quite amusing. Like I said, Connor might know how to jump out of a plane and shoot a gun, but book-smart, he ain't (bless him).

Walking past the Church most days, I was delighted to see some stick-thin little chav standing around, no doubt trying to identify 'Ben Dover' for his lord and master, Corporal Connor, and in the process giving the little old ladies shuffling into the Church the fright of their lives.

I half wondered if Connor himself was in front of a computer, googling the gay directory enquiries and wondering why what he was looking for wasn't included in the 12.4 million results.

The days ticked away. Still no email. I started to make contingencies – I guess, if he didn't do it, I actually would have to just send the pictures to the police.

What a fucking waste.

But I still held out hope. I still held out hope because I knew the blackmail was providing suitable cover for my randy straight soldier to engage in his deepest fantasies -- to relinquish control. I knew, he wanted to relinquish control; that it excited him. He just had to have the guts to do it.

And whoever heard of a Paratrooper without guts?

Sure enough, at the last minute, my fears were allayed when I got an email.

My dick tingled when I saw it was from Connor, and had an attachment contained within.

I opened the email. There was no text. I downloaded the attachment. Up popped the image I had ordered Connor to construct.

It was Connor, in his room, holding up a copy of this week's 'Nuts' magazine, to prove the date. Around his neck he wore a sign of white paper which had written in black felt-tip pen, 'Paratroopers are ready for anything, so I'm ready for cock. Fat ones preferred.'

Oh, and he was naked, apart from a maroon beret covering his round head, a pair of white socks covering his muscular feet, and a pair of his mum's frilly pink knickers, struggling to accommodate a pair of hairy obelisk-like thighs whilst also struggling to contain a meaty assortment of soft, military-grade giblets.

And no, he wasn't smiling; he looked thoroughly pissed off as he looked straight at the camera, and I was fine with that. I spent a few minutes looking at the lad's long, hairy thighs, muscular chest and arms, and flat belly. The knickers were wonderfully tight, with the front bowing obscenely as it tried to cope with the unaccustomed weight of Connor's heavy, not entirely soft genitals. A thin sliver of gnarled pubic hair was visible at the top, and the fat, sheathed head was darkly delineated through the paper thin fabric.

I replied almost immediately.

From: "Ben Dover" <> To:

<> Subject: RE: pic

Hi Connor (or should that be Selena?!),

Thanks for the pic! I'll add it to my wank bank.

Glad you decided to see sense and comply, finally...but let me tell you, that was a pretty scary few days! I was walking back home from the big gay club in town -- a bit worse for ware, as you might imagine -- and when I saw this gormless looking 18 year old making a bee-line for me I thought...hello! This is it! I've been found out! Very nearly pissed my pants.

Thankfully he was just after a blowjob (still don't know if he was a friend of yours though).

But the fear -- the fear was real! And that fear has to be factored into the 'price' of my immediate silence.

I'm sure you don't agree, but I couldn't give a flying fuck. So put the panties back on, get a hard-on (tease yourself for a little while so that the end gets all drippy -- if you're the drippy sort, that is), and take another self-pic.

If you do that, I promise not to call the police.


-Ben xxx

Well, as you might imagine, Connor's rapidly developed dislike of my email address was only intensified when he read that.

From: "reap" <> To: <>

Subject: RE: pic

fuc u

i aint queer lik u

-Sent from my iPhone

My reply, sent seconds later:

From: "Ben Dover" <> To:

<> Subject: RE: pic

I know you're not gay! Of course I know that, lol...why would I want you to do it if you were gay?! I'd just pick you up in some bar, take you home and make you do it in front of me, like a good little subbie! lol.

Get it done. Do it now, because if you leave it til tomorrow, you'll only have to steal your mum's panties again.

Presuming you still don't want me to email those pics to the police and the army, that is? Can you imagine what the family would say if they found out?

lol. Just do it sweetie.

Kisses and cuddles (eventually),

-Ben xxx

I didn't get a reply for a while. I basically sat in front of my computer, looking at the list of emails in my inbox, clicking 'refresh' every three seconds.

After half an hour (that's a lot of clicking), Connor drops me an email.

The pic included was precisely what I'd requested -- he no longer wore the sign or the had the magazine, but his mum's knickers were back on, with a tasty-looking, pink hardon emerging from the waistband, a dribble of warm, transparent juice lazily trickling down the shaft and staining a waistband already darkened by his oily baby juice.

As soon as I saw the delectable, unsheathed head, shimmering with sex sweat in the low light of his bedroom, I knew I had to have a taste.

From: "Ben Dover" <> To:

<> Subject: RE: pic

Hi babes,

You've got a big cock! When you were being such a knob earlier, I thought to myself, 'Jesus, this guy is such a fucking douche bag; he probably has a pretty small cock' -- boy, was I wrong!

I guess your attitude problem is unrelated to your dick size?

Anyway, thanks for sharing it with me; you're a blast (I presume). And I know you're probably after your pictures. And that's fine; I'm definitely going to give them to you. You sent me two pictures; so find enclosed two of mine. Fair's fair, right?

Oh, if you want the other 13; just let me know.

Thanks again for the wank material,

-Ben xxx

From: "reap" <> To: <>

Subject: RE: pic

are u gona send the other pics to the police

-Sent from my iPhone

From: "Ben Dover" <> To:

<> Subject: RE: pic


-Ben xxx

From: "reap" <> To: <>

Subject: RE: pic

ur such a cunt

send me da ova pics

-Sent from my iPhone

From: "Ben Dover" <> To:

<> Subject: RE: pic

Thanks! I love you too big boy (although now that I think about it; I've known bigger).

Tell you what; to prove what a good, morally upstanding citizen I am, I'll surrender the other pics -- all of 'em, every single one, just as soon as you make a little video for me (no more than 15 minutes -- if a wank video is more than 15 minutes, I tend to get bored) on that fancy iPhone, wanking that big old cock of yours to orgasm, in mummy's panties.

I mean, now your all juiced up and ready to breed, you might as well, right? Not a big deal.

Yours in moist anticipation,

-Ben xxx

And then...nothing. I knew he didn't have to return to deployment for a while (his previous jaunt had been a combat deployment, so he got a bit longer off), but if he didn't respond, well, there was nothing I could do to take this further.

I wondered if he'd decided cut his losses; if he had buried his desires deep within him; if he'd had the sense to see he could only get sucked further into this, and that the most sensible thing to do -- of course -- was to say 'fuck you', and let the pieces fall where they may.

But for that to happen, Connor would have to be unusually perceptive; inexplicably far-sighted; unconventionally intelligent.

I mean, it all just seemed so un-fucking-likely.

But then, on day seven, my boy came through for me, in more ways than one.

He sent me a 55mb video. The picture was initially all over the place, but it eventually became centred on the middle of his bedroom. After a few seconds, Connor walked into shot, standing as he looked at the floor, unable to look at the camera.

His hands shakily lowered the ridiculously frilly pink knickers down his substantial legs until they were out of the way by his knees.

Connor's dick was a lot like Connor -- short, thick and intimidating, like a cross between a stunted cucumber, with a wide, cylindrical body, and a spitting viper with a deeply crimson, flared knob just barely poking out of it's wrapping.

It was now horizontal, his prior sexual excitement replaced by cautious nervousness, and half-hard as a result - the one eyed monster looking at the camera, as if trying to stare me out.

I decided after a few moments that, on balance, it was a nice cock.

He scooped himself up in his left hand, drawing back the loose foreskin to reveal the succulent plump head I now longed to wrap my lips around.

He looked to the side as he stroked himself, his eyes closed -- imagining I don't know what, but I was pretty sure he wasn't imagining me.

But after five minutes or so, his imagination combined with his horniness, perpetually bubbling away with him, was clearly working as in spite of the camera he began to return to hardness.

He then started jacking himself forcefully, his left pec and upper left arm flexing in time as the thumb and index finger of his left hand concentrated on flaying the purple head at the end of his six inch weapon.

In his own world now, his right hand instinctively cradled his protein-filled walnut-sized bollocks, drawn up in their snug, hairy housing, as his fingers zealously frigged himself, his hand a blur with shimmering drops of juice being flung this way and that as he did so. After ten more minutes of furious self-flagellation, he pointed the bulging nozzle of his cock in the direction of his wide, muscular left thigh just before bolts of gelatinously fluidic white lightening leapt a few inches from his cock, splattering his thigh with thick, greasy blobs of seed.

Only at that time did he open the eyes, see the camera and turn pink with embarrassment as, with his cock still drooling remnants of jizz, he moved out of shot and turned off the camera.

From: "Ben Dover" <> To:

<> Subject: RE: pic

Thanks pal! You're an absolute star -- or at least, you will be if I upload that video to youtube, lol!

So I guess I'll surrender all the pics -- I mean, some of them are fun to look at, but that video is worth way more! I have to say, I wasn't sure you could get hard on demand -- but you did yourself like a natural; I guess once you've been in a major warzone, wanking yourself on camera becomes pretty easy, eh?

Still, I'm impressed. I couldn't do it; I have WAY too much self respect.

I mean, don't get me wrong - you ain't doing anything illegal on the video...but lets be honest; jail time, you can do -- sure it's a bitch, but once your debt to society is paid, it's paid. But everyone you know thinking you're a queer who wears his mums panties and uploads videos of himself to youtube? Eek. That's a kinda lifelong sentence, isn't it.

So sure, I'll give you the pictures -- all of 'em are included with this email - but from now on,you and I are gonna be real good pals. REAL. Good. Pals. In fact, I'm gonna look after you when you're not abroad shooting foreigners; make sure incidents like this unpleasant drug business don't happen again. So you do whatever I fucking say, as soon as I say it, or I'll ruin your life. And just so we're clear, I mean, completely fucking ruin -- like, your own family won't even talk to you. Understand?

But Connor, don't worry. There is always hope. As I've mentioned before, I'm a big believer in redemption. I previously said you could get your life back -- and I mean that. We still have our little game and, even though you've provided me with some ace blackmail material, I won't use it against you provided you play our little game to the end.

That'd be nice, wouldn't it? To get your life back? Right now, I imagine you'd like that more than anything -- and I want to give it to you, Connor. Oh, I so want to give it to you, it's untrue.

Now I know what an eager beaver like you is probably thinking right now: 'I want a slice of THAT pie, Ben! What's the game?!'

Well let me tell you Connor. There are four games. I've taken inspiration for each of them from the teachings contained within the Bhagavad-gita, the Hindu scripture upon which the International Society for Krishna Consciousness is based -- the particular faith to which I ascribe to (I am also a leading figure in the Wolverhampton office of the Krishna movement, but that's neither here nor there).

It'd be wrong of me to give too much detail at this point, but the first game tests the virtue of patience, the second tests the virtue of charity, the third tests the virtue of courage, and the final tests the virtue of love.

And I think you'll really benefit from what I have planned for you, Connor.

Because I can't help but notice that your life has been a little disorganised lately.

So I think it's time to put your life in order, Connor; and I'm just the queer games-master to do it.

I'm sending you another package. Make sure you open it in private; the contents are a little bit, shall we say, homosexual.

Big hot sloppy kisses all along the inside of your thigh,

-Ben xxx