Anonymous Letters

That anonymous letter changed my life! It was just a one liner, quite innocent. “I order you to wear a red T-shirt tomorrow: the one that clearly shows your tits” it read. I tossed it to the side, thinking that someone was just playing a prank on me. I read it again, got intrigued. Who in the hell dared to order me around? The guy must have a lot of guts to boss me around. How did this guy know that I had a red T-shirt that “shows my tits”? At night I tossed and turned, visualizing this gutsy guy. It gave me a hard-on and I jacked off. 

The red T-shirt in question was my favorite one. I’d bought it one size too small, to show off my strong pectoral muscles; its sleeves hugged tightly around my biceps. It hadn’t occurred to me that it also showed off my nipples, but when I tried it on the next morning, indeed they stood out. Wearing this T-shirt this day excited me, and all day long I looked at all the men around me to figure out who had written this anonymous order. I’d never realized how many men returned my glance. 

When I came home, another letter was waiting for me. “I knew you would follow my orders! Tomorrow, no underwear is allowed. Wear tight fitting pants”. This was going too far! I would definitely not continue to play that game!

The next day was Saturday and I stayed home all day, cleaning up my place and doing the laundry. On purpose I didn’t wear tight fitting pants; instead I was wearing baggy pants. Of course I was wearing underwear, a tight fitting brief. At night, I became restless and decided to have a drink in the bar around the corner. I like wearing my leather pants at such occasions, and I like feeling the leather touch my skin, touch my dick, so, as usual, I didn’t put on briefs. The pants were tight and when the leather stretched over my dick, I felt an erection coming up. My buddies were at the bar as well and we all drank too much for our own good. All of a sudden I realized that I had followed the orders of Mr. Somebody, even though I’d intended not to do so. That thought disturbed me greatly: he must have taken control over me! Deep down I must have craved to follow his orders.

It was no surprise to find a letter in my mailbox the next morning. “You looked terrific in those leather pants, and I couldn’t see any trace of underwear either. You made me so horny that I got a hard-on as never before. Now don’t get cocky and follow strictly my orders. Tonight you have to go to the sexshop on 17th and Fulbright, and buy a postcard of the sexiest nude you can find. Then go home, jack off in front of the postcard and squirt your cum all over the card. Don’t wipe it off but let it dry”.

This man must be crazy, I thought. Who was it: one of my friends that I had met in the bar? None of them seemed particularly crazy. There had been many more people at the bar, so I had no way of finding out who this idiot was. But one thing was sure: I was not going to follow his orders any more. 

I had long planned to buy a porn DVD that night and walked over to the sexshop around the corner: … the one mentioned by Mr. Somebody. The shop was all but deserted, and I took my time to browse the DVDs in stock. I asked the shop keeper for a recommendation. I had know Alex for quite a while and found him quite cute. For a moment I imagined that he might be the anonymous letter writer, but he hadn’t been at the bar last night. “Do you have postcards of nudes as well?” I asked him and he showed me the rack. While I browsed the card, he stood very close to me and I could feel the heat of his body. One day I should try to seduce this Alex, but not now. I was too preoccupied by this mysterious letter writer. I bought the card Alex recommended.

The guy in the picture was very sexy. He was probably a Latino, and like all the other picture boys, very muscular. He wore a small ring in his left tit. I would like to have one myself if only I had the guts to do it. I would be ashamed of all the stares when showering in the gym. He had thick black wavy hair; a lock was falling over his forehand, nearly covering his left eye. What intrigued me most was his defiant look. His eyes pierced me; they took full control of my mind. I would do whatever he would tell me to do. He ordered me to take off my clothes, and I followed his command. He told me to start masturbating slowly. I loved this guy; I kissed the picture, and put it on my chest. I didn’t need that picture anymore: his image was indelibly imprinted on my mind: I was having sex with him and he excited me terribly. My whole body became electrified: I knew I was at the point of coming. I stopped masturbating to make the tension last forever. The images of the picture guy, the guy of the sexhop and of Mr. Somebody all floated through my mind. The tension in my dick became unbearable, and hot semen was squirting out with such a force that it wetted my face, my chest and abdomen. I dosed away, and when I woke up I realized that my sperm had dried up on the post card.

When I opened the mailbox the next morning, I knew that his letter would be waiting for me. I had become addicted to his letters. I knew I would go berserk if he would stop writing. With a bouncing heart I opened the letter. In it was the same postcard I had bought the night before. “How the hell did he know what I’d bought?” I asked myself. On the back he’d scribbled the instruction for the day. “Did the guy on the postcard turn you on?” it read. “He made me think of you. I jacked off and squirted my cum all over his picture. I’m offering you my dried semen and tonight you have to lick if of the card, while masturbating. I’m sure you’ll love the taste of my sperm: it will make you long for the real stuff. Also, send the card with your cum to the PO Box 3717, so I can get a taste of yours”.

I always thought of myself as a levelheaded person, and I couldn’t phantom how I got involved with such a maniac. “Mr. Somebody must be the guy of the sexshop, how otherwise would he have known which card I’d bought” I concluded. But Alex didn’t look like a maniac! The whole day I was in disarray, not knowing what to do, what to think. At work I couldn’t concentrate. The card with his sperm burned in my pocket, and several times I thought of throwing it away, but at work that would raise suspicion. I definitely would not mail the card with my semen.

That night I was even more restless. His card was on my nightstand but I couldn’t bring myself to lick off the semen. But why in the hell had I put it on my nightstand in the first place? One way or another I apparently could not disobey him, but his order was totally disgusting. I fell asleep, but woke up in the middle of the night with a raging hard-on. Half asleep I reached out for the postcard and put it close to my nose. The smell of his semen was obvious. It smelled so good, made me horny and I started to masturbate slowly. The card was resting on my nose and mouth. The closer I got to the climax, the more my mouth fell open. Unconsciously I started to lick the card, savoring the sweet taste of his semen. It made me almost high and I came with a vengeance, squirting semen on top of Mr. Somebody’s card. He had been right: having tasted his semen, I started to long for the real stuff. 

The next morning there was no letter. I realized how much I longed for his letters. He was punishing me for not having sent him the card with my cum. He was in his full right to torture me: I hadn’t obeyed his order to send him my sperm. He was the boss and I had to obey him, obey him unconditionally. 

But the longer I obeyed him, the more difficult it would be to escape his control, to escape my own obsession. I had to put an end to this ridiculous relationship, and do so immediately. So I decided not to send my card to him. I didn’t throw it away either, showing how ambivalent my feelings were. My day was horrible, I was nasty with my subordinates, got nearly run over. Towards the end of the day I realized that after all Mr. Somebody was right. I hadn’t kept my part of the deal. He had kept his and I had savored his sperm. I had no choice but to send him my card. I hoped that he wouldn’t be too angry with me, but deep down I knew that he should and would punish me. 

No letter the next day. I rationalized that he couldn’t have received my card yet, so I wasn’t as upset as the day before. At night I wandered around aimlessly, knowing quite well that I would end up in the sexshop. I needed to confront Alex, to ferret out whether he was Mr. Somebody. Alex was as great looking as always. He recognized me and even remembered my first name. I had planned to be angry with him but once in front of him, I couldn’t quite bring me to that. I took another look at the post cards. Alex stood behind me. He leaned over to show me a card he liked and I felt his hot body pressing against my back. He had a hard-on which I could feel through his thin trousers. When I came to the card I’d bought last week, he told me that just after I had left, a gentleman had come in, had asked him what card I had bought and then had bought the same. I turned around, looked him deep in the eyes, trying to see whether he was honest or whether it was just a story to cover up his act. “Tell me how he looked like” I asked. I closely observed him to see whether he was lying. “Oh, he’s an extremely masculine guy, in his early 20’s, with black wavy hair, about 6 foot tall”. Then he added in a low voice, as if he were afraid to be overheard: “He has hair all over his body, and I love hairy men”. Mr. Somebody was getting a face. Alex looked to be totally honest, but how did he know that the guy had hair all over his body? Had he been that intimate with this “client”? I also felt a pang in my heart as I had been planning to seduce Alex one day, but now realized I wouldn’t have a chance as my body was as hairless as could be.