Cock-Sucker: An Educational Episode

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Oca 28, 2021 // By:analsex // No Comment

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I’m confiding in you. Telling you things I’ve never told anyone else, because… well, I guess you know why. I was never into boys, not in that way. But I was never into girls either, not particularly. My father once told me the penis is the Devil’s serpent, and I suspected he was right. I was studious, I was a good scholar. I worked hard, studied hard. I was always self-conscious about my body, about letting others see me because, as you know, it’s not very big, not as big as other boys. I was scared they’d ridicule me. At school, in the showers after sports, I’d furtively look at the other boy’s cocks and they were all bigger than mine, I was certain they were sniggering about me, making jokes behind my back. I know some of them were playing with each other, tossing each other off, and I was tempted, but I was too scared of rejection to approach anyone. Why would they be interested in my ridiculously diminutive cock which was smaller erect than theirs were slack? I was a quiet kid, reasonably content on my own, insecure and socially ill-at-ease.

Until, that is, a certain educational episode that occurred when I was at university. Due to financial constraints, I move in with a room-mate. The letting-agency threw us together, into the dark basement flat-share of a once-fashionable Regency Mews in a down-at-heel student area. He was called Edward, never ‘Eddie’. He has that tousled ‘Gosh-wow’ charm of assured confidence which I totally lack. With a Stieff Teddy-Bear on his bed, a gift from his fiancé, he said. We gradually became, kind-of friends, I suppose. I was well-ahead of him academically, and I guess I made myself useful to him, he could pick my brains when he was writing essays. Some of his essays I even wrote for him. To me, he was the closest friend I’d ever had, although that doesn’t mean much, because I’d never had what you’d call a real friend before. There was never anything emotional between us, beyond friendship.

I’ve never told anyone this, I don’t know why I’m telling you now. I don’t really drink. But one night, after we’d been drinking a little too much in a riverside pub by the campus called the ‘Crown of Thorns’, we wound up laid on the bed together, and he was saying how horny he felt. How long it was since he’d been with his fiancé. It was a warm night, we were getting ready for bed, we’d stripped down to boxer shorts. He began to simulate sex with the Teddy-Bear, pulling expressions of frustrated lust, both of us laughing. Playfully I grab out to ‘rescue’ the abused toy, but in the tussle he shifts it away at the last moment and instead I find my fingers coming up around the unmistakeable firm ridge of his protruding hard-on. Alarmed I hesitate feeling sick and anxious, but he just smirks and – perhaps assuming I’d done it intentionally, does the same to me, reaching across and under the waistband into my shorts, experimentally, like a game, a dare. Soon, my heart pounding in my chest, we are playing around a bit more explicitly, the boxers are shoved down, and cautiously we’re openly masturbating each other. In the warm fug of wine, he encourages me, half-pleading… ‘c’mon, don’t be shy, put it in your mouth, go on, I won’t tell anyone’. He looks so appealing, how can I refuse? I do, at first just the fleshy head, and that’s not so bad. Part of me is shocked and not very happy at this turn of events, but another part of me is excited beyond belief. As though there’s a divorce between thought, and feelings. When I try to move away he gently pushes my head down again, ‘c’mon, do me then I’ll do it to you’ he urges, I don’t need much persuasion, I suck at it cautiously, and slide a little more in, the more I suck the better it gets. He smiles down at me encouragingly, allaying my nerves, which makes it seem alright. He shoves a little too far, I choke and back off. The room cants a little unsteadily in a blur of alcohol and nausea. But he’s suddenly impatient as I cough, no caring consideration now, he allows me only a second before he’s nudging it hard back into my mouth. ‘C’mon, c’mon, don’t tease’. I take it, and resume. The room silent but for the moist sound of my mouth on his cock.

Until he breathes ‘you know what happens next, don’t dare move your head away now.’ Suddenly I’m scared and confused again, uncertain, will I choke? will I vomit? but by then it’s too late and he’s already begun spasming come into my mouth. No gag reaction at all. I wound up casino şirketleri doing to him what I’ve just done to you. Y’know, sucked him off. Tasted his come. ‘Have you swallowed all that spunk already?’ he gasps breathlessly. ‘Yes, wasn’t I supposed to? didn’t you want me to?’ ‘No, that’s fine, if that’s what you want to do’ and he just chuckles like he can’t believe it. Needless to say, despite his promise, he doesn’t return the favour, ever… in a post-orgasmic haze he does consent to bring me off with his hand. But in a way, it doesn’t matter, that was less important than what I’d done to him. I don’t know why I did it. It was a weird overwhelming compulsion, it just seemed, as soon as I saw it, to be the natural thing to do. The obvious thing to do. The appropriate response, does that make sense to you? It doesn’t to me, still. But I did it. He wasn’t as big – genitally, as you, but it just seemed the perfect fit, as though it was meant to be in my mouth. I was scared just how much I enjoyed doing it. It didn’t square with my life, my world, or my plans. It disorientated me, shoved me out of focus. But after sucking his cock once, I knew I’d do it again whenever he wanted me to. He’d enjoyed me doing it to him, and boy, did I enjoy doing it to him. It set up expectations, for us both.

Afterwards, we were a little nervous, a little wary of each other, I couldn’t meet his eyes, but it was inevitable, we both knew it. The next night we were both sober. I was sitting on my bed fully clothed. I watch as he gets undressed. I’m thinking ‘come on, this is it, this is what you’ve been waiting for’. But there’s another part of me saying ‘what are you thinking? You can’t do this. You’re really going to need the rest of your life to think about whether this is a good idea…’ When he’s down to his shorts, he glances across at me, ‘about last night’ he began. I guess we both knew what each other was thinking. ‘It’s alright’ I reply, maybe a little too hastily. After all, it’s what I’d been thinking of obsessively all day, I could think of little else. I could feel my cock hardening just at the sight of him. Encouraged, he crosses clumsily over to stand in front of me. With bated breath I reach up and pull his shorts down so his cock swings free. Daring, the most daring thing I’ve ever done. And it’s bigger, and every bit as good as I remember it.

I look up at him and smile. Act casual, as though it’s no big deal, as though it’s a game. I extend my tongue, run it along its fleshy length, using my tongue to raise it horizontal, then higher. Allowing it to fall. He laughs as I repeat the action. This time its downward arc doesn’t take it quite so low. It is firming. So next time when I go in, I use my tongue to lap and wriggle around the underside of its head, licking, then drawing it slowly into my mouth, just the tip at first, inching only gradually further along the shaft, pause for a moment with it resting inside me, and begin sucking him. At first he stands stock still and lets me do it. His pants are round his ankles, he moves to step out of them, and as he does so it pops out of my mouth, but I hold onto it, squeezing it gently so a bubble of moisture wells up in its eye, moving my fist up and down its saliva-slippery length, marvelling at it, and that it’s my own spit making it so glistening-wet. My own fierce erection is straining my pants out of shape, bigger than its ever been, so I move down to release it, smothering it with a handkerchief, desperate not to distract his attention so that he loses interest. Quickly, it goes back into my mouth before he has chance to change his mind, and I become a little more confident, enjoying the dirty sensation of trying to make it last longer this time, to extend the pleasure, my own bottom wriggling like an excited girl. There’s a sound of blissed-out moaning, I realise that it’s coming from me. I move my head to the right, so it bulges out my cheek, then to the left, so it bulges again. Then move my head in small intimate circles, moving it around with my mouth. Whatever I do, he seems to enjoy it. It goes on for several minutes. He barely moves, it’s me performing on him, I’m using his cock for my benefit, my hands roaming up to feel his balls, and around his arse, holding his body closer to me, and he grows correspondingly more confident too, letting me do it, only becoming more agitated when he approaches climax, moving his hips backwards casino firmaları and forwards in fast jerky movements, forcing it in deeper. I know I’m going to get a slut-load. ‘Don’t stop, don’t stop, I’m coming, I’m coming’ he gasps. I feel his knees buckle, his stomach-muscles tensing, his fat balls retracting, moaning out loud as it begins spunking off into my mouth. This time I’m ready, I know what I’m doing, I let it come, taking it all, and just keep sucking as it softens, running my tongue in circles around its head, releasing it only reluctantly, in a warm fuzzy glow, until he pulls away gently.

He lays on his back on his own bed for a long moment, leaving me unsure what he’s thinking, is he disgusted? have I made a fool of myself? then he just said ‘Wow!’, long and low, and I know I’ve done well. Deep inside I was smugly pleased with myself, overjoyed in fact. Now, we share this delicious secret, and I do it to him some more, on other occasions, finding expression for all those things never said. On that first occasion when I’d sucked mature adult cock and swallowed a full man’s come-load, I could tell myself, well yes, I’ve done it, but that doesn’t make me a cock-sucker. The second time I do it I tell myself, yes, that was good, I enjoyed it, but that still doesn’t make me a cock-sucker. The third and fourth time I felt myself a little confused. By the fifth time I could no longer lie to myself, yes, own up, admit it, this is what I am, I’m a cock-sucker. His cock-sucker. To say sex had never rated very highly on my life-agenda, suddenly I can think of nothing else. I look forward to doing it, loving that luscious expectation.

Walking through the quadrangle the other students see me as this nerdy wimp too scared and timid, but how they’d be scandalised to know what I’m doing with… I almost said my boyfriend. Edward was never that. I’m not sure he was even what you’d call a real friend. It was not what you might call a relationship. For him, it must have been more a convenient arrangement. We were roommates. We did other things, social stuff, studying together, debating just as we’d always done. But every now and then we’d get in the right mood, and quietly and discreetly, I’d… erm, go down on him. Once a week. Maybe twice. Never more than half-a-dozen times in total. Did that mean I was gay? Did that mean I was queer? I don’t know. I don’t feel gay. But hey, I know what they’d say, I’m there with a guy’s cock lodged deep in the back of my throat, and I’m loving it, do the math. That’s what they’d say. He never reciprocated… well, he did grudgingly toss me off once again when I urge him to, but he complains of wrist-ache and that a stray bead of my sperm was messing his fingers, with such obvious distaste – an inconsiderate attitude in the light of the act I was performing on him, and where his sperm was going, so that I never plucked up courage enough to suggest it again. I seldom see him naked, and I was usually dressed. He frequently just unzips and gets it out for me in our room, or he might bundle his pants down to knee-level so I have better access to his balls, then he sits there watching me while I crouch.

On one occasion I squirm with awkward embarrassment when he playfully called me a ‘Nancy-Boy’. Although once I suck him off in a dark alleyway on the way back from the riverside ‘Crown Of Thorns’ pub. So maybe he’s right? He stops in the shadows to urinate. Once he’s finished he doesn’t tuck it back into his pants, but gestures to me, then downwards at his protruding cock. I look at it. ‘It’s got piss on it.’ He grins, flicks it so that the single bead of suspended urine spins off into the night. No reason now not to, and a squat down, fearful – but excited, at the prospect of being observed. I’ve never felt so vulgar, so cheap, so used. He seems hyped up too, so as I suck him, it doesn’t last long, nowhere near as long as I want, and all too soon he’s pulling it free and zipping it away. I want more. I like the shape and feel of his cock, I like the way it tastes in my mouth, although I can never decipher his expression whenever I look up and accidentally catch his eyes, is he amused or disgusted, impatient for me to get it over with, enjoying his power over me? I can never tell for sure. I’m his fuck-buddy, his suck-buddy, that’s all.

Where it might have taken me, I don’t know either, because I never get the chance to find out. The closest we get güvenilir casino is when he says ‘you sure must like the taste of fresh spunk’ and I say ‘I guess spunk tastes good when it’s coming from you’. I was curious about other things. I was scared of the intensity of my needs. A Pandora’s Box of desire had been unleashed in my head, what would it feel like to be taken up the bum? I try to imagine how it would feel, I go over it in my mind again and again. I rehearse how I’d brace myself, arch my back, raise my bottom up for him, how I’d stifle my groans as he nudges his way in. What if he ties me up, hogties me, and fucks me mercilessly. He’d say stuff like ‘that’s right, squeal like a pig, no-one will hear you.’ Disgusting, foul things. It would be such a primal, animal act to have him mounting me. Rutting in me… But how can I ask him to try it without offending him, how do I approach him with such a suggestion? Would he be repelled? What I really want is for him to take control, and simply tell me what to do – ‘get naked, down on all fours’ and then simply fuck me, but – in all honesty, that was never going to happen. I doubt the thought ever entered his mind.

It’s indicative that, even in my hazy unfulfilled yearning, it was always me being fucked, not doing the fucking. In fact, I had no desire to be the ‘active’ partner. So is that what I am – a ‘submissive’? I’ve never considered myself to be submissive in any other sphere of my life. But if not, give me another word for it? Yet I was scared, not of doing it, but of asking him. So I never got to do it, and remain forever unfulfilled. How pathetic is that? And I guess, for him, even the novelty of me giving him head soon wore off. He became reluctant, he made excuses, he wasn’t in the mood, I had to make the moves, I had to ask him, I had to persuade my way into his pants, can you imagine how difficult that is for me? and how embarrassing it is when he declines. It got to be so infrequent it was next to never. I wanted to, no two ways about it, I wanted to suck him off, but he would no longer let me.

Eventually, after summer recess he began socialising with a different set of friends, roomed elsewhere, and made it obvious that whatever we’d had together was over, he snubbed me. I even phoned him, ‘if you come around tonight, chances are you’ll get lucky’. How desperate is that? even feigning a jokey lightness of tone I didn’t feel. Just how much more bluntly can I phrase it without saying ‘please spunk-off in my gob, because I’d very much appreciate it if you would, thank you’? But he pointedly fails to pick up on it. You could say he dumped me. Perhaps he was scared by the intensity of it all too? As I was, I felt humiliated. My need is like a sickness within me. The positive thing about the sickness is that I could have taken something to ease it. There was a hose big enough to douse the fire. The hose in his pants, now denied to me. It never occurred to me that there might be other guys out there. It was only him I want.

Is he telling his new friends about what we’d done? Are they laughing about me my behind my back. I imagine they’re looking at me with derision in their eyes. They know what I am. A faggot cock-sucker, hung like a mouse. I try to kid myself that in a way there’s a sense of relief that it’s over, it was dangerous, it could destroy me, everything I was and could be, but oh, the pain of wanting him and being denied is a physical ache, like a junkie denied his fix. It was an addiction I was forced to break. … I pledge I’ll never allow myself to be hurt ever again. I freeze out that entire part of my life. Once I graduate I get married. Lead a conventional life, concentrate on my career. And never think of sex with Edward again…’ well, that’s a lie. It’s not true. I do think about it. I think of him. Often. With some frequency.

Once we left university we lost touch. I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing. But in vivid daydreams we meet up by accident, in a restaurant or a bar. Sometimes in the street I’ll hear him call my name. And we’ll have a drink together, catch up, reminisce about the old times. And eventually he’ll lower his voice, a little huskily, and enquire ‘do you remember all those things we used to do?’ And I’ll admit that yes, I do think fondly of it. And by mutual consent we retire to his hotel room, or maybe just a cubicle in the toilets, and – my heart beating up against my rib-cage, I crouch down to suck him off one more time, just for old time’s sake. And he leaves his card, just in case…

So, I’m confiding in you. Telling you things I’ve never told anyone else, because… well, I guess you know why…

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