Midtown Straight Guy

MIDTOWN STRAIGHT GUY

by BigBull4YourWife

"How's that cock taste, boy?"

He melted hearing that. He had not been a boy in decades, and the man whose cock was in his mouth--and in his throat--and then out of his throat and only in his mouth again--and then back down his throat once more--this man for whom he was on his knees, he suspected, was even younger than he was.

But it didn't matter. Down on his knees. Taking a man so deep his eyes watered and he gagged but he did not stop.

It was obvious. He was a slut. He was a nasty, sissy slut.

"I can't hear you, boy."

"Tastes good, Sir," was his answer. But with the dick in his mouth it sounded like "Tasftsfts guuuudsssrrrr."

Appreciative laughter. "Enjoy it boy, enjoy it."

Then the face-fucking began. Slow at first. But not for long. A glimpse of the top's left hand. Catching the light. A wedding ring. Much like his own.

Faster and faster the facefucking went until, without warning, those balls were draining, and his throat was receiving. Pulse after pulse. Eyes closed and receiving.

Take it, swallow it, and let it happen. Take it, swallow it, and let it happen.

Hot and sticky, pungent, like coffees and diet sodas.

A thick, meaty cock, meatier than his, holding his throat open like a feeding tube, releasing all its pent up tension. And finally, when it's done, releasing him.

"Good one, slut."

The zip up of the fly. The cinching of the belt. Business has concluded. Jason knows he is now being discarded.

"That was great. I gotta get back to the office. So, I'll text you, right?"

The man is at the door. Jason is still on his knees. Still feeling the man's load in his stomach. Still tasting him in his mouth.

"Yeah, sure," Jason says, feeling small, feeling little, not feeling like the managing partner of his law firm.

"Great. Thanks again." The door is closed. The man's footsteps down the hall. Jason is alone in the anonymous midtown hotel room, at the hotel he liked to book for these encounters off the app on his secret second cell phone, not his official work cell phone but another work cell phone, that as the ultimate boss in his company, he can do whatever he liked with.

A phone for special clients.

The phone only had hookup apps. Gay hookup apps. And he never brought it home with him, he always powered it off and left it in the locked drawer of his office.

He took a quick shower and headed back there. The smell of dick and cum rinsed off his body, his hair wet like he just came from the gym, and now back to his real life.

It was dark already, and he was like a salmon swimming upstream, going from the happy fun play places of midtown Manhattan, heading to the corporate nihilisphere of big business midtown Manhattan, where his office was.

Only the most diehard of his staff were still there, which was only a few, along with the building's cleaning crew making their evening rounds. Jason carried his duffel bag over his shoulder, as if he had stepped out of the office for some manly gym time, and not for semi-anonymous sex with a man he had now seen three times for exactly this.

Knees. Mouth. Suck. Cum.

And then home to the wife.

Jason stashed his secret phone in its secret place. Jason texted his wife he was heading out home, and then Jason drove his German luxury sedan home to his respectable acre in Larchmont.

He kissed his wife on the cheek and she remarked on how nice his cologne smelled. "I put on more after the gym, just for you," Jason told her, and she called him a charmer.

Later that night, when he came to bed, he woke her up gently, for she had turned in an hour prior, and he took her quickly from behind, like she liked to let him do, and which she had told him decades ago, early in their marriage, that he was welcome to do whenever he came home extra-late from the office.

"I like to be woken up that way," Janey had told him, "and I always get a little wet in my sleep." Jason never asked his wife when she had discovered this about herself, but after many a disappointed night getting flaked on by Sexy App Bears, as well as after many nights when he had only bottomed without any release, he came home to his wife, literally and figuratively.

Jason always wondered if Janey knew he was thinking about a man or men when he had her late at night, side-style, in their bed in the dark. He never asked her what she was thinking about, feeling her husband slip her nightgown up, slip her panty to the side, feeling him enter her with no foreplay. Janey moaned and "oooh"ed such as she gained easy consciousness around his groping touches and his stiff cock. Jason always thought she was thinking about him, enjoying him as her husband when she woke from dream to his late-night need.

But maybe she had been thinking about someone or someones else, Jason idly mused, after climaxing inside her, kissing the back of her neck, and then rolling onto his back. Spent. Happy. Done.

He had been replaying the evening in his mind. Smelling him and hearing him all over again, while he used Janey like a silicone toy with a pulse. Until, finally, he had what he had been searching for all day, it felt like.

Relaxed and finally at rest, now at the very last moments of day.

He wondered who or what his wife really thought about when he came inside her like this.

He thought about and felt the cum in his belly from his lover earlier that evening.

He drifted off to sleep almost instantly, images of both twisting in his mind.

Jason belonged to two gyms, and it showed. Cardio, free weights, the occasional yoga class and lots of healthy eating: he was as fit in his forties as he had been in his twenties.

The gym whose logo was emblazoned on his duffel bag, that was the gym near his office that his wife knew about. The other gym he belonged to his wife did not know about. It was a little further away from his office, over in Hells Kitchen.

It was not a chain gym, it was a private athletic club, that had an almost entirely male membership. Not entirely, he had seen women there, but rarely, and always in pairs, and always both women in the pair were quite butch indeed.

There was a large locker room space, and an even larger shower area, than the gym Janey knew about. The showers were private, but each was more than big enough for two or three to watch and play. Not that any of that was permitted or condoned by management. The membership contract expressly forbid it.

But consenting adults joined this gym because it had a quiet reputation for discretion, as well as excellence. Dues were high but worth it. It kept the wrong crowd out. Discreet people would pay discreet prices.

Jason paid a discreet price each month, again from his office address and from his official expense account.

The locker room was large, and nudity was encouraged. Towels were for the most brief of post-shower drying off, and then walking around, standing before sinks, doing whatever grooming was then called for, was more often than not, fully nude.

Appreciative, friendly slaps on the bottom were the most favored form of greeting.

Jason had seen the profile:

"Single straight guy looking for nasty play w/guy who appreciates a mouth and tongue on him, likes being nasty, likes sissies, likes sluts, likes being submissive for straight guys. Wedding rings to the front of the pack."

The pics fit the profile. He looked sexy, and submissive, and straight, or at least, straight-passing, not queenie or nellie. Jason thought he recognized the tile of one of the oversized showers at this gym in the background of the profile's very impressive dick pic.

So one afternoon he brought his phone with him into the shower, and snapped a matching dick pic of his own, capturing the same tile pattern.

"Hey straight guy," Jason captioned the pic, and sent it to his target.

By the time Jason had finished his post-workout shower, his secret phone at a message in response: "Hey. You like to workout?" with a winking devil emoji.

"Yeah. You like to get worked out?"

"Yes, Sir."

Jason had been letting dudes blow him since college, when he pledged the fraternity on campus that was famous for their all-nude-nearly-all-the-time frat house. Those first two years at Alpha, only his dick was gay, learning about receiving head from the talented mouths of horny upperclassmen.

But Junior year abroad, losing his virginity to a woman, telling her about his bicurious frat life and her arranging a threeway with her and another man for Jason to "lose your other virginity with me, too," she said. And Jason did, lovingly and slowly, kissing her but feeling him, her hand stroking him as he "opened up for me," as his girlfriend described Jason being sodomized by a swarthy Greek with a modest cock like an ancient statute.

Modest, but still big enough to rearrange Jason's life and priorities.

That last year of college, and he was the happy cocksucker in the frat house, blowing the eighteen-year-old pledges, the same way he had once been blown as an eighteen year old pledge from Losertown, Indiana.

Then, two years as a bartender at a gay bar in a big city--playing the hunky, tall Midwestern "straight" guy--and getting railed twice a day by any older, "straight" guy who came into the bar alone. Those years Jason received his real education.

"Show me how to be you," Jason thought to himself while he bent over in the alley and got plowed. "Show me how to get away with it, to blend in more the older I get," wishing that the ones he let bareback him, the regulars who never had sores and looked like they knew all about PreP; wishing they could make him what he wanted to be: the straight, older guy with a rock-solid marriage to a woman, and all the gay sex he wanted.

If he just took enough up their cum deep inside him, maybe they could make him respectable like them.

Like themm, and not just a former-frat boy turned gay-bar bartender, who rarely fucked anyone under forty, and never anyone who was not obviously rich and successful in his life.

Jason only wanted stud cum up his backdoor. If he was gong to be a sissy faggot and enjoy it, he only wanted to be a sissy faggot for some straight guy, preferably one with a wife and kids.

But he could not be a slut forever, and he could not keep hiding that the "sports bar" where he was working was mostly playing for just one team.

With money saved up, and a letter of recommendation from one of his regulars, a local civil attorney, Jason started law school in the city.

He moved into a group home where Janey happened to already be living. She was a year ahead of him at the law school, and he was desperate for a tall, handsome boyfriend. Someone who looked and acted with the exact amount of Midwestern snobbish humility which, as she was raised by her Midwestern military officer father and her admiral's-daughter mother, she considered the sine que non, the ne plus ultra, of male desirably.

She and Jason were married the year she graduated from law school.

Moving in to their own condominium apartment, the downpayment given as a wedding gift from Janey's parents, made life infinitely easer. Jason still had his third year of law school to finish, the Bar Exam to study for, and a job to find, and not living in the group house any more gave him much more time and space to think about and work on those important, professional milestones.

It also made Jason's secret life infinitely easier. With Janey now safely in their apartment up in the sky most of the time when she was not at her own job, Jason always knew where and when she was. And most of the time, that was miles away from the law school where he was most of the day, and from the group home where they no longer lived.

But where two of Jason's best friends still lived.

And where, now that Janey no longer lived there, Jason could come over between classes, kick back with his buddies at the house. Maybe drink a beer or two, smoke a blunt, especially if there were no more classes for the day, but no need to go home just yet. They could put some gay porn on the living room screen and start jerking all together.

Then they could play some game--maybe measure who was the thickest, or the longest, or the smallest, or whoever didn't say the secret word fast enough, and whoever was the loser or the odd man out, then he could get down on his knees and give head to the other two while they watched the porn. Sometimes it was one after the other, sometimes it was back and forth, and sometimes it was a double-barreled blow-job. Sometimes Jason got and sometimes Jason gave.

Sometimes they switched things up and watched straight porn. They had all had girlfriends, they had all had dates to Prom at some point, they had all been at Jason's wedding that summer. They knew how things were.

And with no Janey there to catch them, they could get Jason in one of the bedrooms and spit-roast him proper. "Wish we coulda done this at your wedding, bro," they would tell him, and Jason would tell them, "yeah, me, too," and imagine him and Janey both getting spit roasted by their wedding guests, both naked, both on their hands and knees on separate tables at their wedding reception.

The guests going up to whomever of the two they wanted. His new wife's pussy and her mouth? Or Jason's boy-pussy and mouth? Or try both mouths and see who does it better?

Jason knew that's what he would have done, had he been a guest at this dream-wedding of his. And Jason knew he would have wanted people to prefer him to Janey. "It's just that dawg in me," Jason imagined himself explaining, should anyone ever ask him.

It would give new meaning to "Bride's side or Groom's side?", that was for sure.

But while that wedding was far different from his tame and chaste actual wedding to Janey, his times that third year, on the couch and in the bedrooms of the group house where he had met his wife, were not tame and never chaste, even if they never involved Janey, either.

But she never knew and could never tell when her new husband had been busy fucking his old friends, and Jason never ignored his wife or let her go for more than a week without dicking her down, and even often making love with her slowly after their bi-weekly "date night."

As the years went by, Jason began to realize and appreciate that it had worked. As if by osmosis, he had taken the cum of those older, straight guys who sometimes buttfucked and sometimes got blown by cute dudes, he had taken their cum and absorbed their lives. Their skills. Their strengths.

He was in his mid-forties and he was now one of those successful, rich straight guys who sometimes fucked cute dudes. And sometimes kneeled down and blew dudes, dudes who called him "sissy" and "faggot" and "homo," even as Jason was blowing them, even as they were fucking Jason up his ass at a golf resort following a corporate event.

But he always went home to Janey his wife. Janey who was always beautiful and always presentable and who never got fat, not even after the kids were born. Janey who always looked and acted feminine and pretty and stylish and girly and never, ever was butch or manly, and who was always the perfect accompaniment when he had to go places with his wife, formal places, business places.

Taking Janey to the office Christmas Party, and no one thought Jason sucked cock. Let alone two different cocks already that day.

Taking Janey to family events, they were the ideal couple with a rock-solid marriage. The envy of all of her sisters. The favorite son-in-law of Janey's parents, by far. Jason off in the corner was definitely texting with his work colleagues, because he was such a rich, busy lawyer, who drove Janey and the kids to the family event in their German luxury sedan. No way was Jason actually texting on his secret work phone with the owner of a new cock that Jason was salivating to suck that night.

"Just have to run over to the office for fifteen minutes," he would lie to Janey. "I need to lay out the files for that new person to start on tomorrow morning, otherwise they might not find them, they're buried in the backrooms of the physical file office."

Janey never complained, even if fifteen minutes became two hours and he was not back, in their German luxury car, until almost midnight.

Because Jason always did come back, and Janey was usually asleep by the time her husband was home, showering the semen out of his asscrack or rinsing some spun off of his gym-fit back.

But Jason almost never stopped by the office, unless he worried about his alibi, which he seldom did. But Jason usually stopped near the office, at the gay health club where Janey did not know he had a membership.

The perfect place to meet this nasty young single guy looking to give mouth and tongue to an appreciative cock who was, he confirmed through text, also a member of that gym.

Late Sunday night, the perfect time. The large locker room, empty of people. Almost no one in the gym.

"I've got to get home to my wife soon," Jason tells him.

"You're married? That's awesome," the guy says.

"Yeah, see this wedding band? Little lady's waiting up for me," Jason says, showing it off and wiggling his fingers.

"Cool," the younger man says. He looks like he says he is: late twenties.

"So get going, sissy, get those clothes of for me. Let me see what you've brought me," Jason instructs him.

"Yes, Sir," he says. "You said you like jock straps, so..."

He strips until all he is wearing is a white jock strap, no cup.

"Turn around," Jason commands him, and he complies.

A hard smack on the exposed left cheek of the younger man's ass. Followed by Jason's groping, squeezing hand. "Yeah, that's some sweet boy ass. You get fucked in that ass, boy?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You take your PreP, boy?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. Me, too. Don't tell my wife," and Jason laughs. The young man laughs with him.

"Let's get in the showers," Jason tells him, and takes him by the back of the neck, guides the submissive man wearing only a white jock, into one of the oversized shower stalls. No one is back here. They are alone. Jason pulls the curtain closed anyway. He's still fully dressed.

"I gotta get back to my wife, sissy," Jason tells him again, "so down you go."

And down the sissy goes. Jason sticks out his ring finger, presenting it for attention, and the man kisses Jason's wedding ring, then sucks the finger into his mouth. Jason fucks the man's lips with it, making him keep the ring just inside his lips.

"That's right," Jason tells him. "I've got a wife and you're a cocksucker. I've got a wife and you're gonna suck straight cock tonight. Worship married straight cock tonight. Get going now. I gotta get home to her," and Jason takes his ring finger out of the man's oral fuck station.

The man knows what to do next.

Lowers the zipper. Reaches in. Soft cotton boxer briefs with a fly front. Hard slightly-smaller than average penis inside. Easy to pull through the cotton.

The scent, the musk of a man in clean laundry done by his wife or their maid. An erect dick straining for relief, getting harder now that it's exposed to the air.

The smooth, slick wetness of a sissy's mouth, taking a married stranger's cock balls-deep on the first suck.

So good, Jason loses his balance just a little, on that first intake, on that first insertion of him into the man's mouth. Lets out a little moan. Lets him know he's good. He's doing right, right from the start.

Jason looks down and sees the man's tight, fit ass, framed perfectly by the straps of the jock, as the man kneels and bobs on Jason's cock, introducing himself and showing off. Giving his face, giving his spit, giving the back of his mouth, because Jason doesn't quite reach into the man's throat.

But it all looks good to Jason and it feels even better.