Cocksucker 9

Cocksucker. That was the first word he said to me. It was an opening to a monologue about how his wife was the best little cocksucker in town. I could have ignored him but that first word caught my attention so I felt compelled to listen more. When he said the word it sounded beautiful rather than crass. One could imagine a wife offering her mouth in devoted service to the man she loved.

I was sitting at the corner seat at the bar downing a beer after a long day and he was around the corner of the bar at a seat near me. I suppose I could have ignored him, but at the time, for some as yet unknown reason, I didn't. He was tall, but not large. Manly, but not brutish. Handsome, but not pretty. I don't usually notice a guy's looks. Not that I can't tell when a guy is good looking, I just don't often think about it - being the straight man that I am.

There was not much of a contrast between him and I. I'm a good looking guy with an average build. Short hair, strong hands, with a congenial personality.

As he spoke he swore a lot (I almost never swear). Every sentence was peppered with vulgarity. He pulled it off. When he swore it came off as colorful, not rude. Somehow every obscene word that came out of his mouth just made me want to hear more of his story, as if the words themselves had a mesmerizing quality. I was drawn deeper and deeper into his monologue which was mostly about sex.

He revealed secrets about his wife, his exploits, and even his penis which he described as massive, yet the conversation continued without the awkwardness that should exist if a man tells another man about his privates.

The last thing I remember was him asking if I had ever been hypnotized.

I opened my eyes feeling slightly disoriented and found myself at his house. Had I been roofied? I felt fine. In fact, I felt relaxed, even euphoric. He was talking. And of course, he was swearing.

I heard, "You are a fine cocksucker. Those lips are gonna be sweet wrapped around my big schlong." This didn't make much sense. Why would he think I would engage in such a disgusting act? I'm sure I gave no such signals. The closest I had ever come to wanting to suck a dick would have been a stray thought quickly put out of mind. Sure, I've had curiosity, but nothing more.

Next, he said, "You have such pretty red painted nails." I looked at my hands and sure enough my nails were painted red. To my mind my hands also appeared very feminine. Which couldn't be. My soul would not accept that my hands looked like this with red nails. As I fought the thought, the image faded and my hands once again looked normal.

"No." I said, "my hands are not painted red and I'm not going to, to, you know...your cock."

He looked shocked. "So my pretty little bitch has a strong mind." As he said it he spit out the word bitch. The sound of the word hit me somewhere deep in my gut.

He started with the raunchy talk again, "Now be a good little whore and get ready to make me happy. You know you want to see my big one-eyed monster. It's angry and it needs your help to calm down. You don't want it to be upset. You want to be a good sissy because girls like you are meant to take care of a man and his big angry anaconda. Now, come over here slut."

Every time another lewd word emitted it made my stomach lurch. Looking at my hands I again thought they looked very sexy with red nail polish. In the recesses of my mind I knew I was a man, that my hands were not feminine, that I would not submit to his depravity, and that his words were insulting. But my body betrayed me. Inexplicably, I wanted to be a pretty bitch. I wanted to soothe his angry penis.

Realizing that he was hypnotizing me I considered that I should resist though I wondered what would happen if I gave in.

He went on seductively, "You want to help your friend, don't you? I need the help of a cunt like you. Just come over here and stand next to me."

That didn't seem like too much to ask. "Now show me those naked pictures of your wife." Again, that seemed safe enough. Even fun.

Swayed by his words, I reached into my pocket and took out some polaroids of my wife in sexy poses. I don't have any pictures like that but that didn't stop me from showing him the non-existent pics.

He pretended to take them from me and shuffled through the stack. Occasionally he would comment on one of them: "She looks fuckin' hot with her tits out."

I agreed whole-heartedly, and the more he uttered these pornographic words the more I agreed.

"I love those meaty pussy lips," he offered. I conceded that I wanted to lick her pussy. "Yea!" he said conspiratorially, "I want to shoot gobs of cum on those stinky lips for you to lick off."

Why did I want that? I didn't know why but I did want to lick his spunky cum from her stinky pussy.

I got stuck inside my own thoughts: "I'm not so sure "stinky" is the best word to describe the alluring scent of a woman's charms. Certainly it has an odor. A faint lingering smell of urine and fishiness. Well, that doesn't sound so appealing when I say it that way - but it's not bad, really. I like the smell of pussy. It smells like... Ok, Maybe stinky is the right word. But maybe stinky is good."

He continued, "Oh, it's too bad she's not here. How are you going to slurp that sperm if she's not here? You are such a fine looking babe in those smokin' clothes."

Me slurping sperm on the other hand definitely did not sound good. The words themself, "slurping sperm" sounded fantastic and induced in me a feeling of raw sex, but in my opinion those potent words should have been preceded by the words "she was."

Nevertheless, I pictured myself in a skimpy red sundress. My boobs were full with just the right amount of heaviness. I ran my hands sensually over my chest. My skin was smooth and tan. He was right. I was a babe and I was meant to be used for sex.

He draped his arm over my shoulder. "I'm gonna finger your cunny now. It's gonna feel sooo damn good and it's going to turn you on so fuckin' much." He reached over and started to manipulate my dick and balls through my pants. It did feel good and it did turn me on.

When he touched my balls it reminded me that men have balls and I was a man. At the same time I didn't want it to stop. I could let this go on. This was nothing more than what thousands of young guys did in circle jerks every summer in woods or forts. I let myself enjoy the feelings. He continued talking, "Your pussy lips are so rubbery." For a moment I forgot I had balls and really perceived that he was playing with my pliable pussy lips instead. I visualized his thick fingers rubbing and pulling on my labia.

He moved his other hand from my shoulder and cupped my buns and told me what a firm round enjoyable ass I had and how it looked so nice in my silky thong. It felt so good to be admired and appreciated for the horny bitch I was. He was working my body from both sides now and I started to get uncomfortable in the tight confines of my underwear.

He popped the button on my pants which made them satisfyingly looser while he released me from my jeans. It was easier to go along with the imagery and stand there in a thong rather than to stand there in too tight pants. I looked down to survey my body and was pleased to discover that I was a knockout. My nipples were visibly poking out through my shimmery lingerie and my mons was barely covered by a teeny tiny red silk thong with wisps of a curly triangle bush peeking out.

"Well aren't you a selfish whore? You're all comfortable with your trampy dress off and you haven't even touched your man's need."

I stammered an apology while reaching over to caress his package through his pants. It was the first time I had ever felt another man's equipment. He moaned magnetically and I felt emboldened. I felt all around. He dropped his hand from my dick but kept massaging my butt. Squeezing and digging his fingers into my flesh, occasionally grazing my bum hole with a finger.

He started again with the persuasive talk, "My slut's petite little hands are really helping this huge member. You are a very cute fuck toy. I think we are ready for you to kneel down soon. Don't you agree, my beautiful cocksucker?"

It was so nice to be called beautiful and oddly nice to be called cocksucker. I don't know why it was nice to be called a cocksucker but it was. You may remember that's where this story began. Like I said, he made these words better somehow.

When he said "cocksucker" I wanted to be one. When he said "bitch" I felt like one. This was his power. He gently laid his arm on my shoulder again. He barely pushed but I fell to my knees. No one could say he forced me because I dropped to the floor without any physical effort on his part.

He switched to massaging my head, with his hands entangled in my long blonde hair. My powdered face touched the front of his slacks and I could make out the outlines of his manhood through the thin material just with my cheeks. He was right about it seeming massive.

Crouching there with my bare knees on the hardwood floor I became aware of a tiny piece of grit, or gravel, or speck of unswept debri between my skin and the floor. Slowly the pain woke me from my trance. I was a man. A married man too. I loved my wife and I loved pussy too. I was still wearing men's clothing except for the fact that my dick and balls were hanging out in the cool draft of his living room. I had to get up and go.

I heard him say, "Look at the king cobra, woman!"

Yes, I needed to go but not until I could get a good look at this big beast he kept telling me about. I wanted to see what a big one looked like and find out if it was really as awesome as he said. As soon as my curiosity was sated I would go. I could tame and charm the snake and be no worse off for it.

My once-again manly hands reached up and rested on the front of his pleats. My bare nails unfastened his belt and pulled down his zipper. His pants fell to his ankles barely making any sound. With trembling fingers I hooked the elastic of his briefs and with great trepidation slowly pulled them up and over "it," down to his knees.

His penis was criss crossed with veins, white skinned with a pattern of subtle tan hued area, then lighter where the circumcision scar ran around, topped with a darker reddish head. It coiled over his balls which were also large. The phrase "Red touch yellow kill a fellow, red touch black friend of Jack" ran through my mind to warn me. There was no hair save a little stubble from the last time he shaved.

I was disappointed. I wanted to see a hard penis then leave. But this was not hard. I guessed it was about five inches soft and incredibly thick. How long would it get? I looked up at him as if to plead with him to pull on it - to make it hard and long for me.

He smiled a lascivious smile, "Don't you want to suck it, you dirty wench?" His words made me swoon but I regained my self control. I placed my hands on his thighs and pushed away but he covered my hands with his and held them there.

"You cocksucking dirty cunt of a whore! You are going to swallow my big cock and suck all that slimy jism out of it until there is no more nasty goo left. You are a faggot sub sissy who was born to be a receptacle to empty a real man's testicles. You are going to kiss this prick all over and get it all wet with your worthless ass spit so I can push it down your throat and leave a gallon of nasty spunk in your belly. When I am done my spoo will cleanse you from the inside out. This is fucking magic cum. It's deliciously nasty and thick but this stuff is still worth more than gold and when we are done you will finally feel complete and whole. When you are done nibbling on every inch of my fat cock you will feel happy for the first time in your miserable life and you will have purpose."

When he finished with his disgusting litany of filth I was stunned and numb and had no idea how I felt. But gradually a warmth spread over me. It started in my groin and made its way out to all the reaches my extremities. I knew I wanted his precious ejaculate in me now without a doubt. I wanted it more than I wanted to be a straight man. I wanted it so much I could feel my pussy tingle.

I reached up and lifted his hefty weapon. I felt the warmth of it in my hands. It was very soft and silky smooth. I wanted to make this great for him. I wanted to do what felt good when it was done to me. I wanted to see this phallus grow to its full capacity.

I lightly ran my finger tips up and down the sides. I gently tugged at his testis. I cupped his balls and lifted them up just to gauge their weight. I squeezed his organ and pulled it at just a little, but it refused to grow.

"C'mon Dicklette," He growled, "it's time to kiss it! Start with the nuts."

I wanted to lean forward. I wanted to allow my lips to meet his testicles but I could not bring myself to do it. His hands were still wrapped in my long curls and taking handfuls of my hair he pulled me toward him until my lips were centimeters from his balls and the top of my nose touched them. They smelled of fresh soap. I could feel warmth emanating from them.

Surprisingly and tenderly he said just the one word; "Kitten." The momentary emotionality helped me close the gap - I pressed my lips firmly upon his wrinkly balls. They felt... nice. I left them there for a long minute before sneaking my tongue out just a little to tentatively see what they would feel like using the tip of my tongue and, obviously, to take a taste.

It wasn't bad at all so I tried using more tongue. His balls surrounded my nose and mouth filling in the spaces, enveloping my nose and mouth completely.

I made large licks with the flat of my tongue. A wanton urge took over which I gave in to. I mashed my tongue all over his balls bathing them in saliva. The more I swathed them the wetter and slipperier they got until they were sliding all over my face leaving wide paths of my own lubrication.

He egged me on with his special brand of lecherous words, "Go on you nasty ball-licker, you are doing fantastic. Keep it up with that slick tongue on my nads. In a little bit we will be ready to coat your stomach with my very own pepto bismol. I think you really have got the hang of sack licking. I can feel the spooge boiling up inside. Now do the shaft you dirty nympho."

So I did. I moved up from his jewels to the scepter. First I put one lip on one side and my lower lip on the other. Then I bit it ever so gently being careful with my teeth. I could tell he liked that because his manly hands twisted my head around into more favorable positions whenever he wanted a better angle, "Your shiny lips are perfect you slutty whore."

By now I noticed some expansion. It had grown by about an inch and firmed just a little. I needed it to grow so I nudged it with my kisses and it stirred more.

I started to nibble up and down the shaft then moved to the other side. Next I continued with lollipop licks going all the way from the bottom to just where the shaft meets the head as he directed my head by pulling on my long wavy hair. It continued to grow seemingly with no end in sight.

Maybe it was because my view was from only two inches away but his dick did seem massive. He let up for a second so I took the opportunity to get a better look from a less myopic distance. Looking was what I wanted to do after all.

I jerked It with my hands and hovered about five inches away. I surmised that fully hard it must have been a bit over seven inches. Not the monster he bragged about but certainly no joke either. It was hard in my hands and the skin was pulled taut.

When it jumped I could see his ballsack jerk too. The plums in the sack jerked as well. I had never before seen a hard dick from this point of view so the pee slit on the end was an object of fascination. The slit had never seemed big to me when I looked at my own. But here, from underneath, his seemed like the opening of a fire hose, able to shoot jets strong enough to knock me over. As my hands stroked up and down, that slit opened and closed allowing me to see a hint of moisture within.

I had forgotten my plan to escape. My whole mind was focused on this new obsession. I adored this powerful tool and wanted it to do unspeakable things to me.

Then my thong was riding up into my camel toe causing some discomfort so I needed to readjust. I reached for my thong but instead of finding red silk I found my throbbing hard-on. I also found that the zipper of my pants was cutting into my scrotum pretty painfully.

Coming back to reality with my mouth so near a man's cock disturbed me. I hurriedly rocked back and withdrew from this unseemly task. By now I knew how things would go; he would have an outrageous verbal ejaculation of repugnant thought and I would fall under his spell.

But he surprised me. Placing both hands on the sides of my head he forcefully yanked my head to face his big johnson. I stared at the big scary head getting closer and closer and wanted to run away except that he held me.

I was not enraptured now. This was a part of a man and I am straight. I can notice a handsome man and not be attracted to him and I could also recognize an amazing cock without wanting to mouth it. Now would be a perfect time to leave. I have not yet been defiled by anything other than skin. No man's juices have entered my body. If I left now I could still leave without the unsavory label of cocksucker.

He still had his vice-like grip on my head, but I could still fight it. Again placing my hands on his thighs I pushed. This time he did not place his hands on mine. He could not pull on my hair because in reality my hair is very short.

But unfortunately my leverage was not quite right. And in the process of struggling instead of getting farther away I had gotten closer to the wet end: the end that would shoot. It was actually only a few inches from my virgin lips now.

I realized that Instead of pushing away I would need to stand up. I tried this but the leverage was even worse.

Meanwhile this working end was now less than two inches from touching me and as I looked at it with horror I could see that a rather large sticky drop of precum had formed on its tip.

So, I figured, I would just move down and twist away. But when I tried that I found that he could suspend me held uncomfortably by my head. Dangling there I had zero control.

I scrambled back to my knees frantically trying to decide how to extricate myself. He had all the leverage and enough strength that I had to give up trying to muscle my way out.

He was taking a sick joy in my plight. He could have pulled me onto his cock in one swift move but instead he was dragging me in super slowly while intently watching the ghastly expressions on my face.

That sticky wet cum-gun was only an inch away from ruining me. I needed time to make a plan. I tried to yell, but when my voice came out it was no more than a weakly croaked, "noo" This bought me no time and failed to deter him in the slightest. The powerless word left my mouth at the exact instant that the angry mushroom head of his thick meat made contact. That word "no" makes one's lips form the perfect shape to accept a cock.

In no way did I accept this treatment. I was no longer hypnotized. This was force. Not only did it touch me but it did so in a way that every surface of my no-shaped lips made contact with the entire circumference of that swollen head.

I felt the firehose slit touch part of my tongue. The wetness from his cock was mingling with the wetness in my mouth. My saliva was mixing with his precum, invading my oral cavity which until now had never tasted a stranger's cum.

I couldn't pull away or turn my head - his hands held me so strongly. Then he engaged. It was slow but it was enough for the entire head of his cock to push my lips aside and to be inside me.