OK, folks, standard disclaimers: this is fiction. No intentional resemblance to real people, this shouldn't be read by anyone underage or insulted/offended by gay SM practices. Yada, yada, yada.
I had yet another story inside me that wouldn't fit in the chapters of the piece I'm putting together. So here it is on its own.
Got something to say? Not_your_Typical_Master@yahoo.com
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Nobody carries a pager anymore. Anything a pager does, a cell phone can do, and do better. It's practically an antique. Nobody with any respect would carry one.
Except me. I won't go anywhere without it. It's the most important thing I carry. It rules my life simply because he gave it to me. It's my only means of contact with him.
He found me at a gay bookstore, on my knees sucking out men's loads like a good little slut. I love being used by men. And this guy was all man: middle-aged, bearish, blond. Thick `stache and beard. No smiles, all business -- the business was him getting off.
As soon as he walked in, smug and secure, I crawled over to him to beg him for his cock. He shrugged, looked down at me, and laid down the truth that would define me for the rest of my life:
"Sure. But you'll be a slave to my dick from now on, cocksucker. Believe me. Queers just can never get enough of it. You sure you want this?"
"Yes, please." Those are the only words I've ever said to him, and the only words I ever will. Just those two words, just that one time.
He shrugged again and unzipped, unleashing the most beautiful cock I've ever seen. Cut, but with barely a scar. A column of pale flesh, thick and juicy, mushroom head over a solid fire-hydrant of dick. Soft warm skin over hard cold steel. A forest of dark blond bush at the base. His cock wasn't mammoth, only about 6 or 7 inches, but it was incredibly thick and inviting, a beer can of flesh and iron. My mouth was watering immediately and I helplessly dove onto it as if it were my life-support system.
He just leaned back against the wall and released the most deep and delicious moan I ever heard. That sound literally fed me. All I could think of was doing whatever it took to make him moan again and again.
So I put my whorish throat to use, grabbing and releasing his meat. My tongue caressed the base of his cock, stretching down to tease the top of his nutsack. My lips and cheeks clamped onto his stalk to excite as many nerves as possible. He responded by clamping his hands onto the back of my head and fucking my lucky throat like it was his bitch's pussy.
Hard. Rough. Relentless. Unforgiving. Raping my sorry throat. Forcing me go gag and retch on him, pulling up stomach juice to better lube his steel. After I deeply heaved on his fuck, he laughed and let go. "Nice, bitch. Here, back off a little and breathe for a few. But don't take your mouth off of my cock unless you are ready to never have it back in there again."
With a threat like that, I barely eased off it at all. Just enough to suck some air in and out, making the air flow feel like another kind of caress against his prick. He laughed again. "See what I mean, bitch? I guess my scent does something to you queers."
Fucking right. He was a walking aphrodisiac. The smell of his crotch was like a switch flicking my brain on. All I could think about was the taste and smell of him. Caressing him. Making love to him. Worshipping him.
And all I was to him was just another cocksucker. I knew that. I didn't care. I knew what a lucky cocksucker I was to be given the chance to savor this perfect cock. The broth of his precum started oozing onto my lucky tongue, giving me no choice but to swallow the taste of him and ruining my taste buds for anyone else. Nobody could ever taste this delicious. Nobody ever would again. I pulled on his dick for more of his salty juice.
It wasn't until he laughed at me that I realized how pathetic I must have looked and sounded. I was moaning like a starving man at a banquet. I was wrapping my mouth around him in the most desperate and pathetic ways possible. I didn't fucking care. If it made him feel good, then I was going to do it. Nothing was more important than his pleasure.
It took about 30 minutes before he finally decided to shoot his seed down my gullet. His only warning: "Don't stop, just slow down." His hands held my head in place like a vice as he thrust himself deep. I never tasted his seed; I only felt it pounding out of his cock in thick spasms that throbbed in my mouth and throat as he poured himself into my stomach.
Once he finished,his hands remained glued onto my head. "Back to work, bitch. Plenty more where that came from." I whimpered in joy and pulled on his magnificent meat some more like a stupid grateful whore. Because I was a stupid grateful whore.
After another ten minutes or so of desperate sucking, one of the fingers grasping the back of my head tapped a warning before he released his piss into my mouth and throat. I was fucking amazed that he was able to piss while rock hard and fucking my face. I repeatedly gulped while mewing my gratitude to him and continued sucking, swallowing, retching, breathing ... every action defined by his cock. I realized I was nothing more than a dick-worshipping appliance for his definition and use.
He fed me another load or two over the next hour, then pulled me off his tumescence. I started to thank him, but the back of his hand slapped me silent. He reached into his back pocket and gave me the best gift I'll ever receive: an old dirty pager.
He explained as he zipped himself up. "Here's how this works, cocksucker. I will call that number any time I want and give an address. You be there in 30 minutes and immediately wrap your lips around my dick. Your job is to pull out my loads of cum and piss. You'll be my personal cum factory, making load after load drain from my balls, and you'll be an empty reservoir for my urine. Your lips stay glued to my meat until I pull you off; then you leave. Not a single fucking word to me; the only purpose your mouth serves is as my personal suckhole. During that time, I can do whatever I want to you; slap you around a bit, intimidate you, treat you like the fagbitch you are. I can cum anywhere I want to, so I might pull back to coat your face, then push you back down on me. You swallow whatever I feed you, let drip dry whatever I coat you with. You will be repeatedly throat- and mouth-raped until I'm done with you. I go for lots of loads, so your
persistence is key. It might be hours of draining me. Or, hell, it might be just a minute or two to drink my piss during a ball game. Doesn't matter to me.
"If any of this isn't done to my satisfaction, I'll just find a new cocksucker and you'll never see me again."
He turned around and left without ever waiting for me to agree to his terms. He knew. He just fucking knew.
I know too, of course. I know he can wake me in the middle of the night to service him. He can call while I'm out with friends or running errands and I'll drop everything for him. He can call during my work hours and I'll find a way to make it happen. He can tell me to follow him someplace he's going on vacation and I'll be sitting in a cheap hotel room staring at this pager while he enjoys the sights with friends or family. He can call and give me the address of one of his friends and I'll be grateful that he thinks enough of my skills to whore me out, showing me my true worth. He can tell me he's moving to another city, another state, and I'll follow closely behind. I'll do this for the rest of my life, if he'll let me. Hell, he can tire of me for any reason and decide I'm no longer worthy of him. I'll then spend the rest of my sorry life hanging onto this pager just in case he's changed his mind.
I know. I just fucking know.