Disclaimer: I own all the rights to this original work and give license to the Nifty archive. Copyright 2012. All characters are fictional, any coincidences to living people are entirely coincidental.
If you haven't already, please consider donating to Nifty, this is a wonderful project. Comments, critiques: juliet.delta88 (at) gmail (dot) com. -thanks
For the first time since I left my house, I pause. I'm standing inside the dim hotel room. The light from the TV is flittering a bright silver radiance casting everything in silhouette. During my jog over, my cock and my brain have been in a tense battle.
He turns his head to look me over. I'm not sure in the darkness, but I think I detect a faint raise of his eyebrow. I convince myself it's a reaction to my boyish good looks. I'm standing as straight as I can, puffing out my thin chest as much as possible to properly display my six feet, two inch frame. My armpits are moist from the jog, but I don't think it's enough to cause wet spots on my grey t-shirt. My only betrayal, as I try to look as stoic and forceful as I can, is my aching hard-on poking out through the fabric of my black running shorts. My body is tall, smooth and thin. My hard-on, especially through my shorts, is obvious, even here in the dark.
The man, who had promised in his online ad that he was fat and ugly wasn't lying. Even before he turned his head to look at me I could see he was completely bald on top, but grew out the hair on the sides and back of his head. It was comical. When he did turn around, I could see that he also had a thick mustache.
He doesn't know that I'm 17, and I will not tell him, but he looks like what you'd picture in a child molester.
"Why don't you come on over here?" he asks in a deep, smooth voice. He sounds friendly, encouraging.
Now that my eyes have adjusted slightly in this light, I can see that he is missing a front tooth. My brain once again starts screaming at my body to run. This is not how I'm supposed to lose my virginity. Not to a fat, bald toothless man in a dirty, dark hotel room. For the first time since I left my room, my cock is starting to agree. My erection is waning. My heart is pumping hard, but now more out of fear than excitement. I should turn around and leave, right now.
He can see my apprehension. "Come on!" His voice is so encouraging, comforting. I walk over so I'm on the other side of the couch, facing him directly. He is wearing a black polo shirt. He is holding a Styrofoam container in his right hand and eating off of it with his left, but I'm too busy studying his face to bother to see what he is eating. He puts down the container on the couch, smiles and extends his right hand.
"I'm Gary," he says. I notice two things. He isn't actually missing a tooth, but he does have a big gap between his front teeth. And his hand, as I grab it, is a little smaller than mine but a lot thicker. It's also covered in calluses, so he must work outside or something.
"Jim," I say, lying. I continue to size him up, it's hard when he's sitting down, but I think I'm taller than him, by at least four inches. His body is thick, barrel-chested.
He grabs his container again. "You hungry? Want something to eat?"
"No," I say. "I'm good."
"Are you sure?" he asks, and I'm annoyed at first before I realize for the first time that his cock is hanging out of his pants. It is massive, lying heavily across his hip and digging into his open zipper, like a tree root. My heart surges as if it were taking in a quick, deep sigh, a gasp. How did I not notice it before? It's possible I missed it in the dark, but it's resting on his lap for the world to see. No. For me to see. Just me. I've been in the room for a minute with a fat slab of sausage laying out just for me and I didn't notice it until now.
This is not my first time seeing a cock. I see them regularly in the gym before and after basketball practice, and after gym class. But there I'm limited to quick glances. The high school locker room is a no fag zone and any guy caught casting eyes anywhere below shoulder level is met with suspicion. An extended look downward will get you ostracized and branded a faggot, a name that will carry outside the locker room and into life.
So, I've managed to see enough cock to know that my own is above average in both size and shape. Fully erect I stand at just over eight inches. Flaccid, it hangs low, with my foreskin closing over the tip like a set of dark, puckered lips.
But here, in the dark, I stand before a dick that looks bigger than mine. It's circumcised and practically alive. It's monstrous, like a full grown appendage, sleeping on his lap. For the first time in my life, I get to look at this cock. I'm not stealing a glance from the corner of my eye or diverting my vision as I tie my shoes. I stare at it, hungry. Starving. It's like I'm hypnotized, but I'm fully awake. It's like I'm seeing food for the first time, feeling warmth, entering sunshine for the first time. It's a dick, I've been dreaming of this moment for years and now that it's right in front of me, I could cry.
"Come here," the man says, waking me up from my transfixed state. I notice that I'm smiling, an unabashed smile like a toddler seeing the vast ocean for the first time.
I look him in the eye and notice a smile of his own, but of a different sort. His right cheek is lifted just enough so his lips curve, showing his teeth. It's just as much a snarl as it is a smile.
I get on my knees. If I were paying attention, I would have noticed here that my erection has waned significantly. I was guided here by my cock, my hard-on, but now that I was in the presence of this monstrosity, I no longer mattered. This monster cock, sticking out the zipper of dark denim, resting under his big round belly, was all that mattered now. I reach up with my right hand to grab it, it's soft and warm. In fact, it feels like it radiates heat. This is the first time I get to hold a cock. It feels natural in my hands. The man extends his left hand once again and rubs his palm down the back of my head. I feel the bottom of his palm brush against my ear, dragging in a soft whisper. It's a skin-on-skin contact that I've never felt anywhere before. Not even when a guy's bare back brushes against my bare chest in a pickup game at the park. This is softer, more intentional: Mine. "Go ahead," he says, seeing the desire in my eyes.
I've never sucked a dick before. But I've dreamed about it every day for years. I've seen plenty of porn videos to know that it's pretty basic. With my heart pumping like a street rumble, I lean into the man's crotch. It's clean. He must have washed before I got here. I realize, just as the cock head is nearing my lips that my mouth is dry. I quickly push my tongue against the roof of my mouth to produce moisture before opening wide. I stick out my tongue to welcome the cockhead. It's warm, smooth. I wrap my lips around it. The man grabs the hair in the back of my head softly. I push my face forward enough so I can fit as much of his cock into my mouth as I can.
It's official. I am sucking a cock. I am a cocksucker. I have dreamed of this. Although, in my dreams it was different. It was salty, maybe a little more smelly. But his clean cock gives no taste or scent. It's still flaccid, so I open my mouth wide and take as much of it as I can. I get my nose right to the zipper of his pants, which are still fastened.
"Let's see if you can get me hard," he says.
It's an alarming comment. I didn't even consider it an option that he wouldn't get hard. Now he has introduced a scenario in which I could fail. I could lose, and he would take the cock away.
I wrap my hand around the base of his flaccid dick to lift it up. It's like a lazy serpent, the head still falling to the side. I focus on the tip, closing my lips around it and start bobbing. I run the tip of my tongue under the head.
I can feel it get warmer. In my closed hand, the base of the dick gets firmer. And in my mouth, the cockhead grows fuller. I start to suck harder, sealing any airways between my lips and his flesh. I bob my head faster. As my lips glide over the ridges of the cockhead, air escapes making sucking sounds that become rhythmic. My own dick starts to stiffen so I grab it through my shorts.
I have no idea how much time has passed. It might have been 30 seconds. It might have been two minutes. I am enraptured. There is a dick growing inside my mouth and there is nothing else I want. My hand is still wrapped around the base, I try to reach my thumb and forefinger with my lips, but as it gets longer and thicker, the cock bumps the back of my throat before I can make contact.
"Yeah, look at that," he says. "Even with your hand wrapped around it, there's still plenty of cock for you to suck."
If this were a porn scene, I'd laugh at the ego on the asshole that is all too pleased with his big dick. In real life, my heart skips a beat because it's true. It's massive and it's in my mouth. I love this cock. It doesn't fit, but I know it belongs inside me.
He pushes my face from his dick. For a second I think he is done and a sliver of doubt creeps into my being: He's not happy with my mouth. He's taking the cock away from me. Instead, he unfastens his belt buckle, the metal clinks as it swings to the side. Then he unbuttons his khakis and spreads his pants wide, revealing a trimmed patch of pubic hair and a smooth pair of balls that are almost too small for the monstrous dick they hang from. He pushes his pants down to his ankles.
As soon as his bare ass is planted on his couch, I hone in, wrapping an arm over his thigh and pick up the cock that is pushing into his round belly with my lips and start sucking.
"Lick my balls." His voice is still firm. It sounds neither light nor strained as I expect at this point, mostly because in a porn scene, he would be nearing some point of excitement. In fact, he sounds bored. For the first time, I realize that he is still watching TV.
I spread his thighs apart and push my face into the dark, sweaty space. I run my tongue over his sack. The skin is softer, there is a little stubble but still no taste. His cock, saturated from my own saliva is brushing against my cheek. It's wet. I dive in, pushing my face deep. I can feel his belly on my forehead and his thighs on my cheek. My spit on his dick is now pooling around his balls and it's cold.
I wrap my lips around his nut sack. I suck them into my mouth and use my tongue to massage them as best I can. I slide my lips off his balls and then run my tongue flat against both of them, licking them until I am at the base of his shaft. He is finally paying attention to me. He lifts up his knees. It is here that I get my first sense of a scent. A sharp musk that I figure is a mix of body odor, sweat and even a faint sign of shit from his nearby asshole.
It smells like a fucking man.
I push down the webbing of his khakis and underwear to gain access and I dive in to lick his taint. He releases his first sigh of pleasure. I lick him again. Then again. Then I stick my face as deep as I can, pushing into his soft body and lightly bite the skin between his balls and asshole, dragging my teeth across it until release.
"Get back on my cock," he says, his voice only slightly labored.
I ignore his face, but obey. I start sucking his cock furiously. Bobbing my head down in quick rhythm. Each time, I create the sucking sound as air escapes between my lips and the ridges of the dickhead. Each time his cock slams against the back of my throat. My hand is wrapped again around the base of his dick to keep me from trying to take in too much. At this point, I can barely control myself.
"Hey, hey," the man says. I stop sucking, my mouth is still wide open and I can feel his cockhead pushing against the side of my mouth, stretching the skin of my cheek into a bulb. "Watch your teeth."
"I'm sorry," I say immediately, truly hoping he accepts my regret. However, his cock is still in my mouth so the actual words may have been difficult to understand. He looks me in my eyes, my mouth full of his penis and suddenly seems to understand that this is my first dick.
He smiles again. It still looks like a snarl.
"You have to use your lips," he says, opening his mouth and wrapping his own lips over his teeth. "Cover your teeth, so they don't scratch my dick."
I nod. That makes sense. I was stupid not to realize that before. I do as he says. I have to stretch my mouth a little more in order to engulf his cock. I can feel some strain at the corners of my mouth. But I get back to work. He's right, it feels more comfortable this way. It's natural.
"That's right, get it nice and wet," he says, stroking my head softly. His voice is calm. "So I can slide in and out of your mouth easy." He is guiding my head, pushing it down lightly, then releasing allowing me to come back up.
"Like a nice, wet pussy."
I pause. My heart starts beating in a quick, solid rhythm. The word hangs in front of me, like a challenge. Pussy. The word is a haunting more than an actual thought. I've come to terms with being gay—I'm obsessed with dick, and not just mine—but I have no interest in being a faggot. He wants me to be his pussy. He wants me to be a girl? I get off his dick and look him in the eye. He is still smiling. Snarling. I'm not sure he realizes the chord he has struck in me. My breath comes hard. He didn't call me a faggot, a slut, or a whore, which are degrading terms but still associated with people. Not even a vagina, which has reproductive use. He wants a pussy, a host for his dick. He didn't want to see my mouth, which can talk, he wanted a pussy. I can't shake the feeling that this fat, bald fucker just drew a line in the sand and smiled as I stood in front of it. This is the moment in which I help define what comes next. I could tell him to fuck off with that degradation bullshit. I could make my point concrete and leave. I stare him in the eyes, heart racing, breath pumping.
"Yes, sir."
My dick is so hard, it feels like it is stretching my foreskin tighter than it ever has before. I have literally pumped my cock with my hands several times a day since I was about 12, and I've never felt it this hard before. And not once during any one of those jack-off sessions have I ever fantasized about some old, fat, ugly, bald guy with a huge gap in his teeth as the target of my hard-on. And yet here I was, completely surrendering to his massive cock. I have no idea how big it is. I know, after mentally comparing to the guys on the team, mine is above average. But, fully erect, I think I only stand about two-thirds of this huge organ.
We both know we've crossed a line when this mother fucker called me his pussy. In unspoken words, we knew what he meant. He wanted a tool, not a person, to service his massive dick. He suggested it with a sneer of a smile. It was a look that initially made me want to punch his gap-toothed face. When he called my mouth his pussy, I should have erupted in rage and attempted bodily harm on this worthless fat sack. Not only did he dismiss me we as a human, but he did so using the most emasculating term possible. And yet, with an obedient answer and my lips sealing themselves around his cock, I agreed.
The truth is, I hated this guy already. We had only met about 30 minutes ago. And for 29 of those minutes, I've had my face buried in his crotch. I was eager for his meat. I acquiesced not to him, but to this magnificent penis. If I lived in a town with a gay community, or if I was old enough to openly cruise for sex, it would be different. But I have wanted cock so bad for so long and this was the one. I didn't want to lose it, ever. Even if it meant this douchebag could call my mouth his pussy.
I had tasted the most personal parts of his body. I pushed my face as deep as I could into the darkness of his thighs. And my only regret was that he was too clean: This massive cock was not rancid with dried cum, piss and sour body odor. When I obeyed, I knew I wanted it all and worse.
My pre-cum had saturated the front of my underwear and running shorts, I ran my fingers over the outline of my cockhead and the syrupy fluid webbed from my shorts to my forefinger and thumb. It's as if I had already cum, I couldn't believe all the ejaculate that had pooled in my shorts. I've never been his horny before, but coming was the farthest thing from my mind.
My greedy obedience to his cock only made the man confident.
"Yeah," he said. "Nice mouth-pussy."
The word stung. But I continued bobbing my head on his cock. Sucking, slurping and trying to breathe through my nose without losing rhythm.
"Get it nice and hard, so I can slide it into your real pussy," he said, sounding like a bad porn actor.
My heart thud in my chest. He wants to fuck me. I had become so enraptured sucking his dick that the thought escaped my mind entirely. I could not fit this cock in my mouth, and he wanted to stick it inside my asshole. I remembered taking a shower earlier. I stuck my ring finger in my hole and the pain was intense. Now I am confronted with this raging appendage that seemed thicker than the circumference of all four fingers and my thumb combined. It's impossible. But I wanted it. I needed it.
It must have been a 45 minutes in which I spent slobbering on his dick. He finally pushes my face away and stands up. Standing before me, the cock is pointing directly at my forehead. I rose up to meet my master and wrapped my lips around it again, grabbing his flabby ass cheeks as I sucked some more. He slipped off his shoes, his pants and his white cotton briefs.
"You love that cock, don't you?" he says, almost sounding impressed. I tryto mumble in affirmation as best I could with my mouth full of dick.
He grabs the sides of my head then thrusts into my face.
"I love an eager mouth-pussy," he says.
I wrapped my right hand into a fist around the base of his dick to keep it from choking me. He fucked my face with such force, I worried that I could break a tooth every time my hand pushed into my lips and teeth. He fucked me faster, his belly shaking, pressing gently into my forehead with each thrust.
He moans, an obvious, guttural sound of pleasure.
"Fucking sweet mouth-pussy." His voice stretches each word into strained whispers.
He pulls out of my mouth completely. I have completely lost both sense and interest in time. He turns and walks toward the bed. He takes off his shirt and throws it against the sliding, mirrored doors that run parallel to the queen-sized bed. Naked, he has a strip of hair running down the center of his back and a light sheet of hair covering his round, surprisingly smooth ass cheeks. His belly sticks out like a misshapen orb, dropping into just a slight overhang above his hard cock.
"Get over here." His voice, still solid and friendly ends each word abruptly. These are definitely commands.
He lies back on the bed.
"Take off your shorts," he says. I pull down my shorts and boxer briefs together, with quick force and walk directly to my target. I rest my weight on my arms and crawl toward his dick. He grabs a fistful of hair behind my head and aligns my mouth with his penis and pushes me down. I fight the urge to push away his hand because of the force he uses to pull my hair. It doesn't matter. I just suck cock.
With his free hand, he reaches over to the bureau next to the bed and grabs a bottle with a shape I recognize. He offers it to me.
"Here," he says, as I grab the bottle of lube. "Get your pussy ready."
Even if I wanted to say "no," it is too late. I've come this far. My asshole is destined for a deep fucking, here.
I steal myself from his dick and squeeze out a handful of the clear liquid and get to work on my asshole. Still holding a handful of hair, the man pushed my face back on his dick.
"Yeah," he said, again sounding like a porn cliché. "You don't stop sucking that cock until I tell you to stop sucking."
I once again hum an affirmative with my lips wrapped around his penis, "Mmhmm." He grabs my hair tight, sending a flash of pain in the back of my head. He lifts my face from his crotch.
"Do you hear me?" he says.
It's clear what he wants. Once again, I fight the urge to punch his ugly face.
"Yes sir."
He pushes and pulls my head along the length of his dick as I slather my lubed fingers on my asshole. I start by rubbing my fingers over my hole, wiping as much of the lube as I can in the cup of my butt cheeks.
I picture in my mind, what it looks like. I've done this before. In the rare instances, when I am home alone, I spend as much time as I can, playing naked in my room. Before I got my own, I used my dad's shaving mirror from his bathroom. I'd lay it flat on the floor and squat over it, naked so I can get a good look at my asshole. I started this when I was about 15. It seems I've always been obsessed with my asshole. I remember the day I first noticed small sprouts of dark hairs growing around the puckered button, a sight that immediately filled me with pride and sexual energy.
Then, one day, for no reason other than pure curiosity, I started fingering myself, watching in the mirror as I punctured my hole with a finger. I had seen enough porn scenes online to know that ass fucking was possible. It seemed almost unfathomable in real life. But I've seen even the most girly, weak-looking dudes take monster cocks. If they could do it, I should not have a problem. I remember that day, as I squatted naked, perfectly framing my dark asshole over the mirror that my dad would be using the next morning to guide a razor over the thick stubble on his face. I covered my forefinger with baby oil I took from my mom's shelf and pressed it against my hole. Nothing happened. I pushed harder. Still, my hole was too tight for anything to go inside.
It was impossible. How did anybody get anything inside an ass? I might as well have been trying to insert my finger into my bellybutton. I tried again, and again. I sqatted over my dad's mirror so long that my legs started to cramp. I would have given up, if I hadn't been watching a porn scene of a twink, even skinnier than me, take a cock as thick as my wrist. I refused to believe that a faggot like that could take something that I could not. I even thought about some of my more healthy shits. I knew my asshole could stretch to accommodate some big chunks that surely felt thicker than my finger.
I pressed harder. It wasn't working. In desperation, I pushed into my hole and tried squeezing my ass muscles. I tighten my asshole from within. That didn't work. Then I pushed out, as if I were taking a shit. Suddenly, the tip of my finger disappeared. It was inside. I remember my heart immediately started racing, my dick stiffened and oozed precum. My finger was inside of me, just past the fingernail. It felt unreal. I was filled with fear and excitement more than anything else.
I pushed further inside. The top knuckle disappeared. Then the second knuckle. I was breathing heavily. I had to reposition my wrist so I could push my forefinger in to the base. I pulled my finger out and it felt like I was shitting. I look down at the mirror to check. Nothing. Just my finger, with the fingernail peaking out of the dark wrinkles of my hole. It's a relief, so I push my finger back inside to the hilt. Then again.
I wanted the full experience. I fingerbanged my asshole as hard and deep as I could. Over the years, I would finger myself occasionally, sometimes testing myself with up to three fingers at a time. I know enough that I enjoy getting fucked. Although, I usually prefer playing with my dick instead. I was always positive I was a top. And yet, here I am, ready to take a pounding. My fingers are not enough. I am ready for this fat man and everything he can throw into me.