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Introduction:

A drunken, straight man finds trouble in the steam room.

continued from part 1...............

His thick bell was suddenly pressing against my bottom lip. This was so fucking wrong, but the sensations of utter weakness and surrender were overtaking my normal brain function. I was in deep shit here.

I managed one last look up at the faggot. He was smiling down at me, hands now poised on his hips, the king of this world. He was not helping me, or forcing me, or doing anything to me. He was just posing, wondering what I would do next. As if he had guided me to this crucial juncture in my life, and was waiting to see what choice I would make.

It was me doing this, I realized. Me, the straightest dude on the planet, with my bottom lip pressing against a faggot’s cock head. My free will, my decision, my desire, my choice. But not my choice, because of the chemical. Because of the booze. Because I was not a worthless, cock sucking faggot.

My tongue joined the conspiracy against me. It snaked out of my mouth and lapped at his knob, only for a second. My tongue felt swollen and heavy and stupid and ponderous, as I did.

And with that simple little action, I fell fully into his world. As if my brain threw in the towel and said ‘go with the flow’. I pulled the faggot forward another inch, just enough to spread my mouth over his thick bell. I began to eat the first and last cock of my life. I tasted heat, musk and fullness. I tasted a hint of pre-cum. Thank Christ I was far, far from home. Thank Christ, those bodybuilders had left and the steam room was empty. Thank Christ, I was dead drunk and nearly unconscious. I would never remember this shit tomorrow. That’s what I told myself. Anything I guess, to get me through.

A tiny hip thrust from the faggot sent more cock past my lips. A cock was now in my mouth. Unbelievable. My choice. My desire. And not just any cock. A big cock. A faggot’s cock. But a manly cock, all the same.

This was becoming an out of body experience. Because I could see myself on my knees, hands on the fag’s ass, his huge cock pushing into my mouth. A bad porno movie. I heard an amateurish sucking sound, the sound of a teenage girl giving first head. Except, it was me doing the sucking. It was me giving the head.
My skull throbbed and my betraying cock strained for release.

Why was my cock so fucking hard?

Only one sick answer was allowed into my mind. With no women remotely in my presence, my cock was hard because I was kneeling before something more masculine than I. I loved myself and my chiseled hard body. I could appreciate impressive maleness. Granted, the teenager’s skinny body was pathetic, but that skinny, pale body only highlighted his manly gift. By taking him into my mouth, I was worshiping his powerful masculinity. Worshiping at his altar. I had a gorgeous cock. He had a gorgeous cock. We both did. We were brothers in cock. So what if I envied his meat? This was once, and only once. Guaranteed.

What the hell was wrong with me?

What kind of thought and logic was this?

That one second of elucidation evaporated, lost in the loud sucking sounds filling the steam room. It sounded like someone else was competing with me, so my mouth attacked the faggot’s cock with vigor. I sucked away, bobbing my head over his cockhead, taking only inches of his meaty shaft. My mouth and tongue began to numb. I realized that this might be the worst blow job this guy ever had. I didn’t care, because my own cock was begging for release. And then I did care, because my fucked up brain said that I envied this punk and his massive cock. So I concentrated, and bore down, and worked my mouth over him, as so many girls had done for me.

I felt my face and mouth and tongue begin to tire, I had no idea I had been sucking him for fifteen long minutes. The faggot pulled out, leaving me sucking at nothing. How fucking embarrassing, my lips pursing, my head bobbing at air. Saliva dripped from my mouth down to the tile floor. I panted for oxygen. But I got more chemical. The fucking poison seemed to be everywhere.

“Now, cocksucker……time to swallow.”

Cocksucker?

He was calling me a cocksucker?

Fuck. Asshole
.
What? Swallow what? His cock? His fucking cream?

No way would either of those things happen. Impossible. Swallowing cock and eating cream meant only one thing. It meant that I too, was a faggot cocksucker. Never, never going to happen. Besides, a cock this size would not fit down my throat, not in a million years. I had only sucked about four inches of it into my mouth and he was already tapping at my gag reflex. I couldn’t imagine the stream of cum that would flow from his end.
But as the thumping revved up in my head, and my body began to collapse into itself, I knew I would surrender to this bastard and whatever he wanted. It seemed to be my new destiny, this sick and evil night.

I felt strong hands gripping my hair. This was no longer a ninety-eight pound, pale, lisping, weakling standing above me. The teenager was transforming into a man, simply because he had easily put me down on my knees. I was a buff, ripped, two hundred pound behemoth, and I was kneeling on the floor of a dirty steam room. The skinny punk with the barb wire tattoos on his arms, the thin flexing biceps, and the pale sickly skin was above me. And his stiffening cock bobbed before my eyes, glistening, throbbing, veiny and hot. Dripping my saliva. Nine full inches, including the knob.

My mind could not formulate a plan to get out of this situation. My brain and body had left the building, leaving behind my straining cock and a colossal horniness. And an insatiable appetite to receive, and give, pleasure.

Oh shit I thought, what if…………………….

[To be continued……….]

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