Monday, November 24, 2014


He was much more handsome than the picture he sent me. He was thinner and hairier too - facially at least.

His ad was for a face in his lap. A nice blow job where he could eventually fuck my face. He was looking for 'now' because he had a workman coming at 1p. It was noon already - so I made a quick drive to his area and knocked on the door.

I kicked off my shoes, well, because I'm not rude. His place looked nice, even though a bit fussy for my tastes. Victorian interior design is not for me. But I'm guessing you're not reading this to hear about his decorating style. He had a fire going, as it was in the low double-digit temps.

There were no niceties, which was fine - it was right down to business.

He had on sweat pants and underwear. The pants came down to his knees, and I went to mine. I nuzzled his brief covered crotch briefly. Soon enough his 6.5" upwardly curved cock was out and passing my lips.

This wasn't even my first cock of the day, but second (eventually, there would be four).

While eventually we did get to the face in his lap business, it was more about the slowly fucking my face.

Slow and deliberate.

Slow did not mean he didn't go deep. Slow does not mean he did not go forceful.

In earlier posts, I've lamented on the average sized cock being much harder to suck (for me) than a larger one. I don't normally gag on larger ones - for whatever reason. Average ones seem to be a struggle for me - to take all the way. To take as they like. And to feel like I'm doing a good job.

"John" would lodge his cock to my tonsils and then try to push some more. The cock would pop into the beginning of my throat and there it would make me gag a bit.

But there was no break. It was repeated pushing, shoving, fucking into my throat. It was holding my head. It was a struggle to breathe.

It does not help that I have a deviated septum and almost no airflow from one nostril. But even if I did, the pacing was difficult to establish a good, let alone regular, breathing pattern.

None of this deterred me, by the way.

With his hands clasped behind my head, he ignored my veiled struggles to get free so I could catch some air. This in turn produced tears. Not tear of joy nor tears of pain. I think it was a trigger to catching breath - or lack there of - and they started slowly from the outside corners of my eyes. Both my eyes.

John would stop for a nano-second to ask 'are you all right?' with almost no break in feeding me his cock at his pace and his insistence. Never once in those nano-second breaks did I say the word(s) 'no', 'stop', 'slower'.

I did not feel I was providing him a good blowjob, but he wasn't stopping. Now and then, he'd say things like "I've been looking for a cocksucker - do you want to be him?".  Invariably I always said 'yes'.

The internal joke with myself was: maybe if I was his on-going cocksucker, he'd change. I could get him to relax and enjoy a GREAT blowjob instead of a marginally good one. But men don't change. He advertised for a certain kind of service, and I replied.

That's what he likes. That's what he wants. That's what he was getting.....or taking. Men don't change. And I knew this, but was still saying 'yes' to his potential / in the heat of the moment offer.

But it wasn't 'in heat'. He was very calm. Very calculated. He knew what he was doing - he was getting the exact response out of me that he wanted.

Gagging, though I didn't make a sound. Choking, though I never showed my throat convulsions. Water from the eyes, so he knew he was the one in control and I was the cocksucker.

He'd ask a few times, 'are you all right?' but it was cursory and rhetorical. He was saying the right thing, but in truth, he didn't care - and he didn't stop.

I'd hear the saying "good cocksucker" and of course, that made me want to continue and I never felt it was my place to complain or say 'no' 'stop' or 'slower'.  I'd say I didn't want to say those words either, but it probably flashed on my mind.

I think once when I had a chance I just said I don't have the ability to breathe out one side of my nose, but if you're not a fucking cocksucker - and I doubt he ever was - you don't really understand what I was trying to say.

On another level, I didn't want him to care. I didn't care if he cared.

Somewhere in the middle of this, his contractor showed up. I sat patiently while he showed him upstairs to work and then came back down and we resumed what we started.

While I know you're all thinking there's a repairman 3-way fantasy coming your way, I'll save you the time right now. That didn't happen.  : )

John sat on the couch an face fucked me.  John had me sit on the couch and he stood on it and face fucked me. I was on my knees. I was on my back. I was every which way so he could pump his piece into my throat.

Not once did I wipe any of the tears away from my face. Somewhere, I assumed, he wanted to see that. I think guys like seeing manifestations of their virility - be it struggling, crying, pleading, gagging.

I won't really make up a gagging noise to make a guy feel good. It insults my ability as a faggot. But more than once guys have made me actually gag to the point I cough or make that non-productive retching sound.

We were at least 40 minutes into this when he blew his load. I didn't even know he was close. He gave no verbal indication. It's not like the process was any different of the in-out-in-out-in-out that he'd been performing on me......and I on him.

The load was plentiful but not pleasant tasting. That has never bothered me in the past and didn't this time either. I've never spit out a load or pulled off a cock because of foul tasting semen. It's part of the job. It's part of their expectation. And it should be.

For whatever part I played in this visit - and it probably differs from his perspective versus mine - it is my ability to get him excited, keep him that way and extract the load that is important. There is power in being able to do that.

Now this time, he had the true control. I'm not so sure he didn't get himself off with me being a dumpster. That's fine too. More than fine.

After I nursed a few drops off post the big ejaculation, he pushed me away, as he was too sensitive for me to touch. The irony was not lost on me.

He once again asked if it was all right and I assured him it was, though I feel my eyes were probably still glassy from left over tears.

He said I was a great cocksucker and hopes he could use me again. Of course I agreed. I live for being called something like that - and regardless of the reservations that might have shot through my brain now and then, that compliment made me want to return and repeat.

For him I might not be a great cocksucker (even though he said it) as opposed to, I was one of the few who might have put up with that treatment.

And that is fucking fine by me.


Athens GA Poz Guy said...

Your posts never fail to turn me on! I can vividly imagine you doing your job as the great cock sucker I know you to be. Servicing him without complaining or stopping to consider your own needs. Your job was done and done well from what it sounds.

Explorer Jack said...

Victorian interior design is not for me. But I'm guessing you're not reading this to hear about his decorating style. He had a fire going, as it was in the low double-digit temps.

Hahaha, that's good stuff.

I love the humor in your posts.

Men as Lovers said...

As a cocksucking whore myself, I commend your cocksucking skills.

We belong between a man's legs, worshipping his manhood