Cocky Weewee Peepee Sissy Slut Training The Bladder Test
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Becoming A Black Cock Sissy Slut: Part 2 free porn video
I wasn't about to cross that line. Masturbating another guy was fine. Well not fine, but certainly one thing, becoming a cocksucker was too far.
"Go ahead and suck it," He said.
"I'm not going to-"
"I'm not going to let you leave until you do," Daddy said "You know, I'd much rather be doing your wife, but fuck it. You promised me a mouth on the phone and I"m not leaving until I get what I came for white boy."
"I'm not..."
But the words stopped there.
I had my hand on his dick already, the bulbous light pink head nearly touching my lips. All it would take was another few inches, a movement forward and I would be a cock sucker. A strange insult, now that I thought about it. The weird, oddly misogynist and self-defeating idea that somehow it was insulting to give pleasure, not to receive it, no matter the source.
I was guilty of the same like-minded thinking. I couldn't bring myself to actually suck a cock, as though the act in and of itself would brand me as a cocksucking faggot for the rest of my life. Holding another man in my hand - that was just harmless curiosity, a casual trifle, nothing really that would make me gay or queer.
But at the thought of fulfilling his desire, my prick bulged against my jeans. I wanted to pry out my cock and join him on the bench, but there was something about actually showing him my package. Compared to his behemoth, I wondered what he would make of my miniscule, barely noticeable baby-dick.
I'd never really used such demeaning words about my own penis. I mean, yes I've always wished for more, I just never found myself throwing around such a horrible, humiliating inner dialogue. It's amazing how merciless we can be to ourselves once entered into the wrong mindset. I kept stroking, almost touching his oversized head, my own hand reaching down to rub my own restricted member. Just another inch and he'd been in my mouth....
But I still wasn't sure.
Though I instinctively sensed that giving in to this demand vaulted me over an invisible line of demarcation, my own impulses were begging me to extend my neck forward just enough for a taste of his well-hung dark meat.
My mouth watered, my lower lip descending as though possessed. But I couldn't bring myself to go that far - not really. I kept stroking, hoping he would just forget, that I might leave and do the same thing about this night.
Instead his hand moved to the back of my head, his hips rocking forward. It wasn't quite force, I had the idea that I might have easily wormed away. Only I didn't give any resistance, not even as the tip touched against my dripping lips.
I had seconds, maybe even less to pick a course of action.
But it would have been a complete cop out to say that he made me. When faced with his cock, I opened just a little wider, letting me continued driving his dick past my lips and onto my tongue. He didn't take me - not really.
I let it happen.
And with his dick in my mouth, something changed, transforming inside of me. I could no longer pretend and posture with my masculinity, no matter what else happened, I'd sucked another man. It was too late to say but I'm straight. At once, I began to relax, to really commit to a full-fledged pursuit of desires buried by years of marriage and quick, clueless climaxes, even if only in this one isolated moment.
This was so much more raw, so much more real. I could understand why conservation Christians labeled the act with such venom. It was something that instantly laid claimed a small piece of my soul. From the moment his spongy head rested on my tongue, I knew I would never the same.
Not that I had long to reflect. He pushed further down my throat, choking me all at once with the impossible length and girth protruding out from underneath that slight bulge. Sputtering, I pulled back, only to dive back on him when he withdrew a little. Gone was any reticence; my reaction was like a dieter convinced only to take a bite before devouring an entire bag of treats.
Inexpertly, I opened wider trying to take more. I was all too aware of my own deficiencies, my inability to take more than maybe half down my throat. Then there was the humiliating realization that if his cock had been my size, I would have easily swallowed all of it in a second. Here I was barely choking half of him and not able to really keep up with his repeated thrusts into my mouth.
But that didn't stop him. Saliva dribbled down his shaft, leaking out of the corners of my mouth. I kept bobbing, trying to blink back welling tears, my nose already congesting from the effort I was making. But more than that, my own pitiful dick demanded my attention. With just one hand around his shaft, the other freed me, stroking my hard-on towards the ground, afraid that he would notice.
I entertained simultaneous, conflicting thoughts, both afraid and excited that he would see me masturbating, shaming me for having such a small, submissive penis, existing only to pleasure real men.
I heard my muted moans rising up from around me, stifled and shoved back into me with every thrust. He increased the speed of his rhythm, pounding down my throat until I almost retched his erection back out. His hands closed around my head, moving me how he wanted, his cock sliding back out of me, letting me relax before he made one more gigantic thrust.
I closed my eyes, focusing only on the task at hand, trying to forget anything other than the pleasure radiating through my prick. I might have cum at any moment, the surge of semen was already tickling my slit. He drew back and forth, deeper and longer with each slow stroke, until something finally relaxed in my throat. For just as second, my nose nestled against coarse hair only for me to pull back.
I stayed like that for one joyous moment, relaxing enough to just deep-throat him nearly all the way down. Then I looked up, and saw him quickly shoving his phone back into his pocket. I barely noticed, drunk on the real man in front of me.
"That's it," he said. "Yeah, you're getting much better."
I murmured my assent.
On my knees, already aching against the dirty tile floor, I continued sucking this stranger's cock, oblivious to what was actually happening. My own palms squeezed tight almost my desperate manhood, already aching and oozing with my own juices. I stroked desperately, all too aware of how everything but the pink head was hidden from his sight.
I pumped, sucked, and slurped, lost in everything other than the ecstasy of release. At times, it became impossible to distinguish between his thrusts and my own motions. The tempo became frantic, demanding, stringy spit dripping down my lips and onto his cock. I would choke here and there, gagging on that impossible monster, only to continue devouring him through every couch and spasm.
I sucked, taking more than the greediest whore. And all the while, I called myself every filthy name I ever imagined, already knowing all too well how true the sentiments were. If anyone else presented themselves, any other man with a dick bigger than mine, I would have assumed the same position, letting him ravage my mouth, or even worse...
I was a cock sucker. There would never be any pretending otherwise. At the very least, I'd gone half way over, but what else was I capable of doing? In this state of wild-eyed lust, where my libido took complete control, I dared not test my ability to restrain myself. The truth burned in the back of my brain, every thought remind me of what I really was now: a cock-hungry sissy, a dick holster, a cum dumpster. .
There was no denying it, no way to pretend as I neared my orgasm. Something substantial had been underearth, ploughed into me through every second. Again, his dick hit the back of my throat, and suddenly it all became too much. My penis twitched, the shots of semen flying out and spreading shamefully all over his ankles. But I didn't care, my hand still clenched tightly around my thin member, needing to finish eeking out my last droplet of pitiful pleasure.
"Did you cum all over my feet faggot?"
I didn't even stop sucking.
"Christ," Daddy said. "At least you give decent head for a first-timer."
As my smallish manhood withered, shriveling back between my legs, some big part of the thrill vanished. A revulsion at myself washed over my body, only inertia keeping me in my place, an inability to abruptly assert myself. It was too late for that, too late for the chance to do anything other than hope he finished quickly.
I could swallow less now, causing him to place his hands on my head, forcing me back down his oversized cock. Only now, it didn't really fit, and the enthusiasm came entirely from his direction. In the shame-soaked downward spiral of self-doubt and disgusted, all I could do was hope that he finished and let me leave without any further debasement.
His last few thrusts slowed to a near stop as he spilled himself in my mouth. Tangy and salty, his seed poured straight into my throat, barely giving me any aftertaste. At least that was merciful, I never needed to truly realize exactly how much I gulped. Then he pulled out, a bead of cum still between his slit.
"Clean it," He said.
With eyes watering, I moved my lips forward, tasting every molecule of it again, needing to swallow several times to be sure it stayed down. But it wasn't vile, my repugnance came from my misplaced dignity. I had cheated, and worse in the most despicable and decadent way possible. Married, happily, with a beautiful wife, and I couldn't keep myself from falling on my knees for the first man who offered my dick.
As I tried to stand up, the man I only knew as Daddy simply slide his ankles onto me, wiping my own cum onto my clothes. Only after he was done did I even attempt to rise, following him out of the backroom with my head hung low, like a puppy after being punished for piddling on the carpet.
The bright light (at least compared to the back room) of the actual store seemed to illuminate the mess I'd made of my morality. Almost staggering, my bruised knees jelly underneath my weight, I started to head towards the door, only to have the clerk call out to me.
"Hey buddy, don't forget your DVD!"
Red-eared and still reeling from this misadventure, I couldn't even consider any other choice. I just wanted to be out of there without any further incident. I didn't even notice where the stranger was, not until sensing him behind me holding a package.
"And this too," Daddy said, slapping a big, black dildo on the counter.
It might have been longer than he was, but I doubted it. I looked down at my feet, unable to meet the older man's eyes.
"He needs the practice," Daddy said.
I was mortified, but the older man only grunted,
And with shame again settling over my soul, I sheepishly paid the man, rushing out to my car with both. I sped home in a dazed, failing to wrap my mind around what happened. I was consumed with guilt, doubt, fear, and worst of all, the beginnings of desire. Already, I could feel myself stirring, my hand drifting down to my crotch, absently rubbing myself.
I didn't even see the text until I was home. It should have terrified me, given the implication. I might have smashed my phone, or called a lawyer, anything other than how I really reacted...
The message was simple.
See ya soon.
Underneath was a picture of me, my eyes closed, but my face clearly visible with my lips closed around his gigantic black cock. Presented with the evidence that would blackmail me into destroying anything resembling a real man, I couldn't really think. Though a dozen thoughts and emotions raced through my mind, these all paled against one domineering drive.
So still behind the wheel, I pulled down my pants, and weakly start stroking myself.
"Go ahead and suck it," He said.
"I'm not going to-"
"I'm not going to let you leave until you do," Daddy said "You know, I'd much rather be doing your wife, but fuck it. You promised me a mouth on the phone and I"m not leaving until I get what I came for white boy."
"I'm not..."
But the words stopped there.
I had my hand on his dick already, the bulbous light pink head nearly touching my lips. All it would take was another few inches, a movement forward and I would be a cock sucker. A strange insult, now that I thought about it. The weird, oddly misogynist and self-defeating idea that somehow it was insulting to give pleasure, not to receive it, no matter the source.
I was guilty of the same like-minded thinking. I couldn't bring myself to actually suck a cock, as though the act in and of itself would brand me as a cocksucking faggot for the rest of my life. Holding another man in my hand - that was just harmless curiosity, a casual trifle, nothing really that would make me gay or queer.
But at the thought of fulfilling his desire, my prick bulged against my jeans. I wanted to pry out my cock and join him on the bench, but there was something about actually showing him my package. Compared to his behemoth, I wondered what he would make of my miniscule, barely noticeable baby-dick.
I'd never really used such demeaning words about my own penis. I mean, yes I've always wished for more, I just never found myself throwing around such a horrible, humiliating inner dialogue. It's amazing how merciless we can be to ourselves once entered into the wrong mindset. I kept stroking, almost touching his oversized head, my own hand reaching down to rub my own restricted member. Just another inch and he'd been in my mouth....
But I still wasn't sure.
Though I instinctively sensed that giving in to this demand vaulted me over an invisible line of demarcation, my own impulses were begging me to extend my neck forward just enough for a taste of his well-hung dark meat.
My mouth watered, my lower lip descending as though possessed. But I couldn't bring myself to go that far - not really. I kept stroking, hoping he would just forget, that I might leave and do the same thing about this night.
Instead his hand moved to the back of my head, his hips rocking forward. It wasn't quite force, I had the idea that I might have easily wormed away. Only I didn't give any resistance, not even as the tip touched against my dripping lips.
I had seconds, maybe even less to pick a course of action.
But it would have been a complete cop out to say that he made me. When faced with his cock, I opened just a little wider, letting me continued driving his dick past my lips and onto my tongue. He didn't take me - not really.
I let it happen.
And with his dick in my mouth, something changed, transforming inside of me. I could no longer pretend and posture with my masculinity, no matter what else happened, I'd sucked another man. It was too late to say but I'm straight. At once, I began to relax, to really commit to a full-fledged pursuit of desires buried by years of marriage and quick, clueless climaxes, even if only in this one isolated moment.
This was so much more raw, so much more real. I could understand why conservation Christians labeled the act with such venom. It was something that instantly laid claimed a small piece of my soul. From the moment his spongy head rested on my tongue, I knew I would never the same.
Not that I had long to reflect. He pushed further down my throat, choking me all at once with the impossible length and girth protruding out from underneath that slight bulge. Sputtering, I pulled back, only to dive back on him when he withdrew a little. Gone was any reticence; my reaction was like a dieter convinced only to take a bite before devouring an entire bag of treats.
Inexpertly, I opened wider trying to take more. I was all too aware of my own deficiencies, my inability to take more than maybe half down my throat. Then there was the humiliating realization that if his cock had been my size, I would have easily swallowed all of it in a second. Here I was barely choking half of him and not able to really keep up with his repeated thrusts into my mouth.
But that didn't stop him. Saliva dribbled down his shaft, leaking out of the corners of my mouth. I kept bobbing, trying to blink back welling tears, my nose already congesting from the effort I was making. But more than that, my own pitiful dick demanded my attention. With just one hand around his shaft, the other freed me, stroking my hard-on towards the ground, afraid that he would notice.
I entertained simultaneous, conflicting thoughts, both afraid and excited that he would see me masturbating, shaming me for having such a small, submissive penis, existing only to pleasure real men.
I heard my muted moans rising up from around me, stifled and shoved back into me with every thrust. He increased the speed of his rhythm, pounding down my throat until I almost retched his erection back out. His hands closed around my head, moving me how he wanted, his cock sliding back out of me, letting me relax before he made one more gigantic thrust.
I closed my eyes, focusing only on the task at hand, trying to forget anything other than the pleasure radiating through my prick. I might have cum at any moment, the surge of semen was already tickling my slit. He drew back and forth, deeper and longer with each slow stroke, until something finally relaxed in my throat. For just as second, my nose nestled against coarse hair only for me to pull back.
I stayed like that for one joyous moment, relaxing enough to just deep-throat him nearly all the way down. Then I looked up, and saw him quickly shoving his phone back into his pocket. I barely noticed, drunk on the real man in front of me.
"That's it," he said. "Yeah, you're getting much better."
I murmured my assent.
On my knees, already aching against the dirty tile floor, I continued sucking this stranger's cock, oblivious to what was actually happening. My own palms squeezed tight almost my desperate manhood, already aching and oozing with my own juices. I stroked desperately, all too aware of how everything but the pink head was hidden from his sight.
I pumped, sucked, and slurped, lost in everything other than the ecstasy of release. At times, it became impossible to distinguish between his thrusts and my own motions. The tempo became frantic, demanding, stringy spit dripping down my lips and onto his cock. I would choke here and there, gagging on that impossible monster, only to continue devouring him through every couch and spasm.
I sucked, taking more than the greediest whore. And all the while, I called myself every filthy name I ever imagined, already knowing all too well how true the sentiments were. If anyone else presented themselves, any other man with a dick bigger than mine, I would have assumed the same position, letting him ravage my mouth, or even worse...
I was a cock sucker. There would never be any pretending otherwise. At the very least, I'd gone half way over, but what else was I capable of doing? In this state of wild-eyed lust, where my libido took complete control, I dared not test my ability to restrain myself. The truth burned in the back of my brain, every thought remind me of what I really was now: a cock-hungry sissy, a dick holster, a cum dumpster. .
There was no denying it, no way to pretend as I neared my orgasm. Something substantial had been underearth, ploughed into me through every second. Again, his dick hit the back of my throat, and suddenly it all became too much. My penis twitched, the shots of semen flying out and spreading shamefully all over his ankles. But I didn't care, my hand still clenched tightly around my thin member, needing to finish eeking out my last droplet of pitiful pleasure.
"Did you cum all over my feet faggot?"
I didn't even stop sucking.
"Christ," Daddy said. "At least you give decent head for a first-timer."
As my smallish manhood withered, shriveling back between my legs, some big part of the thrill vanished. A revulsion at myself washed over my body, only inertia keeping me in my place, an inability to abruptly assert myself. It was too late for that, too late for the chance to do anything other than hope he finished quickly.
I could swallow less now, causing him to place his hands on my head, forcing me back down his oversized cock. Only now, it didn't really fit, and the enthusiasm came entirely from his direction. In the shame-soaked downward spiral of self-doubt and disgusted, all I could do was hope that he finished and let me leave without any further debasement.
His last few thrusts slowed to a near stop as he spilled himself in my mouth. Tangy and salty, his seed poured straight into my throat, barely giving me any aftertaste. At least that was merciful, I never needed to truly realize exactly how much I gulped. Then he pulled out, a bead of cum still between his slit.
"Clean it," He said.
With eyes watering, I moved my lips forward, tasting every molecule of it again, needing to swallow several times to be sure it stayed down. But it wasn't vile, my repugnance came from my misplaced dignity. I had cheated, and worse in the most despicable and decadent way possible. Married, happily, with a beautiful wife, and I couldn't keep myself from falling on my knees for the first man who offered my dick.
As I tried to stand up, the man I only knew as Daddy simply slide his ankles onto me, wiping my own cum onto my clothes. Only after he was done did I even attempt to rise, following him out of the backroom with my head hung low, like a puppy after being punished for piddling on the carpet.
The bright light (at least compared to the back room) of the actual store seemed to illuminate the mess I'd made of my morality. Almost staggering, my bruised knees jelly underneath my weight, I started to head towards the door, only to have the clerk call out to me.
"Hey buddy, don't forget your DVD!"
Red-eared and still reeling from this misadventure, I couldn't even consider any other choice. I just wanted to be out of there without any further incident. I didn't even notice where the stranger was, not until sensing him behind me holding a package.
"And this too," Daddy said, slapping a big, black dildo on the counter.
It might have been longer than he was, but I doubted it. I looked down at my feet, unable to meet the older man's eyes.
"He needs the practice," Daddy said.
I was mortified, but the older man only grunted,
And with shame again settling over my soul, I sheepishly paid the man, rushing out to my car with both. I sped home in a dazed, failing to wrap my mind around what happened. I was consumed with guilt, doubt, fear, and worst of all, the beginnings of desire. Already, I could feel myself stirring, my hand drifting down to my crotch, absently rubbing myself.
I didn't even see the text until I was home. It should have terrified me, given the implication. I might have smashed my phone, or called a lawyer, anything other than how I really reacted...
The message was simple.
See ya soon.
Underneath was a picture of me, my eyes closed, but my face clearly visible with my lips closed around his gigantic black cock. Presented with the evidence that would blackmail me into destroying anything resembling a real man, I couldn't really think. Though a dozen thoughts and emotions raced through my mind, these all paled against one domineering drive.
So still behind the wheel, I pulled down my pants, and weakly start stroking myself.
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