GF turns me into a Black Cock Whore GAY
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Never Try To Screw A Whore Gay free porn video
J complimented me on my balls; he liked that I kept them shaved. I laughed and said I keep every part of my body shaved! I see that, J said, giving my ass a swat. I didn't actually shave my ass, I Naired it. My ass, my lower back, the backs of my thighs...the hard to get-at places. I'd offered to dress fem for J but he said he wanted me masculine. Masculine and naked. I was relieved that my hairless body didn't seem to be a turn-off for him.
J gave my ass another swat and I looked back at him and said I liked it when he spanked me. He said I know you do. J had begun spanking me almost the minute I arrived. As soon as I undressed he came forward, gave me a rough fondle and shoved his tongue down my throat. As we stood there necking in his livingroom he began stiffly swinging his right arm and clapping his hand against my bare buttock. It made me hard, the pain. He said let's go in the bedroom and that's where we'd been ever since.
Now J said he wanted to suck my balls; he wanted me to lower them into his mouth while he remained prone beneath me. This meant leaving his cock behind, of course. Leaving it behind and straddling his chest and backing up until I was in position above his waiting mouth, the soles of my feet pushing against his pillows. J said I had nice low-hangers and I told him that was because I used to stretch them. Adding that I'd only been able to stretch them so far because I had a thin sack. My balls were in J's mouth now and his lips closed around the top of my thin, stretched sack as his tongue ran along the underside of my swallowed testicles. J sucking them felt good but it also brought me to the edge of pain.
As he continued sucking my balls J reached around and grasped my erection and began stroking it. I'm a quick cummer and soon enough my sperm was streaking down J's hairy torso. It was a big load. I'd been saving it up for today. For J. Most of it landed between his navel and breastbone but some shot to the edge of his pubic hair. J gave my flank a slap indicating I should raise up, off of his face. He released my wet balls and raised his head and looked down his body's length and said, Look at it! J said he wanted me to lick it up. Clean him off.
I'm no different than most males. At that moment the exhilaration of sex, culminating in orgasm, had given way to emptiness. To feelings of guilt, even. Self-disgust. I was in bed with another man. What had I just done? What would my mother think?
But this was a sex-for-pay gig and I knew I had to shake these feelings off. Put on a happy face. Become a good actor. I'd had enough of these nude housecleaning jobs by now to know there was nothing mutual about them. These men weren't just casual sex partners. They were my employers. My clients. This was a job. I was there to serve them, within reason. And, it was hoped, if I did a good enough job, to be invited back. Repeat business. As in any line of work, including prostitution, that's the primary goal.
Lick your cum off me, J again urged.
Still facing opposite J, I slid down slightly and moved off to the side. His left side. I stared at the fresh white deposits streaking his body. I dove in, licking, sucking. My sperm was faintly fragrant, and both sweet and salty to the taste. There was also an earthy quality to what I smelled and swallowed: J's warm flesh. Stray curls of chest or belly hair kept getting in my mouth and I had to pause to pick them off my tongue. I was reminded of that Curb Your Enthusiasm episode where Larry gets a pubic hair stuck in his throat. Now as I licked my own cum off J I couldn't help smiling. My lips' trek down his thick upper body ended just shy of his pubic hair. I was done. I was feeling better about myself. I came up for air.
While I licked him J had been trying to worm a middle finger in my hole. He needed lubricant. I asked if he had any and J replied, Somewhere. I said I had a tube in my backpack and offered to go get it. He said go. Hurry.
When I returned J had placed his hands between the back of his head and the stack of pillows. It was not the pose of a man who still intended on fingering me. Even so, I squeezed out a little lube and rubbed it against my hole. As I was doing this, at the side of the bed, J said, Lube my cock up. I want to fuck you. Is there an extra charge for that?
I thought a moment. Fifty, I replied.
Fifty additional? J did not sound pleased.
Fifty total, I clarified. J laughed.
Fuck, I was gonna pay you fifty anyway.
I thought about it some more. J's cock was fully hard now. It was not the longest in the world but it was thick. Sturdy, like the rest of him. It lay on his licked belly. Sixty, I said.
J laughed again. A second ago it was fifty!
The last guy... I caught myself. My last client paid me sixty, I said.
Did he fuck you?
No. But I did a lot of work for him.
What kind of work? J asked.
I was still standing by the bed, K-Y tube in hand. I shrugged. Housecleaning.
J, hands still tucked behind his head, found this amusing. That's it?
No. We had sex. I sucked him. I—
You've already sucked me this morning, J said. Now I want to fuck that skinny little ass of yours. And spank it some more. Lube my cock up.
My most recent client before J, the one from last week, had been a control-freak. A micromanager. He hovered over me as I worked, especially at the start. But then he mellowed out somewhat and we talked like old friends while I bustled around his condo in the nude, his sliding glass doors looking out past his balcony at a golf course fairway. J wasn't like this. He had an almost regal air about him. He didn't micromanage. He gave out specific orders and expected them to be followed. He wasn't bossy. He just exuded an air of command. He enjoyed being dominant, being served. Do this. Do that. Do it!
Every client is different, I was finding out. I was beginning to enjoy the variety. Humans. Life!
I got on my knees on the side of the bed and greased J's thick cock up. I wondered if he'd be satisfied with a slippery handjob but those hopes were quickly dashed. Not that I didn't want to get laid...
J deigned to rise up off his pillows, finally. I instinctively knew what this meant and asked, How do you want me?
J's tone was sarcastic as he rolled forward onto his knees. How do you think? I took this to mean on my hands and knees, the position I'd been in for most of the past half-hour. J put two hands on my narrow waist and torqued me around, until I was facing the headboard, the indented stack of pillows. There'd been no talk of condoms. I hadn't even brought one with me from my backpack. Just the lube. Of course, at that point I thought J merely wanted to finger my hole.
Now it was too late and I exhaled, audibly, as J entered me. And again when he pushed in all the way, with a second thrust. J didn't ask if I was OK. Didn't ask if I needed a moment. A pause. I was his employee after all. His $60 whore.
My mouth hung open. I took a deep breath. Closed it. Told myself to relax. It wasn't like I'd never been fucked before. It had been awhile, that's all. And now I was glad I'd prepared my body before leaving the apartment this morning. First douching myself. Then dildoing myself in the shower. Opening myself up. Just in case. My previous client had wanted to fuck me but couldn't get hard enough. Too old. But I'd learned my lesson. You never know. Be prepared. It's business. Like bringing your briefcase full of memos to a meeting.
As J fucked me, keeping his own body, from the knees up, erect, and pushing my body forward and slamming my ass back against his abdomen, I knelt there wondering if this gig was going to involve any actual housework. As I'd mentioned to J earlier, my previous client had put me to work for the better part of three hours. Dusting, polishing, sweeping, mopping...cleaning his toilet and bathroom floor. All this after he came in my mouth at the start.
I remembered seeing a vacuum cleaner standing off to the side in J's house. Somewhere. The kitchen looked untidy. From a distance. I hadn't visited his bathroom. Maybe J would finish fucking me, I'd clean him up, strip off his bedsheets, and my latest client would hand me three twenties and tell me to be on my way. And I would treat myself to a nice late lunch with cocktails at that Applebee's I'd passed on the way. I'd pay with my credit card. I liked keeping the cash I earned from my sex gigs in my wallet as long as possible. As an erotic reminder. An impetus. I still had two twenties in there from the last gig.
J stopped my rocking motion. Instead he grasped my right hip with his hand and began fucking me with short, fast pelvic thrusts. That freed his left hand up to spank the side of my left buttock as he rode me.
You my little whore? he asked, leaving red marks.
Yes!
My whore?
Yes!
You like to be fucked for money don't you?
Yes, baby!
Don't call me baby, J said with a slap.
I swallowed. I'd forgotten myself. My role. Yessir, I said.
Whore!
Yessir!
I'm gonna shoot my load in you.
Yes. Shoot it!
You're my little bitch aren't you? My bitch now?
I'm your bitch, sir.
I fucked little faggots like you in prison. Made them my bitches. Lots of 'em.
Prison? I knelt there wondering, as J pounded me with cock and spanking hand.
You said you'd dress for me?
I only half-heard. I was still digesting the prison part.
Will you?
Sir?
Dress as a woman for me? Next time?
Sure, sir. Sure.
Then you'll really be my little bitch. My whore. First thing I did when I got out of the joint...four years, seven months ago, good behavior? That's a fucking joke by the way.
First thing I did, J continued, was hit a strip club and pay a dancer five hundred dollars to fuck me after hours.
And you're paying me sixty? I thought to myself, bitterly. It was like learning that the company you had worked years for was paying you fifty thou a year, while a new-hire had just been brought on board for $200k. Doing the same job.
J's sudden tone was desperate; urgent. I'm gonna cum!
He did. Deeply in me.
I brought a warm-wet towel from the bathroom. Which was spotless. No pee-stains to wipe up. No bowl in bad need of a brushing. I was somewhat disappointed. Did J already have a housemaid?
J had resumed his prone, regal posture against headboard's pillow stack. He was still winded. After I wiped his cock and balls off he just lay there. Eyes closed.
I didn't know what else to do so I said, You want a massage, sir.
Yeah. That would be...
Why don't you roll over?
He did. It took an effort. He kind of flopped, at the end. I began with his nape and his thick shoulders. You're not tense, I observed.
Fuck no. I just fucked my brains out...
Mine or his?
I worked my way down his bearish back. My curiosity was getting the best of me. I decided to chance it. It was like in sales. The worst they can say is no, right? You mentioned prison? I said.
J half-lifted a thick left arm. Let it fall. Bullshit, he said. Investor fraud.
J roused himself, slightly, as I continued kneading his middle back. Bunch of bullshit. But you know what?
I didn't. J laughed.
They sent me away for the better part of five years? But they never found the money.
What money? I asked, naively.
The fucking money I...made.
Where is it?
The fuck I'd tell you? Federal prosecutors couldn't get it out of me? And I'd tell my bitch-fuck housemaid I just met an hour ago? Rub that spot, there.
Yessir. No, I...
Statute of limitations ends in, like, five-plus years. Then we'll see...
See what? I wondered.
Time flies when you're having fun, J said tritely. He settled his head into the pillow stack.
What...What about the investors? I asked.
What about 'em?
I mean...What happened to them?
A prone shrug. Not my problem. Did they have to serve five years in prison? Fuck 'em. They knew what they were getting into.
I was down to J's gluts. His hairy ass. I wasn't there to judge, I reminded myself. I was his employee. I wondered if my client would like it if I spread his cheeks apart and kissed his hole. I was feeling it again. It. My post-orgasmic depression nearly over. I decided to take the chance.
What are you doing?
I wanna kiss your ass, sir.
Stick your tongue in, J said.
I did. The taste, the smell was earthy; meaty. Rich. Chocolate. I pushed my tongue in deeper. As deep as I could go. I pulled out and licked my client's hairy crack. I kissed his wet hole again.
That feels so good, J said. He sounded dreamy, sleepy. Drifting...
By the time I'd finished massaging J's hamstrings he was, it seemed, sound asleep. Moments earlier his body had given a wiggle. Shoulders to feet. Involuntary? As if to say enough, let me be.
Great, I thought. My client is sound asleep. And he owes me sixty bucks. I put my hand on his recently massage right buttock and gave it a mild shake. Nothing. He was out.
Great. Fuck me. I'm screwed.
I got off the bed. My emptied balls hung down, low. My crack was still lubed. Deep inside was this stranger's load of sperm. My client's. I'd done my duty, essentially. Above and beyond. He should've worn a condom. The guy had been in prison. Fucking god knows who.
My clothes and backpack were in the livingroom. J owed me sixty dollars. I looked around the bedroom for his wallet. I did not have to look hard.
A pair of expensive, sheeny slacks was d****d over a bedroom chair. His wallet in the left rear pocket. It bulged. I had never seen so much cash. Raw cash. Hundreds, fifties...Curiously there weren't many twenties. Not even three.
I thought about the female whore J had paid five hundred dollars for a lay after his prison release. The prick! And he was complaining about paying me sixty? It was fifty a minute ago, he'd said. Something like that. Asshole!
I took a hundred out. Then another. Then one more. Would he miss 'em? I removed the two twenties and slipped the wallet back in J's trousers.
I dressed quickly and left my client a note before departing. It read:
J-
You fell asleep and I didn't want to wake you. Took $40 out of your wallet (sorry) you owe me $20. See you next time. Dressed in woman's underwear if you want. Text me.
I didn't bother to sign it, the hand-written note. He knew who I was.
And he knew what I now knew.
There's an old saying, an ancient one: Never trust a whore.
J gave my ass another swat and I looked back at him and said I liked it when he spanked me. He said I know you do. J had begun spanking me almost the minute I arrived. As soon as I undressed he came forward, gave me a rough fondle and shoved his tongue down my throat. As we stood there necking in his livingroom he began stiffly swinging his right arm and clapping his hand against my bare buttock. It made me hard, the pain. He said let's go in the bedroom and that's where we'd been ever since.
Now J said he wanted to suck my balls; he wanted me to lower them into his mouth while he remained prone beneath me. This meant leaving his cock behind, of course. Leaving it behind and straddling his chest and backing up until I was in position above his waiting mouth, the soles of my feet pushing against his pillows. J said I had nice low-hangers and I told him that was because I used to stretch them. Adding that I'd only been able to stretch them so far because I had a thin sack. My balls were in J's mouth now and his lips closed around the top of my thin, stretched sack as his tongue ran along the underside of my swallowed testicles. J sucking them felt good but it also brought me to the edge of pain.
As he continued sucking my balls J reached around and grasped my erection and began stroking it. I'm a quick cummer and soon enough my sperm was streaking down J's hairy torso. It was a big load. I'd been saving it up for today. For J. Most of it landed between his navel and breastbone but some shot to the edge of his pubic hair. J gave my flank a slap indicating I should raise up, off of his face. He released my wet balls and raised his head and looked down his body's length and said, Look at it! J said he wanted me to lick it up. Clean him off.
I'm no different than most males. At that moment the exhilaration of sex, culminating in orgasm, had given way to emptiness. To feelings of guilt, even. Self-disgust. I was in bed with another man. What had I just done? What would my mother think?
But this was a sex-for-pay gig and I knew I had to shake these feelings off. Put on a happy face. Become a good actor. I'd had enough of these nude housecleaning jobs by now to know there was nothing mutual about them. These men weren't just casual sex partners. They were my employers. My clients. This was a job. I was there to serve them, within reason. And, it was hoped, if I did a good enough job, to be invited back. Repeat business. As in any line of work, including prostitution, that's the primary goal.
Lick your cum off me, J again urged.
Still facing opposite J, I slid down slightly and moved off to the side. His left side. I stared at the fresh white deposits streaking his body. I dove in, licking, sucking. My sperm was faintly fragrant, and both sweet and salty to the taste. There was also an earthy quality to what I smelled and swallowed: J's warm flesh. Stray curls of chest or belly hair kept getting in my mouth and I had to pause to pick them off my tongue. I was reminded of that Curb Your Enthusiasm episode where Larry gets a pubic hair stuck in his throat. Now as I licked my own cum off J I couldn't help smiling. My lips' trek down his thick upper body ended just shy of his pubic hair. I was done. I was feeling better about myself. I came up for air.
While I licked him J had been trying to worm a middle finger in my hole. He needed lubricant. I asked if he had any and J replied, Somewhere. I said I had a tube in my backpack and offered to go get it. He said go. Hurry.
When I returned J had placed his hands between the back of his head and the stack of pillows. It was not the pose of a man who still intended on fingering me. Even so, I squeezed out a little lube and rubbed it against my hole. As I was doing this, at the side of the bed, J said, Lube my cock up. I want to fuck you. Is there an extra charge for that?
I thought a moment. Fifty, I replied.
Fifty additional? J did not sound pleased.
Fifty total, I clarified. J laughed.
Fuck, I was gonna pay you fifty anyway.
I thought about it some more. J's cock was fully hard now. It was not the longest in the world but it was thick. Sturdy, like the rest of him. It lay on his licked belly. Sixty, I said.
J laughed again. A second ago it was fifty!
The last guy... I caught myself. My last client paid me sixty, I said.
Did he fuck you?
No. But I did a lot of work for him.
What kind of work? J asked.
I was still standing by the bed, K-Y tube in hand. I shrugged. Housecleaning.
J, hands still tucked behind his head, found this amusing. That's it?
No. We had sex. I sucked him. I—
You've already sucked me this morning, J said. Now I want to fuck that skinny little ass of yours. And spank it some more. Lube my cock up.
My most recent client before J, the one from last week, had been a control-freak. A micromanager. He hovered over me as I worked, especially at the start. But then he mellowed out somewhat and we talked like old friends while I bustled around his condo in the nude, his sliding glass doors looking out past his balcony at a golf course fairway. J wasn't like this. He had an almost regal air about him. He didn't micromanage. He gave out specific orders and expected them to be followed. He wasn't bossy. He just exuded an air of command. He enjoyed being dominant, being served. Do this. Do that. Do it!
Every client is different, I was finding out. I was beginning to enjoy the variety. Humans. Life!
I got on my knees on the side of the bed and greased J's thick cock up. I wondered if he'd be satisfied with a slippery handjob but those hopes were quickly dashed. Not that I didn't want to get laid...
J deigned to rise up off his pillows, finally. I instinctively knew what this meant and asked, How do you want me?
J's tone was sarcastic as he rolled forward onto his knees. How do you think? I took this to mean on my hands and knees, the position I'd been in for most of the past half-hour. J put two hands on my narrow waist and torqued me around, until I was facing the headboard, the indented stack of pillows. There'd been no talk of condoms. I hadn't even brought one with me from my backpack. Just the lube. Of course, at that point I thought J merely wanted to finger my hole.
Now it was too late and I exhaled, audibly, as J entered me. And again when he pushed in all the way, with a second thrust. J didn't ask if I was OK. Didn't ask if I needed a moment. A pause. I was his employee after all. His $60 whore.
My mouth hung open. I took a deep breath. Closed it. Told myself to relax. It wasn't like I'd never been fucked before. It had been awhile, that's all. And now I was glad I'd prepared my body before leaving the apartment this morning. First douching myself. Then dildoing myself in the shower. Opening myself up. Just in case. My previous client had wanted to fuck me but couldn't get hard enough. Too old. But I'd learned my lesson. You never know. Be prepared. It's business. Like bringing your briefcase full of memos to a meeting.
As J fucked me, keeping his own body, from the knees up, erect, and pushing my body forward and slamming my ass back against his abdomen, I knelt there wondering if this gig was going to involve any actual housework. As I'd mentioned to J earlier, my previous client had put me to work for the better part of three hours. Dusting, polishing, sweeping, mopping...cleaning his toilet and bathroom floor. All this after he came in my mouth at the start.
I remembered seeing a vacuum cleaner standing off to the side in J's house. Somewhere. The kitchen looked untidy. From a distance. I hadn't visited his bathroom. Maybe J would finish fucking me, I'd clean him up, strip off his bedsheets, and my latest client would hand me three twenties and tell me to be on my way. And I would treat myself to a nice late lunch with cocktails at that Applebee's I'd passed on the way. I'd pay with my credit card. I liked keeping the cash I earned from my sex gigs in my wallet as long as possible. As an erotic reminder. An impetus. I still had two twenties in there from the last gig.
J stopped my rocking motion. Instead he grasped my right hip with his hand and began fucking me with short, fast pelvic thrusts. That freed his left hand up to spank the side of my left buttock as he rode me.
You my little whore? he asked, leaving red marks.
Yes!
My whore?
Yes!
You like to be fucked for money don't you?
Yes, baby!
Don't call me baby, J said with a slap.
I swallowed. I'd forgotten myself. My role. Yessir, I said.
Whore!
Yessir!
I'm gonna shoot my load in you.
Yes. Shoot it!
You're my little bitch aren't you? My bitch now?
I'm your bitch, sir.
I fucked little faggots like you in prison. Made them my bitches. Lots of 'em.
Prison? I knelt there wondering, as J pounded me with cock and spanking hand.
You said you'd dress for me?
I only half-heard. I was still digesting the prison part.
Will you?
Sir?
Dress as a woman for me? Next time?
Sure, sir. Sure.
Then you'll really be my little bitch. My whore. First thing I did when I got out of the joint...four years, seven months ago, good behavior? That's a fucking joke by the way.
First thing I did, J continued, was hit a strip club and pay a dancer five hundred dollars to fuck me after hours.
And you're paying me sixty? I thought to myself, bitterly. It was like learning that the company you had worked years for was paying you fifty thou a year, while a new-hire had just been brought on board for $200k. Doing the same job.
J's sudden tone was desperate; urgent. I'm gonna cum!
He did. Deeply in me.
I brought a warm-wet towel from the bathroom. Which was spotless. No pee-stains to wipe up. No bowl in bad need of a brushing. I was somewhat disappointed. Did J already have a housemaid?
J had resumed his prone, regal posture against headboard's pillow stack. He was still winded. After I wiped his cock and balls off he just lay there. Eyes closed.
I didn't know what else to do so I said, You want a massage, sir.
Yeah. That would be...
Why don't you roll over?
He did. It took an effort. He kind of flopped, at the end. I began with his nape and his thick shoulders. You're not tense, I observed.
Fuck no. I just fucked my brains out...
Mine or his?
I worked my way down his bearish back. My curiosity was getting the best of me. I decided to chance it. It was like in sales. The worst they can say is no, right? You mentioned prison? I said.
J half-lifted a thick left arm. Let it fall. Bullshit, he said. Investor fraud.
J roused himself, slightly, as I continued kneading his middle back. Bunch of bullshit. But you know what?
I didn't. J laughed.
They sent me away for the better part of five years? But they never found the money.
What money? I asked, naively.
The fucking money I...made.
Where is it?
The fuck I'd tell you? Federal prosecutors couldn't get it out of me? And I'd tell my bitch-fuck housemaid I just met an hour ago? Rub that spot, there.
Yessir. No, I...
Statute of limitations ends in, like, five-plus years. Then we'll see...
See what? I wondered.
Time flies when you're having fun, J said tritely. He settled his head into the pillow stack.
What...What about the investors? I asked.
What about 'em?
I mean...What happened to them?
A prone shrug. Not my problem. Did they have to serve five years in prison? Fuck 'em. They knew what they were getting into.
I was down to J's gluts. His hairy ass. I wasn't there to judge, I reminded myself. I was his employee. I wondered if my client would like it if I spread his cheeks apart and kissed his hole. I was feeling it again. It. My post-orgasmic depression nearly over. I decided to take the chance.
What are you doing?
I wanna kiss your ass, sir.
Stick your tongue in, J said.
I did. The taste, the smell was earthy; meaty. Rich. Chocolate. I pushed my tongue in deeper. As deep as I could go. I pulled out and licked my client's hairy crack. I kissed his wet hole again.
That feels so good, J said. He sounded dreamy, sleepy. Drifting...
By the time I'd finished massaging J's hamstrings he was, it seemed, sound asleep. Moments earlier his body had given a wiggle. Shoulders to feet. Involuntary? As if to say enough, let me be.
Great, I thought. My client is sound asleep. And he owes me sixty bucks. I put my hand on his recently massage right buttock and gave it a mild shake. Nothing. He was out.
Great. Fuck me. I'm screwed.
I got off the bed. My emptied balls hung down, low. My crack was still lubed. Deep inside was this stranger's load of sperm. My client's. I'd done my duty, essentially. Above and beyond. He should've worn a condom. The guy had been in prison. Fucking god knows who.
My clothes and backpack were in the livingroom. J owed me sixty dollars. I looked around the bedroom for his wallet. I did not have to look hard.
A pair of expensive, sheeny slacks was d****d over a bedroom chair. His wallet in the left rear pocket. It bulged. I had never seen so much cash. Raw cash. Hundreds, fifties...Curiously there weren't many twenties. Not even three.
I thought about the female whore J had paid five hundred dollars for a lay after his prison release. The prick! And he was complaining about paying me sixty? It was fifty a minute ago, he'd said. Something like that. Asshole!
I took a hundred out. Then another. Then one more. Would he miss 'em? I removed the two twenties and slipped the wallet back in J's trousers.
I dressed quickly and left my client a note before departing. It read:
J-
You fell asleep and I didn't want to wake you. Took $40 out of your wallet (sorry) you owe me $20. See you next time. Dressed in woman's underwear if you want. Text me.
I didn't bother to sign it, the hand-written note. He knew who I was.
And he knew what I now knew.
There's an old saying, an ancient one: Never trust a whore.
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