Mindgames
- 4 years ago
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On My Mind free porn video
On My Mind
by Kushtan Baksan
Sex is on my mind. It’s sometimes too much — I can’t work, I can’t sleep. It’s a never-ending boner that controls my life. A boner-demon. A boner-god. He makes me wank at least once a day and insists I overlook chores, friends, and career. I’m powerless against him and I know it’s a ‘him’ because men are the cause of all pain in my life. They use me for my lust and for my looks, and then they ditch me. I am nothing to them — just a hole they can fill up. No one ever asks me about my hobbies and dreams. But who am I k**ding, no one even asks for my name…
Would it surprise you if I told you, I love the sex part? The sweat, the moaning, the dirty talking—all of it! Even some things that normal people will consider gross, I enjoy. One example — my partner spitting in my mouth.
Something else I’ve never admitted to my ther****t (imaginary one, that is), is that a small, very small, part of me likes to be treated like a dirty rag. Yes, the anonymous, stripped of emotion, self-centered sex brings me a dose of dopamine. Or was it serotonin? Eh, same, same…
What’s important is, I might be a sicko after all — like my uncle Keith said I am. He’s another man who brings pain into my life. Not in a romantic, sexual way though. (Not that it hasn’t crossed my mind.) A few months ago he caught me with a cock in my mouth and he didn’t believe me when I told him that massaging the back of one’s throat is a remedy against coughing they have used in Thailand for millennia. He started roaring like a lion and ripped me away from the boy — Cody, I think was his name.
“You dirty piece of shit!”
He beat me up and wasn’t sorry about it. He thought the punches will cure me from being homosexual. It didn’t, but it gave Cody an opportunity to escape. I never saw him again.
Sex is on my mind.
Sex is on my mind.
A veiny, rock-hard…
“Lane!”
Pushing its way into…
“Lane, come to Earth, mate!”
I snap back to reality.
“I’m not about to do your work for you!” it’s Heaven, my girl friend, and colleague.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble.
I can sense she wants to say more but doesn’t. The clients are queueing and the line grows and grows. It’s lunch break in London City and everyone wants a coffee and a sandwich. She works the cash register, taking orders and processing payments, while I and Jack, the manager, prepare the drinks.
You might think the busy environment would be enough to put my mind off of sex, but it isn’t. All these men, wearing fitted suits, with their fresh haircuts and trimmed beards, and bulging biceps, and big hands, and piercing eyes, and…
“Hey!” a guy raises his voice from in front of the counter. “He’s pouring normal milk. I said skimmed!”
Without turning around, I know he’s talking about me, so I throw the cup in the trash, liquid and all, and take a new one.
When I finish the latte, I put it on the countertop. At the same time, a hand goes to take it and we hold the cup together. I shoot a quick look at the man. Fuck. Why does he have to be so hot? He’s a black guy, much younger than I would have guessed. Usually, older people were the ones to complain. This guy isn’t old. His skin… His lips… He is staring at me.
I pull my hand back and continue with the drinks. Sex is on my mind. A big black phallus and I am on my knees. A thin string of saliva connects my tongue and the head. One order of full-fat milk for me, please!
After lunch break is over, work is much more tolerable. I have time to talk with Heaven. I can’t wait to ask her about last night — she went on a date with her longtime crush. Only thing is, we have to wait for Jack to leave. We aren’t allowed to have fun in front of him. He is an old boar, probably 60 years old. He has conveniently forgotten the fact that he is still a manager at a small coffee shop and thinks of himself as the big deal.
“Lane? A word.”
Every day he comes only for peak hour and then leaves me and my friend to fend for ourselves. And every time, before he leaves, he insists on having a small talk with me about my performance. There is always an excuse, even if I do everything properly.
He gets inside the back office, and I follow him, locking the door behind. Jack reclines in the comfortable black chair in front of the computer and opens a browser. He pulls up his favourite porn site and unbuckles his belt. I get on my knees in front of him, no questions asked — it isn’t my first rodeo. The man likes receiving a blowjob while watching straight porn. He knows I need the job so I could move away from my uncle and I’m not about to resign, so he takes advantage of me. Can I get a “THAT’S HOT!” or are you normal?
See, for me, a dick’s a dick. When I’m up close and personal with it, I can’t tell whether it’s attached to a twenty or a sixty-year-old; a muscular or a skinny man. That’s why I don’t mind what’s about to happen. Jack thinks he’s using me and he is, but he doesn’t know that I enjoy it. I’m also using him for my daily prayer to the cock-god. This way, I don’t need to go on any apps or visit the gay clubs, looking for my daily dose of man. Don’t get me wrong, I still do those things on the reg, but after my quick session with Jack, I am more relaxed. I approach any other hookup from a place of power. I could say ‘screw you’ to anybody else because I know that Jack will always be there.
Jack’s pecker is pale and dry. I need to use extra spit on it. He’s slightly below average size too. I put the whole thing in my mouth.
“That’s it!” he doesn’t look at me. He is fixated on the screen where boobs bounce left and right. Only his hips move up occasionally.
I take the dick out of my mouth and put it on my face. On my right cheek and then on my left, as the Bible advises. I have a man’s cock on my face, and the idea is enough to make me hard. I slap it on my lips and Jack groans.
I spit on the head and jerk him off. His eyes go up into his head, I know he’s close. I speed up my movements and stick my tongue out. I flicker it over the eye of his head.
“Ahh!” he turns away from the monitor and lets his head fall back. He’s grasping on to the chair, his body is shaking. I keep sliding my hand over his shaft. A couple of drops dribble out on my tongue. I swallow, but barely feel it and thank God for that, because the taste is bad, spoiled.
Jack needs a minute to gather himself. When he does, he closes the website and turns the monitor off. I’m already standing by the door waiting for him. He fixes his pants and we leave the office together.
“See you Wednesday!” he goes for the main door.
“See ya!” Heaven waves at him.
And Jack is gone. That’s one task complete.
“What was it this time?” my friend asks me.
There are no customers in the café.
“The milk mixup,” I say simply.
Heaven doesn’t know about Jack and me. It’s not because I’m ashamed, but I know not everyone is as open-minded as me and she will probably be grossed out by the whole thing. So I keep it a secret from her. Still, if she was to find out by accident, it wouldn’t be a big deal. For me, at least — Jack will surely have an interesting conversation with his wife.
“So tell me,” I climb on the counter and sit there. “How’d it go last night?”
“Fine.” she shrugs.
I squint at her, but her gaze wanders away from me.
“Heaven! Heaven! Heaven!” I repeat it like an annoying k** that’s asking whether they’ve reached the destination; and what about now? And now? How about now?
“Stop!” she punches my arm.
“Don’t hit me! That’s homophobic!”
She rolls her eyes.
“So, the night went horribly,” I say. “He hated everything about you and never wants to see you again, the end. Was it so difficult?”
“You’re such a cunt…”
“So start talking, bitch!”
“Oh, my God!” she groans. “You’re so annoying, do you know that?”
I laugh.
“The date went very well,” she says matter-of-factly. “We laughed so much that the people in the restaurant started staring.”
“That’s my girl!”
“But then…”
“Oh, no.”
“Then he made the ludicrous suggestion we go to my place.”
Heaven looks at me, expecting my reaction. I would offer it to her if I register the ludicrous part of his suggestion. I don’t. So I say:
“Ye-e-s?”
“What, you don’t think that’s too soon?” she bites her lower lip.
Now I understand what the problem is.
“You’ve been drooling over this guy for a year! It’s not too soon… But it depends on the person. I wouldn’t mind, but if you don’t feel comfortable, you shouldn’t do it. So what did you say?”
“I told him my flatmate has some of her girlfriends over, so it can’t happen.”
“Good enough.” I swing my feet, still sitting on the counter.
See, this is why I haven’t told Heaven about Jack and most of the other men I have slept with. She is a different kind of person. I appreciate that difference and I don’t wish to change her, but I also know the truth about my life would overwhelm her. She would share her concerns in a polite, well-meaning voice, and I would have to assure her I’ll be fine. Etc. Etc.
The main door opens. I glance and see a man walking in. Sex is on my mind.
“Come down from there, boy!”
I recognise the voice. Turning to have a better look at the man, I realise it’s the same one who complained about the milk. Here goes again — dealing with difficult customers. What a bore!
“I said. Come down.”
The nerve this guy has! He speaks like he’s the boss of me. I glare at him with the most unimpressed face I can muster, but then I step down off the counter. Heaven is standing there, seemingly relieved that I obeyed the man. She turns to him:
“What can I help you with?”
He doesn’t look at her.
“What is my name?” he speaks directly to me.
“What?” my reaction is immediate.
“You heard me.”
“Why would I know your name, mate?”
He makes two bold steps toward me.
“Don’t call me ‘mate’.”
“Oka-a-a-y?” I glance at Heaven. “How am I supposed to know your name… Sir?”
He smirks.
“Much better, boy.”
Fuck you. And also, sex is on my mind. His jaw… His jaw moves as he speaks:
“I gave you my name when I ordered my drink. She wrote it on the cup you discarded. That’s how.”
I look down. I don’t want to admit it, but he’s right.
“Anything else?” I ask.
“So you don’t remember…” his hand goes to the inside pocket of his jacket. “That’s a shame. You’ll have to learn to do better.”
He takes out a small card and flicks it at me. I scramble to catch it, which I regret immediately. I must look foolish. Inspecting it closely, it is a business card. It says “OBICH” in bold letters and in smaller ones under it Hunter Ferguson, which I remember now is his name.
“What’s this?” I hold the card with the tips of two of my fingers.
“A career opportunity.”
“HA!” I sneer. “I’m perfectly fine, but thanks.”
Is this man that crazy to think I’ll work for him after his horrible attitude?
“Even better for me! Anyway, it wasn’t I who chose you.” Hunter turns to leave when the door slams open and my uncle stands in the frame.
“You dumb-wit! Look at what you’ve done to my shirt!” he’s yelling at me. “It’s pink! I’m not a fag like you! I don’t wear pink! You’ll pay for my new shirt with your own money, punk!”
I must have messed up the laundry. Uncle flips me the middle finger and storms off. Awkward silence settles inside the café.
“Well…” Hunter straightens his jacket with the happiest grin. “I see you’re perfectly fine, so feel free to discard my contact.”
He leaves. Heaven and I are still shell-shocked. I gulp.
“What just happened?”
“I think you just got a job interview.”
————————————————
Let me know what you think about this story and whether I should continue it.
I also draw! Check out my profile for that : )
by Kushtan Baksan
Sex is on my mind. It’s sometimes too much — I can’t work, I can’t sleep. It’s a never-ending boner that controls my life. A boner-demon. A boner-god. He makes me wank at least once a day and insists I overlook chores, friends, and career. I’m powerless against him and I know it’s a ‘him’ because men are the cause of all pain in my life. They use me for my lust and for my looks, and then they ditch me. I am nothing to them — just a hole they can fill up. No one ever asks me about my hobbies and dreams. But who am I k**ding, no one even asks for my name…
Would it surprise you if I told you, I love the sex part? The sweat, the moaning, the dirty talking—all of it! Even some things that normal people will consider gross, I enjoy. One example — my partner spitting in my mouth.
Something else I’ve never admitted to my ther****t (imaginary one, that is), is that a small, very small, part of me likes to be treated like a dirty rag. Yes, the anonymous, stripped of emotion, self-centered sex brings me a dose of dopamine. Or was it serotonin? Eh, same, same…
What’s important is, I might be a sicko after all — like my uncle Keith said I am. He’s another man who brings pain into my life. Not in a romantic, sexual way though. (Not that it hasn’t crossed my mind.) A few months ago he caught me with a cock in my mouth and he didn’t believe me when I told him that massaging the back of one’s throat is a remedy against coughing they have used in Thailand for millennia. He started roaring like a lion and ripped me away from the boy — Cody, I think was his name.
“You dirty piece of shit!”
He beat me up and wasn’t sorry about it. He thought the punches will cure me from being homosexual. It didn’t, but it gave Cody an opportunity to escape. I never saw him again.
Sex is on my mind.
Sex is on my mind.
A veiny, rock-hard…
“Lane!”
Pushing its way into…
“Lane, come to Earth, mate!”
I snap back to reality.
“I’m not about to do your work for you!” it’s Heaven, my girl friend, and colleague.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble.
I can sense she wants to say more but doesn’t. The clients are queueing and the line grows and grows. It’s lunch break in London City and everyone wants a coffee and a sandwich. She works the cash register, taking orders and processing payments, while I and Jack, the manager, prepare the drinks.
You might think the busy environment would be enough to put my mind off of sex, but it isn’t. All these men, wearing fitted suits, with their fresh haircuts and trimmed beards, and bulging biceps, and big hands, and piercing eyes, and…
“Hey!” a guy raises his voice from in front of the counter. “He’s pouring normal milk. I said skimmed!”
Without turning around, I know he’s talking about me, so I throw the cup in the trash, liquid and all, and take a new one.
When I finish the latte, I put it on the countertop. At the same time, a hand goes to take it and we hold the cup together. I shoot a quick look at the man. Fuck. Why does he have to be so hot? He’s a black guy, much younger than I would have guessed. Usually, older people were the ones to complain. This guy isn’t old. His skin… His lips… He is staring at me.
I pull my hand back and continue with the drinks. Sex is on my mind. A big black phallus and I am on my knees. A thin string of saliva connects my tongue and the head. One order of full-fat milk for me, please!
After lunch break is over, work is much more tolerable. I have time to talk with Heaven. I can’t wait to ask her about last night — she went on a date with her longtime crush. Only thing is, we have to wait for Jack to leave. We aren’t allowed to have fun in front of him. He is an old boar, probably 60 years old. He has conveniently forgotten the fact that he is still a manager at a small coffee shop and thinks of himself as the big deal.
“Lane? A word.”
Every day he comes only for peak hour and then leaves me and my friend to fend for ourselves. And every time, before he leaves, he insists on having a small talk with me about my performance. There is always an excuse, even if I do everything properly.
He gets inside the back office, and I follow him, locking the door behind. Jack reclines in the comfortable black chair in front of the computer and opens a browser. He pulls up his favourite porn site and unbuckles his belt. I get on my knees in front of him, no questions asked — it isn’t my first rodeo. The man likes receiving a blowjob while watching straight porn. He knows I need the job so I could move away from my uncle and I’m not about to resign, so he takes advantage of me. Can I get a “THAT’S HOT!” or are you normal?
See, for me, a dick’s a dick. When I’m up close and personal with it, I can’t tell whether it’s attached to a twenty or a sixty-year-old; a muscular or a skinny man. That’s why I don’t mind what’s about to happen. Jack thinks he’s using me and he is, but he doesn’t know that I enjoy it. I’m also using him for my daily prayer to the cock-god. This way, I don’t need to go on any apps or visit the gay clubs, looking for my daily dose of man. Don’t get me wrong, I still do those things on the reg, but after my quick session with Jack, I am more relaxed. I approach any other hookup from a place of power. I could say ‘screw you’ to anybody else because I know that Jack will always be there.
Jack’s pecker is pale and dry. I need to use extra spit on it. He’s slightly below average size too. I put the whole thing in my mouth.
“That’s it!” he doesn’t look at me. He is fixated on the screen where boobs bounce left and right. Only his hips move up occasionally.
I take the dick out of my mouth and put it on my face. On my right cheek and then on my left, as the Bible advises. I have a man’s cock on my face, and the idea is enough to make me hard. I slap it on my lips and Jack groans.
I spit on the head and jerk him off. His eyes go up into his head, I know he’s close. I speed up my movements and stick my tongue out. I flicker it over the eye of his head.
“Ahh!” he turns away from the monitor and lets his head fall back. He’s grasping on to the chair, his body is shaking. I keep sliding my hand over his shaft. A couple of drops dribble out on my tongue. I swallow, but barely feel it and thank God for that, because the taste is bad, spoiled.
Jack needs a minute to gather himself. When he does, he closes the website and turns the monitor off. I’m already standing by the door waiting for him. He fixes his pants and we leave the office together.
“See you Wednesday!” he goes for the main door.
“See ya!” Heaven waves at him.
And Jack is gone. That’s one task complete.
“What was it this time?” my friend asks me.
There are no customers in the café.
“The milk mixup,” I say simply.
Heaven doesn’t know about Jack and me. It’s not because I’m ashamed, but I know not everyone is as open-minded as me and she will probably be grossed out by the whole thing. So I keep it a secret from her. Still, if she was to find out by accident, it wouldn’t be a big deal. For me, at least — Jack will surely have an interesting conversation with his wife.
“So tell me,” I climb on the counter and sit there. “How’d it go last night?”
“Fine.” she shrugs.
I squint at her, but her gaze wanders away from me.
“Heaven! Heaven! Heaven!” I repeat it like an annoying k** that’s asking whether they’ve reached the destination; and what about now? And now? How about now?
“Stop!” she punches my arm.
“Don’t hit me! That’s homophobic!”
She rolls her eyes.
“So, the night went horribly,” I say. “He hated everything about you and never wants to see you again, the end. Was it so difficult?”
“You’re such a cunt…”
“So start talking, bitch!”
“Oh, my God!” she groans. “You’re so annoying, do you know that?”
I laugh.
“The date went very well,” she says matter-of-factly. “We laughed so much that the people in the restaurant started staring.”
“That’s my girl!”
“But then…”
“Oh, no.”
“Then he made the ludicrous suggestion we go to my place.”
Heaven looks at me, expecting my reaction. I would offer it to her if I register the ludicrous part of his suggestion. I don’t. So I say:
“Ye-e-s?”
“What, you don’t think that’s too soon?” she bites her lower lip.
Now I understand what the problem is.
“You’ve been drooling over this guy for a year! It’s not too soon… But it depends on the person. I wouldn’t mind, but if you don’t feel comfortable, you shouldn’t do it. So what did you say?”
“I told him my flatmate has some of her girlfriends over, so it can’t happen.”
“Good enough.” I swing my feet, still sitting on the counter.
See, this is why I haven’t told Heaven about Jack and most of the other men I have slept with. She is a different kind of person. I appreciate that difference and I don’t wish to change her, but I also know the truth about my life would overwhelm her. She would share her concerns in a polite, well-meaning voice, and I would have to assure her I’ll be fine. Etc. Etc.
The main door opens. I glance and see a man walking in. Sex is on my mind.
“Come down from there, boy!”
I recognise the voice. Turning to have a better look at the man, I realise it’s the same one who complained about the milk. Here goes again — dealing with difficult customers. What a bore!
“I said. Come down.”
The nerve this guy has! He speaks like he’s the boss of me. I glare at him with the most unimpressed face I can muster, but then I step down off the counter. Heaven is standing there, seemingly relieved that I obeyed the man. She turns to him:
“What can I help you with?”
He doesn’t look at her.
“What is my name?” he speaks directly to me.
“What?” my reaction is immediate.
“You heard me.”
“Why would I know your name, mate?”
He makes two bold steps toward me.
“Don’t call me ‘mate’.”
“Oka-a-a-y?” I glance at Heaven. “How am I supposed to know your name… Sir?”
He smirks.
“Much better, boy.”
Fuck you. And also, sex is on my mind. His jaw… His jaw moves as he speaks:
“I gave you my name when I ordered my drink. She wrote it on the cup you discarded. That’s how.”
I look down. I don’t want to admit it, but he’s right.
“Anything else?” I ask.
“So you don’t remember…” his hand goes to the inside pocket of his jacket. “That’s a shame. You’ll have to learn to do better.”
He takes out a small card and flicks it at me. I scramble to catch it, which I regret immediately. I must look foolish. Inspecting it closely, it is a business card. It says “OBICH” in bold letters and in smaller ones under it Hunter Ferguson, which I remember now is his name.
“What’s this?” I hold the card with the tips of two of my fingers.
“A career opportunity.”
“HA!” I sneer. “I’m perfectly fine, but thanks.”
Is this man that crazy to think I’ll work for him after his horrible attitude?
“Even better for me! Anyway, it wasn’t I who chose you.” Hunter turns to leave when the door slams open and my uncle stands in the frame.
“You dumb-wit! Look at what you’ve done to my shirt!” he’s yelling at me. “It’s pink! I’m not a fag like you! I don’t wear pink! You’ll pay for my new shirt with your own money, punk!”
I must have messed up the laundry. Uncle flips me the middle finger and storms off. Awkward silence settles inside the café.
“Well…” Hunter straightens his jacket with the happiest grin. “I see you’re perfectly fine, so feel free to discard my contact.”
He leaves. Heaven and I are still shell-shocked. I gulp.
“What just happened?”
“I think you just got a job interview.”
————————————————
Let me know what you think about this story and whether I should continue it.
I also draw! Check out my profile for that : )
Trish
- 24.04.2020
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