If I Had the Balls

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To preface: I am straight; not kinda straight, not bi-curious, not attracted to the male physique in even the slightest – I am straight. I have a wonderful, beautiful girlfriend who satiates my every sexual craving; however, I have fantasized for many years lately about being dominated by a man. Being a Marine infantryman and a combat veteran, having worked in law enforcement and as a government contractor, I have always held a very dominant mentality which can grow old and stale; at times, I want to be the submissive, I want to be taken advantage of, I want to be ordered to do something that doesn’t necessarily pique my interest.

So, what if I succumbed to those carnal desires?

In the privacy of my home, I troll the internet for tales of a straight male being seduced or blackmailed or hypnotized into situations he wouldn’t otherwise seek out. I pleasure myself to videos “forcing” men to become “cock craving sluts” and “cum addicted bimbos”. I peruse websites and scroll through never-ending lists of “casual encounters,” seeking something that will arouse my interests and maybe cause me to stray from the straight and narrow. Finally, I chance upon one ad which nags at my subconscious, a man seeking a skinny, tattooed “boy” to suck him off. The “boy” needs to be submissive, requiring little to no experience, be willing to take orders without back-talk, no kissing or hugging or cuddling, simply mouth to cock until he decides how and where to finish.

Could I respond? If I did, would I be able to follow through? Or would I wimp out at the last moment?

I walked away from my computer erect and filled with anxiety. I wouldn’t go through with it, would I? If I let this fall through, would I ever grow that nerve or would I simply Gaziantep Escort Numaraları saunter through the rest of my life in quiet regret of never having taken the step to fulfill my fantasy?

Hours were spent busying myself with menial tasks around the house, but my aching cock pressing firmly against the fabric of my jeans and the developing wet spot betrayed to where my wandering mind kept returning. Finally, I gave in. I sat down in front of my computer, fingers trembling, and typed out a response complete with photo.

“Dear sir,

Attached is a photo of myself. I have never been with nor done anything remotely like this. I am straight, 150 lbs., 5’10”. I have a girlfriend whom, due to distance, I am only able to see once a week or once every two weeks. I have fantasized about doing something like this with a dominant man for years. I am not necessarily submissive, but I want/need to submit. I cannot host; however, would be more than willing to meet up wherever you would like, should I meet your requirements.

Humbly, T.”

I pressed send.

I sat dumbfounded knowing I had actually responded, and, not only responded, but sent a photo of myself to some stranger in my city offering to take his cock in my waiting mouth until he blew his load down my throat … or on my face … or on my body … in my hair? What had I done?

My phone vibrated once. My computer dinged. In the top corner of my screen the icon of a received e-mail flashed.

He had responded.


Meet me at 6326 W. Roosevelt Dr. in one hour. The door will be unlocked, come in, grab a beer from the ‘fridge, and sit down on the floor in the living room.”

Grab a beer and sit on the floor? Maybe he wants to meet first and see if we are compatible. Not really what I had pictured in my mind. I still have an hour to decide if I can really do this.

Forty five minutes later I was sitting in my truck, palms sweating, driving down the road alternating between speeding and driving obnoxiously slow, following the directions my phone so blandly described considering the momentous decision I was driving toward, as the tumult of my mind played havoc with my emotions.

I came to a stop in front of one of those cookie cutter suburban homes. Not lavish, but likewise not what I would picture to be the home of a serial killer. I sat in my truck listening the engine idle as I worked to settle my pounding heart. I wasn’t hard … maybe, I really didn’t want this. If he’s inside, he would know I had arrived. If I left right now… that would be rude to not even explain why I couldn’t go through with the proposition, right?

I walked up to the front door, placed my hand on the door knob and, as he said, the door was unlocked. I walked in, shut the door and sought the kitchen. At this point, a beer sounded like the perfect pairing to the situation I had just put myself in. Searching the refrigerator, I found a nice cold beer, popped the top and was slurping down its courage before I had even shut the door.

I meandered through the house until I found the living room, and, as directed, took seat on the floor in front of a nice leather recliner. Almost halfway though the beer before he walked into the living room shirtless, wiping grease off his hands with a dirty rag. I would guess him in his late-30s, early-40s, an easy 6 foot, and probably sitting around a well taken care of 240 lbs. This man was by no means a body builder but he was obviously strong.

“I told you to grab a beer, not drink it. I’ve been working my ass off under my car and was looking for a nice beer while you blew me. Simple instructions. Pay attention next time.”

“I’m sorry, sir, want me to go get you one?” I asked dumbly.

“Don’t worry about, I’ll get it myself.” He said annoyed, “Take your shirt off and stay there.”

He came back with beer in hand and walked directly toward me. By the time I realized that he was going to sit in the recliner, it was too late; he stepped over my head easily and sat down.

“Stand up and spin around, lemme see what you look like in person.”

I stood up and awkwardly turned around for him and sat back down.

“You’ll do. Let’s get to it.” He said, as he began to unbuckle his pants.

The butterflies in my stomach must have flown into a tornado, as every emotional and logical fiber of my being began to scream at me to leave. There are lines that should not be crossed and I was a foot away from one of them.

“I don’t-,” was all I could get out before his meaty palm reached the back of my head and started forcefully suggesting forward movement of my neck putting my lips within inches of a well-endowed, rock hard phallus. I could smell the musk, the man. I was within inches of feeling his head resting on the back of my throat, his shaft sliding along my tongue.

Could I have fought him? Yes. Would he have probably released me? Yes, I never got the impression he would rape me. But did I want to do it? Did I want to wrap my lips around that throbbing member jutting from his pants? Did I want to swirl my tongue around the tip and experience what it was like for so many women who have done the same to me? Did I really want to know what it felt like to submit myself physically to another human beings, another man’s carnal desires?


Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

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