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Deflowered Above the Greenhouse
He wasn't outwardly very masculine, but he was subtly seductive and surprisingly sexually dominant. I thought of him as a bit of a wuss, so I was quite surprised by his control over me, both enticingly and physically. He was tall but disproportionately of thin build, and he had a soft countenance hidden under long, straight blonde hair. But he sported a bulge where it mattered, and to my incredulity, the robustness within ended up stretching and fattening my lips, and opening and loosening up my ass into a pussy. His phallus unloaded into my throat and up my butt, several times in fact over the course of a few months. And when I at first resisted, I was surprised just how strong he actually was, maybe not proportional to his height, but he could keep me in place while fucking me. So who was the pussy? I called him the flower boy because he was a bit prissy and his family ran a greenhouse. But who ended up emasculated, mounted on the end of a cock, and who ended up virilized, netting his first blow job and first fuck? Getting fucked the first couple of times, I asked myself why the fuck I went along with it. The thoughts of this self reflection would actually arrive while I was still impaled on his cock. How did I end up on the end of this thing? Eventually I guess I admitted to myself it was by choice. But originally I was selected out and seduced, which left me wondering about my sexual projection.
I now even wonder if he was angling for his first blow job on that first day of gym class, my freshman year of high school, when he singled me out and picked his gym locker right next to mine. That's probably stretching it a bit; he was more like looking for a friend. I was surprised to see him because he had been a class behind mine, and I thought he should have still been in the middle school. He had been advanced because he was studious, leaving any friends he had, and here he was alone, a lone 13 year old in a class of 14 year olds, me soon to be 15. He had a reputation in the middle school of being a bit of a fairy, not gay, just prissy, with the shortage of friends that goes along with that, and I think he knew I was one of the nicer kids, also studious, someone he could be friends with. Eventually I did befriend him, sorta risking my reputation doing so, stopped calling him the flower boy and started calling him by his name, Wesley, even if I still occasionally thought of him as Wesley the wussy. But now I suspect that looking for a friend wasn't the only reason he picked his locker next to mine that fateful day. No, I discovered he liked to strut when nude, liked to show off his sizable cock, without a doubt to shake off his insecurity and assert his manhood among his rivals. He also had a subliminal intent: it took awhile for me to figure it out, but he was also seeing if he could entice me. Why me? It obviously worked. But why?
At 14, I was still working on that signifier of manhood, that sign that you're measuring up to your peers: pubes. I had 'em started, but not like my classmates, even though I was about to turn 15, one of the older ones. It added to my sexual insecurity. My cock wasn't very big either ... o.k., no, I have to say it was small, even by freshman high school standards. I had a reputation of being studious too, but I wasn't wussy like Wesley. I wasn't a jock either, but I was fit with the recreation I enjoyed and was at least muscle toned as a result. I dismissed jock ego too, and was instead proud of my studiousness like Wesley. I even privately looked down on the jocks. So it became a bit personally unsettling when I realized I started envying some of the jocks' bodies, especially if they were hung. Eventually I developed a crush on an older member of the basketball team, Jim, someone I had managed to befriend. I wanted to be the object of his desire, wished that he would be attracted to me and somehow fuck me, though I had no idea how that could possibly happen because I wasn't a girl. I didn't want to admit it to myself, but I now had issues with my sexual identity as well sexual insecurity.
So here were Wesley and I in the non-jock side of the locker room, opposite the showers from the jocks and my crush, Jim. It was a good thing too because on the occasion Jim ended up in the showers at the same time, I had to really think hard about math homework to prevent from sprouting a boner. I don't know how I would have managed changing in front of him. I thought it would be easy changing in front of Wesley ... until I actually saw him nude. Never having been in the same grade before, I had never been in the same gym class with him before, so that first sight that day was a bit of a surprise. Right from the start, it was his cock that disarmed me, specifically his full bush of blonde pubic hair! Wait a minute. I'm 14 almost 15, fit, and just starting a line of dark pubic hair, and only at the top of my cock! I was blonde, and blondies usually get them late, but so was Wesley! I was one of the older ones. He was the youngest one, 13, fair skinned, fair haired ... a fairy ... and he's got this full bush of sandy blonde pubes, thick across the top, bushy in the corners, and running down the sides of his scrotum almost all the way to his low hanging balls. It wasn't fair. And his cock was big. Not the fat or long swinging kind that some of my classmates had, and that I was disquietingly discovering was making me swoon. But his was definitely bigger than mine, and long enough that the head of his cock reached just below the base of his low hanging balls. So it was a complete presentation: cock, balls, and pubes, all in equal, well hung proportion ... proportioned except for an enlarged cockhead, which drew me like a magnet. And it would be presented to me, at face level, uninvited, every gym class, for the entire school year.
Wesley was tall and thin, in fact the tallest in the class even though he was the youngest. So the first time he stripped off and strutted into the shower, I was a bit taken back by his masculinity after all, his slightly swinging cock, and his tight firm ass, and I had to follow that act of nude parade into the shower, with my new found enticement unsettling me, right at the time my own clothes had to come off. I cautiously undressed, thinking of some social studies homework to get my mind off of his nudity, and while nude myself, looking anywhere but at all of the nude wet bodies surrounding me. I finished my shower before Wesley did, and was back to my locker, quickly getting dressed before my arousal betrayed me. With my pants finally on, I sat on the bench getting shoes on when Wesley returned from the showers. As soon as he was standing near me opening his locker, he dropped his towel ... and his cock was at face level, only a few inches from my nose. That's when I realized the lure of his cockhead.
Fatter than the shaft, his cockhead not only made his whole cock look bigger, but was burgeoning outward to its end, like it was full of something, something it needed to unload. That thought wouldn't leave my mind, thinking of his virility, that load of sperm that would be delivered if that cockhead only had a few sucks on it. At the same time, that cherry tip wasn't gross like a mushroom head, just rounder and redder than the rest of his cock, with a bullet shape that would fit between the palette and the tongue, the rounded edges gliding along tongue and cheeks. With a cockhead bigger than the rest of his cock, he had an unusually long piss slit, the sealed opening leaving a line visible from the top of that cherry, flaring as it rounded the curve over the end, and then gaping on the underside, as the flanges opened to the sperm delivery tube, running the length of the underside of his cock. Thinking of its load and its succulent shape, I soon wondered what it would be like to suck it, to actually have that cockhead in my mouth. I could have just leaned over, right then and there, open my mouth, and let it slide right in. It wanted to slide in too. Increasingly I became aware he was offering it to me, that he wanted to insert it, wanted me to suck it. Later of course, he finally did manage to have me on the end of it. Alone with him, when he finally did manage to insert it, when I finally did get to suck it, sucking his cockhead to the point that its swelled end was finally able to release its load, I discovered I wasn't able to keep up. That whole cum slit would open up, releasing a torrent of sperm-filled semen into my mouth that had to be swallowed. With no room left in my mouth, the cum had to go down my throat.
The pattern of his cock in my face would repeat every gym class, every other day, every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, for the whole school year.
Each time, he had three chances to get his cock in my face with the excuse of standing near our lockers. He was usually successful on all of them: undressing and suiting up, stripping for the shower, and getting dressed afterwards. Looking back now, I think he knew of my crush on Jim, knew too that some of the other cocks in the shower room were making me stare, double taking to hide it. In other words, I think he noticed that I noticed such things. He definitely knew his cock in my face was having its desired effect. He intentionally wanted to add to my distress, build up my secret desires and focus them onto HIS cock, with each successive week: first me unsettled, then me stealing glances of his cock while he was offering it to my face for viewing, then me staring, then me studying ... then me wanting, but dare not touching or even letting on. I may not have let on, but Wesley knew when he finally had me to the point of wanting.
Wesley was intelligent as was I, so banter and joking eventually led to friendship. He ended up fitting in with my gang--I think surprising all of us at first--mainly because of his sense of humor. It was mostly intelligent humor, but Wesley also had a way of joking about himself and sex, on subjects that the rest of us wouldn't admit to or were too embarrassed: being horny, masturbating, having to clean up afterwards, how he wished he could get off like dogs, how they drag their ass around the yard and hump peoples' legs, how he wished he could suck his own cock, how he was able to suck his own cock the other day and never needed to leave the house ever again, the girls he wanted to fuck, how they would scream "it's so big" while he fucked them, how they would hummm while blowing him, how he wouldn't mind if anyone, guy or girl, would suck his cock. That was always a "gotcha" intended for me, though I wasn't conscious of that at the time and, thank God, neither were the others. Like the face level offerings in gym class, the comments were successful in getting me uncomfortable, aroused, unsettled. To him, obvious from his jokes, sex was about getting off. The thought of Wesley actually getting off started to excite me. Eventually, I wanted to suck his cock even when he wasn't nude in front of me, just seeing the bulge in his pants. I had been fighting these urges for so long, and he knew. All of his comments led to the intended laughter from everyone, but I was uncomfortably feigning laughter whenever his joke was about him fucking or getting sucked off, and he noticed.
It was the '70's. Our school allowed jeans and we mostly wore them, but dress codes in certain regions led to that icon of sexually repressed fashion, corduroy pants. Dress slacks that looked like jeans. Say what you will, jeans were cooler, but corduroys were form-fitting, softer, and made of thinner fabric. We all wore them occasionally, but Wesley wore them mostly. And I noticed why. Jeans have a preformed crotch, so you can be small or hung and look the same, which was great for me, I could hide in that. But form-fitting corduroys accentuated the big if you were fortunately hung. Wesley was fortunate, knew it, and I noticed the bulge would change with conversation and knew why. If it were casual conversation, the bulge was low, defined by his large, low-hanging balls, but if he was talking about sex, the bulge raised higher as that disproportionate cockhead swelled and the nuts raised up, tucked up and under as the cock was gettting ready to finally fire off its sperm, looking to reproduce. After a few months of that cock display in gym class and all his comments, now the corduroy bulge was arousing me all day long, making me want to be on my knees, head between those hips, lips and tongue kissing that bulge, if only he would let me. No, that wouldn't be enough. I wanted to undo the snap, zip down the zipper, open the package, lower the underwear, fish out his cock, and surrender my manhood to the sucking of his.
Eventually the friendship grew enough that we started hanging out after school. We didn't live close, and were not old enough to drive yet, so I started by riding his school bus route to his home ... anonymously. No one including my parents knew where I went. All I had to do was somehow get home before dinner. He lived in a more rural area along a highway, the house set back surrounded by greenhouses. The first couple of times, we would just play in the yard, mostly with his dogs--with the usual jokes about their open sexual expressions--and it was always fun to explore the greenhouses. About the third or fourth time there, I was led to his room. He lived alone in the carriage house, set off from the main house by a long greenhouse that was connected to both. We went out the door of the main house into the greenhouse, shutting it behind us, walked the long length of planters, fans blowing, irrigators streaming, a whitenoise hiss that isolated his room from sound as well as any interrupting presence, opened the door of the carriage house into the garage, filled mostly with supplies, shutting it behind us, and climbing the stairs to the door to his room, entering and locking it behind us. His one window looked back into the woods and river behind the house. Soft light from the window would reflect the blue paint on his walls, creating a serene feel. Secluded. Safely private. This would be the place where I would eventually give my first blowjob, the place awhile after that where I would lose my virginity, the remoteness and sounds below drowning out my sobbing, my crying while getting fucked up the ass for the first time, and the other times after that, losing my manhood to whom I thought a lesser flower boy ... above the greenhouse.
The first few times in his room, before that fateful day, a pattern was set. We would listen to his stereo, even more sound to conceal the activities within, talk about school, then the joking that always led at least to innuendo if not overt sexual jokes. There was no place to sit in his room other than on his bed, which he invariably would stretch out on, lying back, head on hands behind his head, lifting that corduroy bulge to the ceiling whenever he adjusted positions. He always left room for me to sit, but I felt uncomfortable enough that I did not sit on the bed, choosing the floor near the stereo. Even I knew the space left for me on the bed was a ploy, an advance? I resisted, pretending to only be interested in the music nearby, the levels and balance of the stereo, the collection of recordings, the vinyls and tapes nearby to which I could always find a distracting conversation.
"God I wish someone would suck my cock!" he said, with laughter following, laughter I had to contribute to. I was in his room, alone with him, and through his jokes he was wishing someone, anyone, sex unspecified, would suck his cock. That someone could be me. These were the moments I was glad for the record collection to discuss. After at least feigned laughter, I would quickly counter with something like, "Isn't it great that Page can play so tightly with Bonham's rhythms on The Ocean?" About the third or fourth time in his room though, he upped the ante, overtly inviting me to sit on the bed, me at one end, him stretched out as usual along the length, his head at the other end. Though I had a sense of what he was after, I went along with sitting there and this became the norm.
I guess it's fitting that the day I first sucked a cock, I had gotten hurt by my crush, Jim. I had been going to all of his basketball games, but he didn't go to any one of the 4 nights of the school play I starred in. I guess my emotions were too obvious, people knew I was upset by it, and Jim even apologized. But here I was after school, in another friend's room, still moping about it, hurt about it as if I were Jim's girlfriend or something, if only in my dreams. Unbeknownst to me, not only was it obvious to Wesley, he was irritated by it, enough to use it to break the ice, to justify sending the first auditory confirmation that he knew of my internal struggles.
"You know, Jim's not the only person with a cock in the school." Confirmation, and at least a suggestion of invitation, all in one disarming comment.
"What?" I shot back, as much surprised by the bluntness as possibly offended. I took too long to realize I needed to counter the offensiveness of the comment, and not just the surprise, if I wanted to maintain any plausible deniability, finally adding, "What do you mean?"
He just kind of laughed, then surprised me by rolling his feet to the floor sitting upright, "Whatever. I gotta get changed into jeans if we're going to play ball in the yard."
I didn't know we had even considered playing ball in the yard, but o.k. He stood up unbuttoning the school dress shirt, pulling it out of his matching corduroys, tossing it on the bed, leaving him bare-chested, and leaving me even more surprised. Disarmed. OMG, as if that wasn't enough, he was unbuttoning the snap of his corduroys, unzipping the zipper before I managed to turn my head away. By the time I looked back, only to confirm that he was in fact stripping in front of me, he was already in just his white briefs. I turned my head away again only to catch the view of his corduroy pants landing on the bed, near the shirt already beside me, confirming he was now nearly nude in front of me.
"Can you hand me those jeans." I looked further over my shoulder and, sure enough, there was a pair of jeans lying on the bed. I even wondered if they had been planted there. I reached for them behind me, and when I turned forward again to hand him the jeans, he was standing right in front of me, clad only in white underwear, bulge at face level, just like in gym class. I made him an offering of the jeans, a tacit plea that he offer quarter to my surrender, a call for a truce in this overwhelming sneak attack of male presentation. He was as nude as he had to be to change, right? He didn't need to change his underwear too, right? No boy changes his underwear just to change into play clothes, right? But that wasn't the point of this, and even I was becoming aware of that. His hands reached for his hips, the thumbs gripped the elastic, and as his arms started pushing straight downward, forcing hands to descend with the underwear, I turned my head away. I was looking at his corduroys and shirt on the bed only to see his white underwear land in the pile, confirming that he was now completely nude in front of me. I resisted temptation as long as I could, waiting for him to put on the jeans I'd handed him. There was no longer any sound, any motion, just waiting. Eventually I just had to look. When I turned my head back, his exposed cock was at face level.
"Just like in gym class," his words matching my own thoughts, making auditory confirmation of the intent of the view, "but here no one is around." With that comment, his overture complete, he had excited himself. His cock, already bigger than normal, started to lift up to point straight ahead, as if it knew it had me.
"What?" I asked, needing to confirm not only what he said but what he meant, even though I was pretty sure I knew. When I noticed it was now a boner, the end pointing slightly upward, I definitely knew what he meant.
"I know you want it."
"What?" I asked as if I were indignant.
"Go ahead and suck it. I know you want it."
"No way," I laughed as if it were a joke. As if I could deny it. Though my acting was getting weak, I could still deny I was interested, right? Though he had made some offhand remark about Jim not having the only cock in school, no one knew my internal struggle, right?
"You want it."
"What makes you say that?"
"Gym class."
"What?"
"The way you drool for it in gym class ..."
"Oh bullshit." I said to relieve the stress.
" ... licking your lips."
"Oh give me a fucking break."
"I'm trying to!" he laughed, pleased with his own wit.
I couldn't believe what was happening, and I was starting to get aroused, so silence started taking over.
"I'll let you pretend it's Jim's cock." He was letting me know he knew, as if it were obvious to everyone.
"I'll let you pretend it's Jim's cock. I don't care, I just need a blowjob."
Again, to Wesley, sex was about getting off. But now that he brought his intent, his urges to the fore, I started really getting aroused. He was fully aroused. His cock curved up, the cockhead opened in anticipation. My cock was now cramped painfully in my jeans. Then came the simple, blunt command.
"Suck my cock."
I heard it. Equal parts insult, domination, enticement, and invitation. But the command took me over the edge, knocked down my defenses. I allowed myself to stare at his complete package: the low hanging balls, steadily rising and falling but with upward progress, the full sandy blonde pubic bush, the respectable size of his shaft, the impressive size of his cockhead. His boner. Defense was giving way to desire. He definitely noticed its effect. He grabbed his cock and stroked it, making his boner stiff as if he were preparing it for me.
"Just like gym class, but here no one's around. Here you CAN suck it, just like you want to."
He knew I wanted to suck his cock in gym class. ... ? ... ! But he was right, I did. For some reason, his invitation made it possible. I couldn't take it anymore. I had secretly wanted to suck his cock for so long now, and I was finally being given the chance. I let myself go, surrendering to the desire. I swooned into his crotch, my nose falling into his balls and pubic hair, the aroma adding urgency. I clumsily opened my mouth, my wet lips, and even my tongue tip, making their first genital contact as I made my way from his balls up his shaft. He helped by guiding my head with one hand, and grabbing the base of his cock with the other, insisting it enter my body, repeatedly jabbing it at my lips, trying to insert it into my mouth. My mouth opened wide as my resistance fell to pieces.
For the first time ever, I had a cock in my mouth.
He continued to insert it, the large piss slit on the disproportionate cock head leaving a trail of precum along the axis of my tongue. Suddenly desire gave way to revulsion as I was encountering new tastes and old associations. "What am I doing? He pisses with this thing!" I started to resist his advance, but the hand that had previously guided my head to his cock was now behind my head, not only holding it fast, but pushing as he inserted. The combination of revulsion and his pressing, the deep insertion made me gag. The gag response surprised me, but why it should I knew not then. Desire had overridden the fact that I had a cock at the back of my throat. I tried to push back off of his hips, but he was stronger than I expected. He held my head on his cock. I was ready to fight, knew that I could take him if I had to, this fairy. But his dominance was strangely arousing. Then as I realized the slime on my tongue was the precursor to his cum, desire took over again. I let the cock slide back in, back to my throat, this time relaxing my throat to suppress any gagging. I started sucking as my revulsion fell to pieces.
For the first time ever, I was sucking cock.
"Oh yeah. ... Suck my cock ... That's it, be my bitch. "
His bitch? I could take him. Why was I doing this? Why was I surrendering to his manhood when I was the more manly? Because this wasn't about who was stronger, more fit, this was about sexual domination and submission. Wesley was sexually dominant, comfortable with his own body and urges, his needs to get off, to joke about it at will, knowing full well he was making people interested. People? Who am I kidding? Making sexual submissives interested. And I was to be the submissive one. Somehow he knew that. I couldn't be the one to dominate. Why? Because I had wanted to suck his cock for a long, long, long ... long time ... he knew that too ... and I was finally getting the chance. All those gym classes where I thought about sucking his cock, no, wanted to suck that cockhead dangling in my face. Now I had it in my mouth, my mouth drooling, his cock drooling.
The cock started going in and out of my mouth. I had no idea what I was doing. But he knew what he wanted. I was going to get face fucked.
"Avoid the teeth, cocksucker. Purse your lips over your teeth with your mouth around my shaft."
Cocksucker? I'm a cocksucker? But then I started to do what he commanded. When my lips were over my teeth and around his cock, he started thrusting, which I didn't expect and had to accommodate. His enlarged cockhead would make popping noises every time it left my mouth, replaced by my gurgling and slurping noises when it went back in, gagging sounds if it went too far in. Now he had the back of my head in both hands, fingers entwined in my hair. The realization of his complete control satisfying his lust sent a surge to my own cock. In a way, I was getting fucked like I always wanted to be, the object of a male's desire. My lust had to relieve itself. I tried to take off my shirt, but he wasn't going to let his cock out of my mouth long enough to pull it over my head. Resigned, I unsnapped my jeans, zipped down, lowered my pants and underwear, and started beating off. Sucking cock, masturbating, with my shirt on. Desire took over again as my manhood fell to pieces.
"Oh yeah, you're enjoying this too. You little cocksucking faggot." he teasingly laughed, sexually dominant to assure I remembered my submissive place.
It was not intended as insult, but one of his disarming jokes, and it did serve to put me in my place. I was so turned on, I started cumming hard right then and there. Squirt after squirt after squirt fell onto the floor.
"Yeah bitch, go for it!" and then as he delighted in my turn-on, he started to lose control of his lust, "Now get ready for mine. Swallow my load down."
I hadn't thought about that. It was enough for today that I could finally suck his cock. But swallow his load? No way! Especially now that my load was spent and desire was waning. I wasn't ready for that. I started to pull off right when he started humping my head. He was getting off like the dogs he joked about. But there wasn't much time to think about all that. My turn-on to the point of cumming had sent him over the edge fast.
He started filling my mouth with his cum as he was warning me way too late, "Here it comes!" I was opening my mouth, trying to get off of his cock, but all that did was allow him to insert it deep and for cum to drool all over my chin and lips. Spurt after spurt after spurt kept refilling my mouth to overflowing, forcing me to swallow cum over and over and over again. When he was spent, he let it sit at the back of my tongue, recovering while my mouth watered around it, drooling saliva and cum onto my chin. Then he pulled his cock out and continued to decorate my face, focusing on my red-flushed cheeks, my nose, my half-closed euphoric eyes. He wiped sperm toward my mouth, and when enough was gathered on my lips, his cock made a point of inserting it in again, telling me to clean it off, as if I hadn't swallowed enough cum already.
Then he was done. And that was that.
"That was great!" as he pulled his cock out of my mouth one last time, one last "pop" as his cockhead left my lips, "I'm glad to know you're a swallower." The comment forced me to evaluate what I had done, admit it to myself as a slight upset in my stomach confirmed its contents. It also insulted me to suggest that I had ever done this before, let alone that I was experienced at it, enough to be categorized as a swallower, choosing to swallow. As he moved away from my face, completely satisfied, his softening cock started to hang, even started swinging a little, shining. He was as satisfied as a teenager who had just gotten his first blowjob. Looking at my lusty face, he pegged my category of cocksucker, "Swallower. Did you like the taste of my cum? I liked watching you swallow it down!"
I started sobbing. Why? His comment brought me to a new reality. I had just sucked cock, something I had been resisting all my life, vowed not to do. Not only that, but I had swallowed a lot of his cum, for the first time incorporating someone else's sperm into my being. But Wesley wasn't good at dealing with emotion, or understanding where I was coming from. He was relieved. Satisfied. Validated. That's all that mattered as far as he was concerned.
"What's wrong?" When I was silent, he pressed again.
"Nothing." I continued to sob. While I sat there dealing with it all, he started getting dressed, first wiping his cock with a t-shirt he had lying around, then stepping one leg at a time into his underwear, sliding them on putting his cock away in his underwear, back to its hammock now that its mission was done, its urge relieved. Then he put the whole white package into his jeans, the ones he had asked me to hand to him, cock in face to start it all. I was still sitting with my pants still down, my cum having hit my underwear and jeans as well as the floor, while he was zipping up and snapping the snap.
When I finally stopped sobbing, Wesley made a suggestion, "We had better get dressed and get out to play ball or something."
When he saw my face he grabbed the t-shirt again, started wiping the cum off of my face, my tear stained eyes. That's when he noticed, "You have cocksucker lips!" he said, laughing. He liked humor, was using it to break the tension.
"What?"
"Cocksucker lips. Your lips are red and puffy, fattened, and come to a point in front. Girls get them from sucking cock."
How did he know these things? "What are you talking about? Bullshit."
"Why do you think girls wear lipstick? Looks like cocksucker lips. It's a turn-on!" He laughed.
"Bullshit. Let's get out of here." I pulled up my underwear, then my pants, and while working the fly and zipper ...
"No. We can't let anyone see you like that. Not yet. Look in the mirror."
I had no idea what he was talking about, so I did. My lips were as he described. Red and puffy, fattened, and coming to a point in the front. From sucking cock? From that fattened cock head stretching my lips over my teeth, popping in and out of my mouth? A reminder of what I had just done. I started sobbing again, and through my tears I managed to ask, "Permanently?" In my own mind I was now marked as a cocksucker forever. Was I marked with a physical sign too? Visible to everyone?
"No," he said in a down-tone of disbelief, "We just have to let the swelling go down." Then he couldn't resist, "It'll take awhile. My cock is pretty big. It's hard to wrap your lips around it, so cocksucker lips get pretty big." He laughed slightly, but he meant it. Though I was certain it was his first blowjob, he had a sex ego to match his cock.
"Here, you gotta brush your teeth. You've got cum breath too." Where did he get his knowledge? I started to realize the tastes in my mouth, the tastes I had to get used to while sucking cock, were lingering, pasty. It made sense that they would be on my breath.
Strangely, we then went outside and played ball, as if nothing significant had happened between us. Then I had to start the long, slow walk home. Then I had to face my parents at dinner? Could they tell? They could at least tell I was distracted. How was I suppose to talk about this? "What did you do today, dear?" "Oh nothing really. I just sucked some cock today for the first time, that's all. Wesley's cock."
School was hard to get through the next day. I was nervous that Wesley was going to let on to our friends about me giving him a blowjob, if not outright tell them, even though he assured me he wouldn't. He was careful not to tell, but it was awkward sitting there with his jokes. They took a decidedly "blowjob" turn: cocksucker lips, his size, cum breath, slurping, gurgling, gagging, he loved swallowers. With his fixated subject and knowledge now coming from experience, it was pretty obvious to my friends Wesley got a blowjob from someone, but no one knew who. His next comment made me turn my head, even I knew it was turning red.
"I love to watch her swallow it!"
I felt like such a slut. I really was his bitch. I had to hold back tears or it would be obvious to everyone.
We both gave it a few days before talking about it. He knew I was uncomfortable. But now looking back, he wasn't as much concerned about my discomfort. I think he knew, if he wanted another blowjob, he had to wait, couldn't push too hard. He let me get used to the idea that I was a cocksucker, that I was his cocksucker, before he asked for another. He knew if he waited, desire now enhanced from experience would come back to me. When he knew it was back, he knew it was time.
"I could sure use another go. How about you? Do you want to come over after school?" He knew I knew what he was talking about. I felt like a convenient slut. He implied the desire was mutual, was going to use that to his benefit.
"I don't know, Wesley. This isn't what I planned. It was an impulsive decision. For both of us." I tried to make a note of his complicity in yielding to urge, even though his had been completely planned for awhile.
"Yeah, but you enjoyed it, right?" Wesley pressed. Then to base his assumption, "I mean, you swallowed, got off too, right?" I had no choice in swallowing, but I had to admit to getting off, and thoughts of swallowing had been a part of the build up to that.
"Yeah, I guess," I couldn't deny, "but it's not what I want."
"Well, no pressure, but why don't you just come over and we'll hang out. If it happens, we both want it, it happens."
When I was silent, he added the alternative, "Otherwise we'll just play ball or listen to music or something."
"Yeah, right." I laughed, knowing I would at least be pressured. But hell, no sense losing a friend over it. He still had respect for me as a friend, even if sexually he thought of me as his submissive.
"Alright?" he purposefully misconstrued my response.
"OK, I guess." Neither of us knew if that meant I was condoning another blowjob.
When I arrived at his house, I tried to steer us to ball playing, which he agreed to, if only to break the ice. But it didn't last long and eventually his intent all along was clear.
"Let's go up to my room," he suggested. I followed him, a little less hurriedly than he seemed to be.
When we entered the room, I sat on the floor by the stereo and tried to divert attention, "Let's listen to Eric Clapton."
"OK, put it on." he responded to the effect of why not.
I grabbed the album Slowhand and put it on, strategically sitting on the floor while Wesley stretched out on the bed as usual. We talked through Cocaine, Wonderful Tonight, but then Lay Down Sally got Wesley singing along and talking sex, "oh yeah." The song Next Time You See Her got Wesley reminiscing about the film Private Lessons and his desire to be the young boy Philly doing Silvia Kristel. It had its desired effect on me, an uncomfortable silence. As I sat on the floor, Wesley got up and stood next to me. It was obvious what he wanted. The formalities were over.
"Get up on your knees this time." Wesley more suggested than demanded. This time? Like there were others and there would be more?
For some reason I complied, kneeling in front of him. Continuing to stand next to me, Wesley grabbed my head and pulled me into the crotch of his corduroys. I was somewhat resistant, but not enough to refuse the advance. I had consented. I had come over to his house, and what's more, I entered his room again. It was obvious from the start where it was all going and why. And now I was kneeling into his crotch. Let's just get to the point. Wesley instantly disarmed me with his dominance while at the same time forcing me to acknowledge my desire.
"Pull it out this time."
With very little assistance, I was undoing his belt, unbuttoning the snap on his corduroys and working the zipper down, just as I had fantasized doing in school. He pulled his shirt up and out of its tucked position, exposing his underwear. When I reached for the elastic he guided my hands to his hips instead, helping me pull his pants off his hips and butt, leaving the crotch of the corduroys just below his balls. That was to be lowered later as he guided my hands back to the elastic. I pulled the underwear forward, fishing his cock out of his basket. With more of his help, I bunched them below his balls. But that was it for now, undressing was done. The cock went into my mouth for the second time.
This was no accident. I was sucking his cock for a second time. And with that accomplished, the second always being the hardest to secure, there were going to be many, many more cocksucking sessions to follow.
One's an indiscretion. Two's an extremely reluctant choice. Three and more would be a charm. Easy. I was a cocksucker. His cocksucker. The first time he was nude and I eventually had my pants down, with my shirt on, masturbating. But this was already going to be different, the new norm, Wesley with his pants only down, sliding them himself the rest of the way to his knees, while I instead got to work on the job I had to do. A blowjob. Once I undid my own jeans to relieve my urges again, I discovered more of the new norm that Wesley was going to insist on.
"Take 'em off. Jeans and underwear, both."
I complied, surprised, but when I returned focus to his cock, I learned there was even more of my clothing to remove.
"Shirt too. Take it off."
For the first time I was completely nude in his room, him with his pants and underwear at his knees and him lifting his shirt tail so I could work his cock, all while on my knees. The power differential was mind-blowing. I was the sex fiend. If anyone came in the room, he would just pull his pants up, while I would be caught nude, with saliva, precum and, if far enough along, cum, smeared into messy desire on my lips and face, the obvious slut.
This was the scene repeated three or four times a week for the next month or so. It got to the point that we would arrive at his place, play a few formalities to distract his parents from intent, then go straight to his room to get off. He would wait for me to undress completely. Once nude, it was my job to pull his pants down too, get on my knees, and get to work. Once he unloaded, and I got yet another belly full of cum, he would pull up his pants while I jerked off, if I hadn't finished already. Then he would wait while I got dressed. We would listen to music while my cocksucker lips went away, then go outside to find some activity to throw off his parents. Then I would walk home. Time after time, blowjob session after blowjob session.
I still felt guilty and ashamed afterwards, every time. School was always uncomfortable the next day; gym class was getting unbearable. He was still making his cock offerings at the locker, knowing I was now experienced and thus excited, and he swelling, less able to contain his excitement. He started having semi's standing next to me, and was even sporting them occasionally in the shower. Then things started to change. He would wait until I was nude, wait for me to lead the nude parade, wanting me to strut. Lately I was always walking in front of him, into and out of the shower.
In gym class one morning, Wesley shocked me again. "You've got a nice ass. I want to fuck it."
I laughed, confused, thinking he was joking. He just asked, "Are you coming over today?"
When we gotten to his room, we assumed the usual positions. I got started on my job as usual. But while I sucked, he continued to disrobe, pants and underwear off the ankles, shirt pulled over the head, or unbuttoned and arms removed. He let me suck for awhile while he was now standing completely nude, then he interrupted me.
"You've got the nicest ass in our class. A nice pert upturned butt asking for it."
He reached over my head while I continued to suck, and started to rub his fingers up and down in my crack. I wasn't sure where this was going.
"Lie down on the bed, on your stomach."
"What? Why?"
"Lie down on the bed, on your stomach. I want to fuck."
"What do you mean?" I truly had no idea.
"Just do it. I want to fuck you."
"I don't think I want to do this," I said, not really knowing what "this" was. But he wasn't going to have it, and I soon felt him pulling my arms toward the bed. I complied and lied on my stomach. He went over to a desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of what I thought was lotion.
"Offer it up."
"What?"
"Arch your lower back down and your butt up. If you need to, rest up on your elbows."
When he saw this wasn't enough, he grabbed the pillow.
"Here, stick this under your hips."
He helped me insert the pillow under my hips, then to my surprise, climbed onto the bed straddling my legs. He then separated my legs and kneeled on his knees behind me. As I looked over my shoulder, his cock was fully erect, but his attention was on his fingers as he squeezed a gel onto them out of the bottle. He set the bottle aside, then rubbed the gel up and down my crack. My surprise was met almost immediately with another as he inserted first one gelled finger, then two, then three into my hole. As he started lubing his cock, I got the idea where this was headed.
"Wesley, I don't think so. I don't think I want to do this."
"You'll get used to the idea." He was already aligning his cock for insertion, rubbing it up and down the now fully lubed crack.
"I don't think so ... uh." My speech was arrested as the cockhead first made contact. When it pressed in, I gave up a grunt as I gave up my virginity.
"All pussies eventually get fucked. It's the final fulfillment of your purpose." He began to slowly insert the length of his cock, letting me get used to the advance until he was fully inserted. I was groaning to the change, and sucking in my breath with the surprise. Then he lied down on top of me. He raised his hips, pulling his cock back out leaving the head inserted. I was getting some relief, but then he slid back in.
"Ummff."
"Are you ready to get fucked?"
"No."
With that he started thrusting. I started panting, groaning, and eventually even sobbing. What was happening to me?
As he continued to fuck me, my panting and sobbing was getting more intense, equal parts pain, turn-on, and emotions. I was crying the whole time, not only from pain, but from the emotional realization I was getting fucked and what that meant. And what did it matter anyway, pain or remorse? Wesley was going to complete his fuck regardless. He felt himself entitled, invited, and that he deserved it, that he earned it with the work it took to get me into his room, to get me to take my clothes off, to get me to suck his cock all those weeks, to get me into his bed completely nude, to get me to permit his cock to enter my body, first weeks ago into my mouth and now up my butt. And he felt justified that he was privileging me, doing me a favor, giving me what I wanted, and wasn't going to take any evidence to the contrary, rather he was going to interpret any complaint as my desire. But there WAS pain too, an aching pain. The stretching was finished, my sphincter had finally relented enough, my hole had been opened enough, and my rectum had finally made enough room for his cock. But the aches came from the motions of his fuck, having to be re-stretched and re-opened on each thrust of his fuck, resulting in groaning and panting noises as I tried to catch my breath. The fullness in my little, unaccustomed butt put his cock against my prostate, rubbing it, stimulating it by the whole length of his cock, first in, associated with my butt being filled, then out, associated with my sphincter taking hold, sucking his fat cockhead, trying to keep it in, making a popping noise if he pulled it out, but him always quickly reinserting to long dick me again. He just loved to toy with the entrance too, the repeated visual of an ass being penetrated, subdued, the repeated auditory confirmation of a quick, uncontrollable bark, pant, or gasp, with him having no regard for my required pain, the unavoidable result of being opened each time, the fee for admission, the little extra pain you have to endure to get what you want, to get fucked.
I WAS getting what I wanted, and that was new to me, releasing the groaning and moaning noises of arousal, of acceptance, the occasional, "oh yeah" with panting as the repeated toying entrances would finally give way to a long slide of his cock up my butt. It was met with a different sound, a grunt for the accommodation for sure, but also a groan or even a moan of desire. It surprised even me. I was now getting unusually turned on, and it was betraying me. Wesley ran with it, coaching me, assuming all my sounds were lustful, "It's so big!" he mimicked my tone, taunting me. Eventually I took his cue. I couldn't believe it, but he WAS so big. And it introduced a new emotion causing me to cry anew. I was being humiliated. I was getting stuffed with his cock. I was getting boned by a classmate. I had taken off all my clothes, nude in a classmate's bedroom, lied down ass up in his bed, let him climb on top of me, let him insert his cock, and for whatever reason, went along with his desire, letting him fuck me up the ass. I was getting fucked up the ass.
His desire excited me. He would later tell me that my upturned butt cheeks were calling out to get fucked. He was right, my desire was being released. My upturned cheeks were FINALLY getting rammed up even more. And I didn't even know that getting fucked was possible, that getting rammed was what I wanted. With repeated long-dicking, Wesley' hips were now slapping my ass, adding a humiliating sound to the mix. My ass was getting the surprise of its life, getting what it was unwittingly looking for, advertising for, teasing for, getting what it deserved. Butt cheeks slapped up by thighs and hips, asshole rammed up by cock. My once untouched butt was now massaged by hips, my once virgin ass was now loosened by cock, initiated for cock. My place was established, my new found role was to provide a hole to take his cock, and to provide a butt for a soft landing for his thighs, hips, or abdomen, depending upon his angle of approach, thrusting. I took his cock from all directions. I was his bitch.
That led to the emotions. Originally I didn't want to get fucked. Now I couldn't get enough of it, calling out "Oh yeah" and "It's so big" to his delight. I had descended to another level into pussydom. Already sporting cocksucker lips, experiencing tastes of cock and cum, and presenting a cum smeared face, I now had a cock in my ass, a cock about to pulse and squirt its sperm into my rectum, marking me as a fucked pussy forever.
The rhythm of his thrusting soon changed, slower but deeper, and as the cock entered even more easily, lubed by its own cum, I knew it was final. I had been fucked. My ass was a mess. My sphincter had already been pounded enough to not offer any resistance. My crying continued after the fucking stopped. One last popping noise as he pulled that fat cockhead out of my ass, his cum following it, filling my cleft while he wiped more cum on my butt cheeks to complete marking the target. And now lubed with his cum, someone else could have easily taken sloppy seconds.
Wesley mustered what compassion he could through his sex ego,
"Sorry, I'm pretty big. I should have taken your ass a little easier."
He didn't laugh. He was serious. And I knew why. He didn't just fuck me, he had given me a fucking. He had taken my ass and thereby put me in my place. As a boy now man, he was established. He had gotten his first fuck. As a boy now pussy, I was repudiated. I had received my first ass fucking, was emasculated. I had the cum dripping out of my ass, running down my legs, smeared on my buttcheeks, and filling my crack to prove it. That realization suddenly struck me hard, and as much as I tried to deny, there were going to be many more ass fuckings, many more confirmations of my place. Sensing something, perhaps the imbalance, he tried to compliment me for my sexual attributes.
"Your ass was as good of a fuck as I thought it would be."
It was equal measure vanquishing and complimentary. He had stood, wiped off, and was going through the motions of putting his cock away, putting on his clothes that would conceal from his parents and anyone else what had just happened. I decided I should do the same, but as I stood from the bed, I felt my insides aching. Once standing, I didn't even want to bend over to retrieve my underwear off the floor. When I did, I felt my ass open with pressure from the inside, then felt the cum leave my hole and run down the inside of my leg. I used the underwear to wipe off, then stepped into them one leg at a time. Standing as straight as I could, I put on my jeans and shirt, then reluctantly sat to put on my shoes. Sitting hurt. I felt an ache. I noticed I felt the same aching when I walked.
I had a long walk home. There was less aching if I kept my legs and posture straight, not bending the knees. It was the walk of someone who had just been fucked pretty hard up the ass. Yes, he should have taken my ass a little easier. For a first timer, it was plenty enough to have just been opened and penetrated by a cock. But he not only inserted and penetrated, he buried it to the hilt. Thrusting is a part of getting fucked, but again, he could have used just part of his cock for that. Instead he eventually long-dicked me with it, the full length of his cock shoved up my ass from tip to base. He could have used a slower pace. Instead the thrusting was so fast and complete that his hips had slapped my butt. As I walked, I was feeling the bruising in my ass from having been fucked so hard. Cum continued to run into my underwear, which made me realize that I was having difficulty re-closing my hole again, a reminder that I had been slopped up back there.
At first I was resigned to the belief that getting fucked had been a mistake something I didn't want and wouldn't seek out. But already on the walk home, I was evaluating what these backside sensations meant, and I started to get sexually excited. I had been sought out, tagged, and then fucked. He had been attracted to my ass. Exposed nude in the gym locker room and showers. He was attracted to it, said he wanted to fuck it. Walking home now, that thought excited me. When we met up in school later, Wesley was already grooming me for another fuck. It started with a slap on my ass, safely covered in jeans, when we were in the hallways of school, with a joking tease to cover his true desire.
I was reluctant to get fucked again, but somehow my desires led me back to his bedroom. I came with the pretext of just wanting to hang out, going for the usual stereo bit, but Wesley saw through my denial.
He decided to tease me about it, bluntly shattering the resistance of my male ego.
"Are you here to get fucked again? You know only about a quarter of the girls in our class--at most--have even been fucked yet, and here you are for seconds."
"Fuck off."
"Shall we together?"
"No, I'm not here for that. I just want to hang out."
Unconvinced, he suddenly manhandled me. To my surprise, he pushed me onto the bed. As I tried to stand back up, he used my imbalance to flip me over, one of his arms wrapped around my waist. Grabbing my belt, he loosened the buckle. When he changed focus to my snap and zipper, I tried to move, but he got on top of me, grabbed my hair with his other arm, and pulled my head back. When he finished with the zipper, he got off of me just long enough to grab my jeans and underwear together in one hand, pulling them below my ass, the other hand still in my hair, the elbow of that arm in my spine. He climbed on top again bringing my shirt up with him. I tried to resist, but I had his weight on my back, one arm wrapped around my waist, another with its hand grabbing my hair, and my jeans and underwear now at my knees. I couldn't believe how strong he was after all. When he had my resistance subdued, he started working his own jeans off, rocking side to side on my butt as he needed. Soon I felt his cock in my crack, backing up so the tip could find the hole.
"I don't want to get fucked again!" "Oh bullshit."
He had his way with me. His desire got the better of him, but it resulted in getting the better of me. I stopped resisting, but didn't stop crying, not only because he was hurting me, disrespecting me, but because he was right. I wanted to get fucked again, and soon I had more of his cum up my butt, acknowledging his conquest, and fulfilling my desire as well as his.
What of Wesley's desire for me, his attraction to my ass, even in jeans? My tight butt was upturned by design, to invite cock into its cleft. Seeing me nude from behind, Wesley saw an invitation for a fuck. My ass exposed, his eyes could follow the start of a little shallow crack at the top, deepening and widening as it went down, ending near dangling balls between separated legs, a contradictory display of masculinity against an open invitation to be emasculated. The susceptible balls had been given their necessary, masculine space between the legs and rounding bottom, but the resulting cleft separation left the hole vulnerable, exposed--projecting outward even--unprotected. The whole butt display was an unwitting lure in the shower room, designed to stimulate desire and attract a fuck, even if I never knew it. It worked. Its upturned cheeks attracted Wesley, and as a result I would get my butt fucked many more times. Eventually his lust alone would excite me to the point of wanting to get fucked again. I started to initiate, signaling that desire back to him, by parading my butt for him in the locker room, by wiggling it at him when he slapped it in the hall, as if I was joking too. It secretly turned him on to my secretly yearning ass. And he would oblige it, fuck it.
Comments and suggestions are welcome: marianasdeep5@hushmail.com I usually respond, but when I go for long periods without writing, I find my hushmail expired. It's been awhile since my last story. We're up to version 5 of the e-mail :) My other stories are available at: http://www.nifty.org/nifty/authors.html#marianasdeep