Friday, October 4, 2013

Nasty Little Faggot

“What do you want?” I ask him. He’s kneeling on the floor, naked, knees spread wide. His wrists are crossed as if they’re bound, though nothing is holding them together. His little peter curves up to point at the ceiling.

He’s mesmerized by cock. My cock, which is dangling in front of his face. It’s bait to a hungry fish; his lips work in and out as unconsciously they strain for it. His eyes are the size of saucers, as he stares at the heavy, blood-filled meat exuding heat a few inches above his face.

“What do you want?” I ask again.

He delivers his answer with a rattle in his throat. “I want that cock.”

“Why do you want my cock?” I demand.

He thinks about it a moment, trying to suss out the response I expect to hear. “Because it’s big. Because it’s beautiful. Because it’s yours.”

All true enough, but it’s not the answer I want. “It’s because you’re a greedy little cocksucking whore,” I inform him. “And big dick is what you were made for.”

For the first time in a while he removes his gaze from my dick, and looks me in the eye. “Yes.” His agreement arrives on a sigh.

“It’s because you’re a nasty little faggot,” I tell him. His eyes are locked onto mine. They’re full of adoration. I’ve penetrated right to the secret core of him. I’ve spoken the words that unlock his deepest secret, and in the speaking, unburdened him of it. “Because you’re nothing more than a fucking little skank hole.”

“Yes,” he repeats. “I’m a nasty little faggot boy.”

“Anyone’s cum dump.”

His eyes are beginning to glaze. His cock jerks once, twice, three times. He wraps his hands around it. “Nothing but a cum dump.”

I grab my own dick, thwack it into my palm with a heavy slap. “Well fuck, son. What’re you waiting for?” When he lunges at my erect cock, I halt him with my hand on his forehead. “You don’t get it yet. Fuck. Work your way up, kid.” I shove him back so he’s on his haunches again. “From the feet,” I explain, like he’s simple. “Like a nasty little faggot does.”

The look he gives me is of sheer worship. And that pleases my dick.

No one around this tony community in which I live would recognize this guy as he is now, sprawled on the floor, sucking at my toes, squirming around like a worm in the dirt. He’s one of those fastidious types in public. Neatly dressed in trendy fashions from Zara, little Harry Potter spectacles on his face. I’ve seen him and his boyfriend out and about at the local bars and gay gatherings for a couple of years. When we meet, he and the boyfriend recognize my face well enough to smile and nod, and occasionally exchange pleasantries. We’re not social friends, by any stretch of the imagination.

“That boyfriend of yours know you’re here?” I ask.

“No,” he says. He’s tonguing out the space between two of my toes. He looks up at me in sudden panic. “Please don’t tell him.”

“That really depends on how good a job you do, doesn’t it?”

“Yes sir.” It’s a rhetorical question, but it spurs him on. He’s slurping his tongue all over my feet now, obediently licking the soles when I lift them up, one by one. His ass is pointed in the air; his back arch. In his head, he’s already getting fucked.

“You want me to tell him how you’ve been putting that pussy up in the air for me for months? How you begged me to break that bareback cherry?”

“Please don’t,” he begs.

“Why, are you ashamed of what a little cumdump whore you are? You don’t want him to find out how you’ve been slutting around behind his back with some guy at the bar you barely know? You worried he’d dump that ass when he finds out how many strange dicks have been up it since mine?”

“Please.” He huffs out the word. His face is red. He’s aroused. “Please don’t tell.”

“Suck it, faggot,” I tell him. I grab him by the hair and lower his mouth onto my dick. “No teeth, or I’ll slap the shit out of you.”

This is the root of him, the inner core deep inside that fuels his every waking dream. Daily, in public, he cultivates an air of fastidious perfection. Impeccably-dressed, nicely-coiffed, soft-spoken, a little effeminate. Genteel. Arm candy for his older boyfriend. In private, he wants to be a dirty little whore. The kid wants it all: Men’s Vogue days, Treasure Island nights.

Which side of him is closer to his real nature? I think I know. The artificial tends to fall away from a guy when I drop my pants in front of him.

My cock is slick with his spit. He’s choking on it by the time I withdraw and shove him roughly onto the bed. He howls with pain as I drive into the hole. I can tell by the way he clamps down on my meat that he’s in distress, but this is how whores get fucked. No mercy. Relentless. By the time his mind and body catch up to the heat that’s already pulsing through his still-hard cock, I’m halfway there.

“That boyfriend of yours would kick you out on your ass if he knew what you were doing right now,” I say as I pound his quivering butt.

“Please don’t tell . . . !”

“I don’t know. I think it might be fun to see the expression on his face when he finds out what a cum-hungry little bitch you really are,” I muse. “I bet he’s all polite in bed and shit. Probably thinks a wild time is turning on a fuck flick and jacking off together. Am I right?”

“Only if I’m lucky,” he moans. The words are heavy with rue.

“Who gives you what you really want?”

“You do,” he whispers. “You do.”

“Who gives your faggot holes the sperm they really need?”

“Fuck . . . you know it’s you. It’s totally you.”

I’m close. “Then fucking take it, you little whore.”

My cock pulses. I drive in to the root, and let the seed blast out deep inside him. His back arches more, his butt rises to meet me. He wants every fucking seed I’ve got, and I’m hostage to his need. Finally, after a long time in which his hungry holes milks my meat for every drop, he slides off me.

“Clean it off,” I tell him.

He’s already on it, sucking any traces of sperm from my jizz-slick dick. I hold his head on my dick as I maneuver myself onto the bed, and then I cradle it as he continues to suck and suck.

“Good boy,” I tell him.

“I’m your little faggot,” he murmurs, before losing himself in the scent and sensation of my semi-rigid shaft again. “Just a little faggot.”

Yeah. I won’t be telling the boyfriend. This time.

9 comments:

  1. I LOVE it when you are a nasty badass putting tiny faggots in their place. The pics in my imagination probably don't do the reality justice. Thanks for sharing. Great story. - Uptonking from Wonderland Burlesque

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    1. Total badass! God, I have so much to learn! =)

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  2. Wow. Great story as always.
    I'm impressed that you can find the time to make fresh pasta from scratch every day and have all this hot sex! How do you do it? You must get up really early in the morning! Hee hee.
    As always, thanks for a great read.

    Another Rob

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  3. My heart started beating fast just reading the blog title, and really got to racing while reading it.

    That 'little faggot' doesn't know how luckly he is to be with you and to worship you and feast on your seed.

    And yes, I'm jealous of the bitch :-)

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  4. "Men’s Vogue days, Treasure Island nights". Perfect wording. Perfect.

    Thanks for your writing. My day is always better when there is a blog post from you!

    Brian
    bdlcub@aol.com

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  5. I second Brian's sentiment. I'm always delighted to see a new post from you. I always learn something!

    Your mention of Harry Potter glasses gives me a visual of you fucking Daniel Radcliffe (and who wouldn't like to do that?). When I see cute boys like this one on the subway or on the street, I entertain myself by imagining them groveling naked in front of an aggressive top (maybe even me!). It always makes me smile.

    Paul, NYC

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  6. I love how you're able to know, instinctively, what a guy needs.

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  7. One of the best yet. I know how I'd like to apply this story to my life and situation.

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  8. I'm exactly like the guy you fucked in this entry.

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