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The Encounter


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I suck you off and swallow most of your first load. My close-cropped beard is matted with your cum. You are starting to get hard again. We both understand what is next. When we arranged this date, we didn’t pretend it was about anything but sex and my willingness to serve as an object for your pleasure.

I lie on my back on the carpet and pull my legs up and apart. You say, “I want you to remember this, faggot,” and snap this picture. Then your tongue finds my hole. I feel the wetness and the warmth. A moan escapes my lips. You follow with a thick finger, then a second, stretching me. The heat increases. Now I am moaning and gasping steadily. My little dick is rock hard.

“Please, sir. Please. I need your cock.”

You take a tube of lube and rub some on your dick and into my hole. We had agreed that you would use a condom but you do not offer and I don’t ask. You move to your knees, propping yourself on one powerful arm. You guide the tip of your cock to the tip of my hole and slide in easily. I remember when I first had anal sex this part would hurt and I would ask my top to go slowly. But there have been many men since then.

You are deep inside me now. I feel your balls against my ass. I am completely full with your manhood – it seems as though your dick will come out my throat, you are so far inside me.

I start to pull on my own dick, but you push my hand away. “Faggots don’t deserve to cum,” you mutter. I grip your thick forearms instead. My hands seem dainty and girlish.

You are thrusting deep inside of me and pulling nearly all the way out. I hear your loud grunts and feel the mounting tension in your body. This isn’t about me at all. You never flatter me or say I’m cute or attractive. You are a Man and you need to plant your seed in a cunt. My ass is that cunt. When I open my eyes, I see male passion on your face and – yes – contempt for me, a male who has let himself be reduced to a pussy. I feel humiliated and insignificant. And it feels right, at this moment.

You cum inside me with a deep, manly grunt. It is sound I’m incapable of making. As your thrusts subside, you pull out and rub some cum around my gaping hole, then thrust back inside me to leave the rest. Your cum will ooze from my boi-cunt all night.

“Thank you, sir,” I say softly, as you finally pull out.

“You’ve got a lot to thank me for, faggot,” you grunt. You don’t say another word. You reach for your clothes, pull them on, and walk out.

You never even asked me my name.

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