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Warning: This erotic fiction contains sexual experiences between fictional adult males. If this is not your thing, leave now. Furthermore, any similarity to any person, place or thing living or dead is merely coincidental.
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Story codes: M, MM, bd, sm, exhib
The Downward Spiral of Jim – Chapter Two
I didn't sleep well that night, which was not a surprise. I kept playing the tape of my mouth rape over and over again. My cock was rock hard most of the night. Why was it betraying me so? Could that asshole hunky top stud been correct? No, I am not a cocksucking faggot. I kept saying myself it was a onetime thing. I'll never even see that guy again. I'm not a cocksucking faggot.
In the morning, I rolled over onto David and started to hump him awake.
"What are you doing Jim? It's five a.m. I got to get up soon." David groggily uttered.
"Please have sex with me David. I'm horny."
"Ok, but we got to be quick about it."
I grabbed the lube out of the nightstand, pushed a finger full up his butt, forced him onto his stomach and shoved my cock in him. I was not gentle and David was screaming with pain and pleasure. My hand grabbed his nipples and I fucked him raw and hard. I plowed his ass pushing my cock faster and faster in and out of his hole and within two minutes was giving him my love juice. I was thinking to myself the entire time, `See, I'm not a cocksucking faggot. I'm a fucking top stud working my load into my lover's ass.'
As soon as I was finished painting his bowels, I pulled out, turned him over and sucked him off. I wanted to taste him in me. I wanted his essence. I wanted to smell his cock and crotch. I wanted to be a part of my partner. I wanted the love of my life's cream down my throat. I felt that if I could get that in me, could get his aura on me, all would be normal again.
"What was that about?" A rather shocked at my demeanor David asked.
"Oh, I was just super horny. I'm sorry if I was a little rough."
"No, baby, it was ok. Now, we need to let the dogs out and get ready for the day." He kissed me and jumped out of bed. David got out of bed. I laid there for a minute while secretly a tear formed and rolled down my cheek. I wanted to believe that that act would solve everything. I wanted to know that I wasn't a cocksucking faggot. I wanted to be a total top that could dominate and fuck my husband and give him pleasure. Deep in my heart, I knew I wasn't any of those things. I was a cocksucking faggot.
Getting ready and getting the day going, I didn't have much time to think; however, upon arriving at work and the drudgery of the day behind a desk my mind wandered to what had happened at the gym last night. I couldn't stop thinking about it and my dick was hard to the point of leaking in my underwear. When lunchtime came, I told my secretary I was going out for a few hours. I never go out for lunch. She always orders up for me. She looked at me strangely. I said I would call in if it were more than two.
I had to get out of the building. I walked a few blocks to a casual restaurant where one orders at the counter. Getting my food, I couldn't find an empty seat so I asked a man in his middle 40s in a nice suit if I could sit with him. He said yes.
I just sat there eating my sandwich for a few minutes. I was deep in my thoughts of last night. The man said to me, "You look troubled buddy." I hate when strangers call me buddy, but I simply answered that I was ok.
He continued anyway, "You seem agitated. Let's go somewhere and relax."
"Are you hitting on me?" I asked.
He leaned in close to my ear so no one could eavesdrop and said, "I want to fuck you. You are coming with me now."
Jesus. What is going on? Here I was, just a little over twelve hours later, ordered to have sex with someone. Now, I know I could have just walked away in that crowed place and never looked back. He wouldn't have able to do a thing about it. Instead, I watched myself in disbelief as I texted my secretary and said that I would not be back in the office today.
"Let's go." I uttered. We got up and I followed. We walked a couple of blocks to a Marriott. We said absolutely nothing to each other. I noticed myself taking a half a pace back. The man went up to the front desk, got a room, and we got in the elevator. We got to the door; he slid the key in to open taking my arm at the same time and thrusting me in.
"Get in the middle of the room and on your knees cocksucker." This was familiar.
He opened up his pants and out came a 6' thick tube – beer can thick. "Start sucking faggot."
I did what I was told enjoying it thoroughly. It was much easier than the gym guy. It tasted so good. He smelled clean having obviously taken a shower that morning. After a few minutes of worshipping this completely clothed businessman except for his hard dick pointing out of his fly, he leans over putting his hands on my butt. This felt incredible. I moaned with pleasure at the thought of him taking down my pants to fuck me. Instead, in one motion he took hold of the slacks fabric with his hands and ripped it right at the seam.
"What are you doing? You ripped my pants." I yelled.
He stood up and slapped my face. "Shut the fuck up, cunt. That's not all I'm going to rip." He then did the same thing to my tidy whities. My ass was completely exposed.
The man lifted me up and threw me on the bed on the bed face first.
"Come on cunt. Get yourself in position. Knees on the floor, ass in the air, chest on the bed. Fucking queer. You're in such denial you don't even know what do to."
The man lowered his pants, produced some lube out of his suit jacket, wet his cock and shoved his man meat up my hole. It was the same singular motion that I had done to David early this morning except now I was in a hotel room with a man that could hurt me. A man who had torn underwear and suit pants. A man that didn't give a shit about me other than to deposit his load up my ass.
"Ok fucker. Now you are going to get what you want. You are such a fucking whore. Yeah, I love suit whores like you. You think you are so prim and proper and you are just a fag that can't live without cock. I bet you got a nice home and a loving boyfriend and dogs; the whole shebang. How prime and proper are you now, queer? I don't think your boyfriend would like to know you were in some hotel room during lunch getting fucked by a real man. What about your boss? I bet he wouldn't be too impressed seeing his employee taking the time off to be a slut during working hours or any hours for that matter. You're all about the outside impression. You want it all to look good. Well, you look real good to me, but not in a way most would appreciate. The fucking fact is all you really want is cock. You live for cock. You can't get enough cock. Well, here's a cock for you fag boy. I'm gonna cream your pussy. My jizz is gonna drip out of your hole for weeks. You like this don't yea fucker. You like a real man up your butt giving you want you need so desperately. You fucking fag pig. Look at you. You are supposed to be at work making money for your hubby and instead you are in a hotel room getting your ass plowed. What a fucking lowlife fag you are. I hate dirt bags like you.
I couldn't believe the awful things he was saying to me. I couldn't believe I had willingly put myself in the position. I couldn't believe how hot it was and how much I wanted this man to treat me like this. I couldn't believe that I wanted him more than any man I had ever had. This fucking asshole straight businessman was plowing my hole, treating me like shit, telling me what a low life faggot I was and my cock was so hard that it shot a load into my underwear and it was staining the outside of my slacks.
The man could feel that I had cum because my ass tightened around his dick. "So the little faggot came. The little faggot loves it. The little faggot wants a man to fuck him. The little faggot's hot for a real man. Oh baby. Yeah baby. Feel that tight ass around my cock. You are a great pussy boy. You're the best I've had in a while. Fucking sweet pussy boy ass. Man this ass is gonna make me cum. You want that boy? You want a real man's cum? Yeah. I know you do fucker. You live for it. Admit it asshole. This is your life. Not that fucking prim and proper crap you do every day. Your life was made to service men. Fucking queer. Oh man. What a sweet ass. Oh fuck. I'm gonna cum inside you. I'm gonna give you what your pussy wants. Oh fuck, here it cums you shithead. Here cums my baby makers. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, fuccccckkkkkkkkkk!"
I could feel his juice in me. It felt incredible. He pulled out fast, got off the bed and went to the bathroom. I heard him pee and run some water, probably cleaning off his cock with a washcloth and soap. I just laid there and started to cry silently. He came back in the room taking my arm, turning me over as I slumped to the floor. He could see the tears running down my face.
"Oh the fag is in regret mode now. Listen asshole, you wanted it. You stupid queer." He slapped me across the face. I was scared now, but he didn't physically abuse me any further. "Maybe you need to accept that you are just a fag whore, asshole. Now, I gotta get back to work and make money for the wife and kids. I know what I am. I'm an asshole straight guy who gets his kicks fucking fags on the side, but is married and raising a family. What are you shithead? Check out time is noon tomorrow. All extra charges are blocked so don't try anything funny. Bye fucker." With that, he spat on my face and left.
I sat there for some time on the floor leaning up against the side of the bed. I finally took my clothes off and stumbled into the shower. I haphazardly dried off walking back to the bed, pulling down the covers to lie down. I just stared at the ceiling for some time thinking about what the man said to me. I wasn't thinking about the sex. I was thinking about how he pegged my lifestyle so accurately down to the frigging dogs. I slept a bit until I realized I had to get my pants mended. I found the sewing kit in the bathroom and proceeded to darn my pants enough to leave the room.
I put on my pants. The patching was barely going to make it. I had cum stains on the front of my pants. I hoped I didn't run into anyone on the subway I knew. I called my secretary and told her that I was going home; I was feeling ill, which was actually the truth. All the way home, I thought everyone was looking at me. Even the doorman at the Marriott gave me a suspicious look and no smile. On the subway, I kept thinking to myself about the last thing he said to me, "What are you shithead?" Less than 24 hours ago, I could have answered that question. Now I wasn't sure.
I got home, showered again, put on some clean clothes and immediately took my pants to the tailor. I didn't want David to see them. I threw the underwear out in a public trashcan along the way.
David got home and I had fixed a nice dinner. He was surprised to see me and inquisitive. I told him that I was a little under the weather and that I came home early thinking that a pleasant dinner would do us good. He smiled. He is such a wonderful man. How could this be happening? I loved David, but I can tell the man today was right. I am a fag whore and I need cock. Why was this occurring now? I had been such a good little boy. Maybe that was my problem I had been too good. Everything had been too perfect. I was making up for lost time. I was definitely pushing the pillow off my face. This was freaking me out; not just what had ensued, but that I knew I wanted more.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter.
Please send any comments to: douglas.marx.4@gmail.com
Please check out my other Nifty.org stories:
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