Disclaimer: this story is fiction and is not intended to imply anything about the people mentioned or any personal knowledge of their private lives.
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I'm 26. I live in New York. And I'm an actor. Which means I wait tables. I've been at it for four years. After a while, you get to know people, you get established, and things start to happen--you work in nicer restaurants. My acting career hasn't taken off. I've been in a couple of student films, but haven't been on stage since college. It's demoralizing. But it is what it is.
This happened four years ago, when I'd just arrived in New York. I was working as a waiter in a Midtown hotel restaurant. A classy place--like hedge fund owners and Saudi princes. I didn't work the floor of the restaurant, not yet; I ran up the room service calls. It sucked. The place had 30 floors and hundreds and hundreds of rooms, so you can imagine what a trek it was. And either the guests tipped way too much or nothing at all.
I can't even remember what time of day this was--morning, night? People were always order room service. And you lose your perception of time in a place like that. I had an order and brought it to the room marked on the tray. I knocked and announced myself. "ENTER!" I swiped my key card and let myself in.
It wasn't one of our nicest rooms but they were all nice. It had a bedroom with one king-sized bed and a communicating salon. The guest was lying in bed, on top of the comforter, wearing only one of the hotel's plush bathrobes. He was fat, a mountain of a stomach, round face. But you could tell he had been a good-looking guy. He was about 60, a chock of white hair and thick eyebrows. He stared at me too long. It made me uncomfortable.
I greeted myself and brought the try to the table in the salon. He got out of bed and came into the salon with his wallet. He came right up to and was so close. We weren't touching but he was too close. I wanted to get out of there. But he just stood there for a moment staring at me. He was a few inches shorter than me, which surprised and almost embarrassed me, because I felt so oppressed by his presence. He smiled a bit--he was a handsome guy--and gave me a fiver. I thanked him. "You're welcome," he said in a deep voice and smiled. That's when I noticed his accent, which I guess was a French accent.
I moved to leave but he grabbed my arm at the top of the bicep hard. My heart started pounding. We stared at each other, him always with that wisp of a confident smile. I tried to shrug his hand off but he squeezed harder and smiled more confidently. And with both arms on my shoulders, he brought me to my knees. He grabbed my head with two hands and shoved it into his crotch. He squirmed his bulge into my face. I was drowning in terrycloth. He kept working my face into his crotch until his cock peaked out through the slit in his bathrobe.
He had an iron grip on the back of my neck. I tried to move away but couldn't. He let his bathrobe fall open, exposing his chest and belly carpeted in silver fur. And there was his beast of a cock--not long but short and really fat, like him. It was as thick as it was long and rippled with veins. And it never got totally hard, always just a semi. It hung there between two egg-sized balls, under a beard of silver pubes. The tip was dripping wet. I could smell that he was freshly showered. But his cock reeked of pre-cum.
He grabbed the base of his little smelly cock and brought my face into it. He held my neck tight and fucked my mouth aggressively. It wasn't long or hard enough to choke me. But it was so wide I strained to keep my mouth open. I thought my jaw would go unhinged.
He hung on to the base the whole time, keeping it semi hard. He breathed audibly through his nose and grunted with every thrust of his cock. He was a fat, hungry animal, like some gross pig eating at a trough. I could taste his pre-cum. I wanted to throw-up. I was struggling to breathe through my nose and could smell the fresh sweat accumulating on his skin. He was soaked, he was straining so hard to fuck my mouth.
Finally, he pulled his ugly cock out, and with one stroke, he came on my face. I felt a slight warm splatter on my nose, cheek and forehead. It wasn't a huge load but it stank. Without missing a beat, he wiped some cum off my cheek with his cock and shoved it back in my mouth. I gagged from the taste. But he held his cock in my mouth so I couldn't spit it out.
"Swallow," he grunted. He could have convinced me to do anything. I swallowed and felt sick. He wiped my face again with his cock and plunged it back in my mouth. And then again.
He let go of my neck and for the first time, I felt a strong pain in it. He slowed moved away and slumped down in a chair at the table with his back to me. He was still breathing loudly. I thought he might have a heart attack or something. I stayed there stunned for a few instants, feeling the cum drying on my face. And then, I got up and left the room without saying anything.
I rode the service elevator down to the kitchen and went to the employee bathroom. I washed my face and rinsed my mouth out. When I got back to my post, my manager yelled at me for being gone so long.
I didn't tell anyone. I didn't know how to explain that I felt both violated and turned-on. So I kept the experience to myself and only sometimes recall it when I'm touching myself in bed at night or kneeling before some strange man in some strange bedroom.