This story explicitly details sex between males. If it is illegal for you to read this where you are, then read no further and leave.
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Teaching the Cocky Jock a lesson
Charlie's POV:
The event was going full swing. The crowd is what you usually expect from a mid-week lecture at the British Museum on Leonardo Da Vinci: mostly white, mostly rich, with a high percentage of hippy academics, normal academics and crazy academics. Here and there were some potential targets for my hunger. Mostly with their girlfriends...
One guy caught my eye. He was dressed, in a suit no less. With a tie. He was youngish looking... But you can never tell with black guys. He was laughing while he drank. A wedding ring glinted off his finger. Straight?
No.
The suit was too well cut. The trousers fit around his ass too snuggly. And that bulge was much too pronounced. I remember licking my lips. Could that be the mouthful I was waiting for? Because I could do with a mouthful.
Right now.
It had been a while since I had a thick one in my mouth when at work. Too long since I crossed that line, and my brain itched with it.
Let me introduce myself. My name is Charles. Charlie for my friends. Cocksucker and arse bandit for the people who don't like me. And for some of the ones who do.
Now I bet you are wondering, why would a guy like me be cruising for cock (a the British museum and (b at my workplace.
Because. I. Can.
I can get all the cock and ass that I want, wherever I want. And that's big problem... Grindr is easy. Bars are easy. Even the street is easy. A well place wink. A flex of my chest muscles. A twitch of my ass - and the guy is mine. This is not a brag, it's just the truth.
And it doesn't matter if the man he is married, or straight, or religious. I can get him, Because that's how good I am.
And now I found myself wanting to find out if that if that bulge either lived up to the promise or if it was yet another pair of enhancing underpants.
It's always a flip of a coin in the days of unisex shapewear.
Ruth, my fellow server was covering that side of the room. I made quick work of that -- I took away her tray of wine glasses with my most winning smile. She just rolled her eyes. She didn't ask anymore. Just indulge in my escapades and then listened to my salacious exploits.
And I can bet you that she was wet from my tales more than once.
I walked purposefully around the room in a wide arc so that I could see him from different perspectives. I flashed my smile at the event goers. Flirted with the pearl adorned ladies. Stood straight faced and blank with the older lectures, while smirking seductively at the students my age who listened to their droning voices. And I did it all in his line of sight. Back straight. Ass flexed.
At one point I saw his eyes widen under his Clark Kent glasses when I bent over a theatrically to pick up a bottle off the floor while holding a tray of almost empty glasses aloft. My ass is great. My back is better. My lats are pumped. And from that glance I knew that not only was he into men -- he was interested.
I saved him and his friend for last. The friend is involved in the conversation and barely noticed me, which stung my vanity a tiny bit. But if my target's eyes could burn, I would have been burned to a crisp, such was the intensity of his gaze.
Not only married, but hungry! I love those... Hungry married men I mean. You can give them whatever you want, and they will be screaming for more. I call it fresh dick syndrome.
He changed his posture. Potentially the whole package that is me was making his dick twitch.
Good. That is the correct reaction.
There was only one glass on my tray. White wine.
Time to make my move.
It was an easy spill. Wouldn't stain his suit. Soaked his shirt and his crotch. I deftly caught the glass before it hit the floor and smashed into pieces - because I'm smooth like that.
His eyes were even wider as he looked at me. He was embarrassed. His friend was laughing at the spilled drink, and people were looking at us sideways.
I pulled out the wiping cloth in my back pocket and soaked up what I could, kneeling in front of him. He stopped moving. I kept his gaze locked on mine as I pushed the heel of my hand on his bulge.
Yum. The beast there was meaty. This had been a good bet. The coin had flipped the right way around.
I licked my lips for his benefit. There is nothing that pleases a reluctant guy more than a manly stud crouched in front of him, with his ass almost splitting his tight black trousers. I know my game. And if I have to play submissive to get what I want, I'll do it.
- I'm terribly sorry sir. Please, let me help you dry... -- I said.
I could see the struggle in his eyes. He unconsciously turned his ring. I could feel his dick fattening under the heel of my hand. So, I pushed.
- So you have any place for me to dry off? - he said tentatively.
I got up and said yes. And he followed me to the staff bathroom.
Bagged another one...
He followed me without a word. I guess his brain was too focused on my ass to think straight. Good. It a confirmation all those squats in the gym aren't being wasted... I remember thinking that it was such a shame we didn't have enough time for him to use that mouth of his on my asshole. Married guys are always the hungriest rimmers. They go the deepest. But we wouldn't have the time, and I did not do seconds.
When I led him to the disabled bathroom furthest away from the event, I didn't bother with pleasantries. I closed the door and waited for him to take his trousers off and hang them in the dryer. As soon as this was done, I immediately got in his personal space. Puffed out my chest and walked him back to the wall. My dick was already hard.
I slapped my hands on the wall either side of his head. Smirked my feral smirk. I was slightly taller than him and that gave me the upper hand. When I looked down, his underwear was bulging outrageously, stretched well beyond his muscled legs. I could see dark wet spots.
I could not help but think how damned good I was.
But something happened then that I did not predict.
When I looked up at his eyes, what was staring straight back at me, wasn't uncontrolled arousal. It wasn't surprise or bemusement. It was just serene assessment, wrapped in a knowing smile.
Pedro's POV:
I spotted him as soon as I left the lecture.
Damn, that body! Leonardo's Vitruvian man came to mind. Perfectly proportioned limbs and a glossy head of hair. And he knew how he looked and the power that it had. I could assess that by the way he moved. By the way he talked to the people around him.
Another white posh boy, son of someone or other important. Rugby trained I presumed, by the way he bulged in his wine server costume. I'd say fly half or a wing. Made for power and speed. The quality of his shoes told me that the job in the museum catering staff had been a way for daddy to instil in his son some sense of responsibility and gain some pocket money to spend on holidays abroad.
Naturally self-assured because of hours in the gym and the unerring confidence that can only come with knowing that this job, this place in which he was in was only the start of his story. That bigger and better things were waiting for him in the future.
But hey...Hate the game, love the player. Because I'd "love" him until he wasn't able to walk or speak coherently.
But I was in a museum with a friend, and my brain had just been brought to life by new knowledge of the great master. I breathed deeply and dismissed him after a long lustful gaze. My focus was to enjoy the evening. It was a rare treat for me to be here, speaking about something I loved, with people I liked in a place that always left me in awe.
But he kept hovering there, in the corner of my awareness. A cocky little devil. I noticed him noticing me. I was aware of his eyes raking my body and lingering on my bulge. the attention was pleasing. Although I don't look it but I'm pushing 40. Attention from a young stud like this is like the glasses of champagne that you can't stop knocking back despite knowing that there will be a hangover in the next there.
He wasn't just looking though... He seemed to be strategizing. He seemed to be trying to assess me. It took me just a split second to decide that I was going to fuck with him a bit. Teach him a lesson, perhaps.
When my mother scolded me, she always said that the most annoying things about me was that I always looked so innocent. Even when I she caught red handed doing mischief - I always looked like butter would not melt in my mouth. And by mischief she was referring to Gabriel, her evangelical pastor's son. And by doing, she meant mean me, cornering the older boy against a wall with my tongue down his throat and my fingers down the back of his trousers....
So, I took out of my bag of tricks one of my classics: the sex starved, stayed husband that had never, ever stepped out of the boundaries of marriage.
It did not take much to look like I wasn't getting any at home. After a day of work, I usually look beaten down enough. I just had to widen my eyes nervously when making contact with his, look down or around shortly after. Play with my wedding ring as if it was burning my finger. In fact, the only thing that would be burning would be my husband's libido, when I came home with this story and told him while I stroked him to an orgasm (because fair is fair and if have my fun, so should he).
The sexy fucker had somehow managed to take his fellow server's place. He was doing concentric circles around me, drawing ever closer. Stalking me as if I was prey, while holding himself to maximum display of that hotter than hot body of his. Back straight, lats jutting out, ass flexed. Thighs churning the fabric of his distended trousers.
I hadn't pretended to be prey in ages. It made my cock stiffen, to think of the game. I didn't play games anymore. When I played outside, it was satisfying but transactional. The chase was just like taking a hit of poppers. My blood ran hot, and all seemed loosened. It made me feel as young as reckless as this boy was. Because he had balls. And I didn't just mean the healthy bulge in his too tight trousers. He was working... But that's privilege for you. Consequences are for others.
He looked at my crotch. I tilted it inwardly, coyly. The bait had been set.
And he made his move.
I admit was surprised when the wine hit my shirt and crotch. Of all the stunts I thought he might pull this one wasn't on my list. Fortunately, he had the foresight of making it white wine instead of red -- I'm of the age in which a red wine stain is a potential boner killer.
He patted me down with the speed and efficiency of a professional, always keeping eyes locked on mine. His gaze was especially sly when when the heel of his palm grazed my bulge. I voluntarily twitched my hardening dick and he licked his lips. I felt like laughing at his brazenness, but that would just break the spell and give up the game. So, my mask of wide-eyed lust and fear remained in place.
The sight of him on his knees in front of me, hand lingering on my junk, eyes predatory. The muscle muscled butt that I could see when he bent forward, spread by the seam of his trousers... He looked good enough to eat. I'm not embarrassed to say that I felt a slug of precum seeping into my underwear.
His accent was clipped, and his voice was deep. As I imagined, a posh boy.
As he walked in front of me as he took me to his "lair" to ravage me -- because he picked the furthest bathroom from the event space -, the clock started counting down on my time. The challenge was to turn the "devil who wants to ravage a poor innocent married man" into "devil who will spread himself for seconds". Or "thirds".
I had 20 minutes before it both our absence became obvious.
Charlie's POV:
- Open up mate... Come on, you can do it.
He said it in a gentle tone. But that tone didn't match the steely grip that he had on my jaw. It was like getting caught sucking off Mr. Hyde with the voice of Doctor Jekyll...
I had said that I wasn't able to the last time he pulled his cock out of my mouth. A minute ago? Ten minutes ago? I did not know. It was just so fat! Enough for me to feel the thick veins when he stretched my lips.
Thick veins. But I kept on trying because it was just so fucking delicious! That's the word for what that was. It was the colour of chocolate, but it tasted like salt and ski, with the occasional sweet and sour tang of his pre-cum when the pink head stopped hammering at my uvula and raked across my tongue and my palate. It felt meaty in my mouth, substantial.
I remember thinking at the time of how the fuck did I end up in that position? And who was this guy who encouraged me in rough whispers, but held my chin like a vice. This guy who kept pushing buttons I didn't know I had. Making him want to take him, and please him. I remember thinking that it wasn't supposed to be like this, because I had always been the one who controls. I've always been the fucking prize.
My cock, however, didn't seem to mind. I was leaking so much that was sopping up the front of my trousers. Despite me being on my knees in the bathroom floor, with that fat dick banging against the back of my throat. My muscled arms only pretending to hold back his advances/
- Come on stud - he said, looking at my reddened eyes and cutting my air supply for a moment with a swish of his hips - it's just a bit of cock. And you are a fit, handsome man. I bet you had had bigger... Fatter... Darker cocks down your throat.
His voice was so soothing though, like a droning in my hear. It rose a whisper above the sloppy wet sounds of my sucking mouth. Above the gurgling. Above the occasional meaty slat slap of his dick on my cheeks...
I could not believe what I saw in the mirror... The strands of spit, pre cum splattering my face, soaking the front of my shirt. My hair, dishevelled.
- Better than this old married man.
He winked at the last one, and I felt his wedding ring pressing against my skin. It was hot and slick with spit and pre-cum and the heat of our bodies. It was a brand on my skin. My body convulsed at that felling. I felt the front of my trousers grow wetter. I hadn't cum per se, but something had happened that had never happened before.
- It's opening mate. I can feel it. -- he growled
And it was. It was. My throat entrance contracted one last time and then it just distended. The thick vein in the underside of his dick, I felt it sliding over my tongue, its smooth skin caressing it. And it was going in, in deep.
It took seconds, but it felt like it happened in slow motion. I could see the curly hair of his pubes drawing closer, and closer, gathering speed! And then I was there. He smelled like skin, salt and sweat. My nose was deep in there, rubbing against the skin and the hair. I felt like I was floating. Like I was going to pass out!
But the bliss that hit me was indescribable. I felt fulfilled and fucking giddy.
As I knew I would. I just knew it. Form the moment he reached forward while I was staring him down and said, with a smile, that I would do just fine, and kissed me deeply while he twisted my right nipple and sent an electric jolt through my body.
From the moment that he took one of my hands and laid it, without effort, over his distended bulge, while at the same time, nibbled sharply on my lower lip.
From the moment he pulled me back from our kiss by my hair, and explored my mouth, opened in surprise with three calloused fingers.
From the moment he smiled knowingly that I was going to do just fine. I knew that I was going to be putty in his hands. And I was.
He pulled his cock out with a long slick pop from my throat. There was a trail of throat spit and slime between the glossy dark meat and my lips. I coughed and breathed deeply. I felt like I was breaking water after a dive.
He gave me seconds. And then he was grabbing my chin again, hands hard as silk covered iron. And my tongue just rolled out to welcome him in again.
- Take your hard dick out handsome boy. It's time for you to cum. -- he said, with a growl.
Normally hearing someone refer to me as a boy, angers me to distraction, but this time I just fumbled at my crotch mindlessly until my dick was on my hand. The fat head of his cock was already halfway through my mouth in that time. All I could see was that bridge of glossy cock stalk disappearing in in front of my eyes as his pubes rushed towards my eyes at speed.
It slid in so easily. He had carved a path inside me and now I was just a slicked-up sleeve for him to use.
And he used me.
All the way in and all the way out, his thick veins searing the walls of my throat. All I could hear above the storm in my ears were his now indistinct, soothing praises and the wet popping sound of his cock as it battered its way down my throat and back to my mouth. It was dirty. The trails of spit and precum just fell out of the corners of my mouth. I was debauched like I had never been before and it felt wonderful. It felt right.
He grabbed my free hand and laid it on my throat. I could feel that powerful piece of meat distending it with which plunge. Unwittingly I started stroked in tempo with it. By the tenth ramming of my throat, I was spewing cum like a fountain. He was all the way inside when I came, plugging me completely. I saw colours and darkness, and I'm sure my eyes rolled to the back of my head.
He got off me with a longer sucking sound and I collapsed on my forearms. As I got my breath back, I noticed that cum was everywhere. It was on the floor, over his socked feet. On my hair, on my shirt.
Fuck. It was exhilarating. I felt bloody used.
He helped me back to sitting on my haunches. In my field of vision, I saw him him awkwardly stepping out of his underwear and pick it off the floor. Holding my face gently, he carefully wiped the snot, spit and precum from my face from my face with it. I remember him telling me to breath. He continued soothing me but for the life of me I was in such a daze that I can't recall what he said. I was still so dazed and horny that the smell of his bulge packed in that fabric was starting to get me hard again.
I remember his dick while he was crouching in front of me, still hard, and still leaking long strands of spit, which he also proceeded to clean with his soggy underwear when he was done with me. He balled it up and dropped it in the empty trash bin and stepped into his drying trousers.
I looked at my clock. Only 25 minutes had passed. How the fuck did that happen in 25 minutes.
My heavy breathing was the only sound in the room, until he turned the tap and started washing his hands. His face was serene, if smiling. As he shook the water of his hands, he noticed a pearl of cum on his dark tie, which he scooped up with a finger, while looking at me in the mirrored reflection.
- You didn't come! - I croaked when he was about to go out. It was a croak, because my throat was so sore.
He turned to me and he wasn't the shy married man I had thought him to be. But he wasn't the devil that had taken ownership of my body just minutes ago. He fumbled with his wallet and toot out a card. He crouched again in front of me and slid it into the front pocket of my shirt.
-Call me.
He left. As the door opened and closed, I could hear the event going on, at a distance. I remembered my job and started devising ways of leaving and calling in sick. My clothing was in no state to do anything. I patted down my shirt for the card. I didn't do seconds... But no man comes to me and leaves unsatisfied. At least that was the mental justification I would use... I picked up his soiled underwear from the empty. I smelled it bin. My cock twitched. My hole twitched. I was definitely going to give it back to him.
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