The moment I get the message that he’s here, I unlatch the restroom door and quickly get on my knees beside the toilet. My 23yo master enters and locks the door. He hastily puts his thick chemistry textbook on the sink. Without bothering to take off his jacket, he walks over to me, and unzips. He yanks his felt pants and red boxer-briefs down with one quick motion, and casually places his dick in my open mouth. For a long time, nothing happens.
Kinks are weird. For example, intellectually, I can understand why playing with someone’s foot might give pleasure. They are as sensitive as the palms, as erogenous to touch as the base of the penis. I can see, if not share, the sense of pleasure from servicing a pampered paw. But that is not my kink.
I love cum. I love the work of rubbing and sucking and I relish my reward with gusto. I need to take it in, feel it gushing out, knowing that once started it is unstoppable by any force. I need to taste it, consume it, thick and hearty. By extension, why would I not love everything a man’s penis could give me?
Yet I am embarrassed to tell anyone my fantasy.
It was only by chance that we were chatting about kinks, and I shared mine. He had already done it with other guy. Bemused, he agreed to indulge me the next time we met.
“I had a lot of water,” he messaged me in the afternoon. “Just waiting till I have to go.”
I waited, so turned on I was high. I couldn’t sit still. I just walked around the campus, where we would meet, and kept checking my phone.
“How much can you handle?” he wrote.
I have no idea. Maybe none at all. Maybe it’s one of those things that is better to think about than do. Maybe I’ll get my clothes all wet and have to go home and change. Maybe I’ll puke on his shoes. “All of it. I’m so thirsty :)” I write back.
“I’m in a rush,” he wrote a little later, “but I can go now. You OK with just piss and go? No time to cum.”
I was a little disappointed, but I found my favourite bathroom, locked the door, and waited for him.
And now he’s here, standing over me. Being careful not to stimulate, I lightly close my lips over his cockhead. It feels so soft and small, completely flaccid. It bends at the lightest touch. He clamps his hand around the base and relaxes his groin. The first dribble is hot and sharp and runs down to the back of my mouth. The taste is light. I swallow it down.
He smiles. Satisfied that I can take it, he relaxes and pisses on the middle of my tongue. It tickles in a way that is rarely felt, and my cock stiffens. As my mouth fills, I pull back, so I’m just kissing the tip of his still streaming cock. Very carefully, I swallow. As I slide back on I suck, something I’ve always wanted to do. It comes out faster. When the flow ebs, I look into his eyes and wait with mouth open and my tongue just touching its underside. He flexes and gives me more of his essence.
This time, as I pull back to swallow, his penis stretches with me, and the stream tapers. He shakes it off against my teeth. He’s fully hard now. For a long time, I wait for more.
Soon staring up its length, reflex takes over. Effortlessly, I take him down into my throat. I’m eager to show him my skills. But before I can move, his hands land on my shoulders, holding me in place. As he fucks my throat, I close my eyes and suppress the gag. After only seconds, he stops. He rakes his cock across my tongue and I taste his sperm, still spewing out. My young master must have been pleased. He bangs it against my lips, shaking it off, then squeezes it between his fingers, wringing out the last few drops of cum. Thrilled at the reward, I lick him clean.
He washes his hands, grabs his textbook, and leaves without speaking.
