After my buddy once again left me on my bed, spread like a starfish, hard as a rock with his dried nut on my face, I didn't immediately get up. Rather, I stuck my index finger, wet with some of his cum, into my hungry asshole and pleasured myself for a long while. It felt amazing to slide inside myself using another man's sperm. Scooping more of it off my forehead into my palm and spreading it around my rim had a profoundly incredible way of turning me on. It felt so good to penetrate and flood my insides with my buddy's cum. My hole was slick with the stuff, and my rectum quivered thirstily the more I inseminated myself. The copious amount of cum that he made a mess on my face with was the constant reminder that the exceedingly sexy action we had engaged in was not a dream.
He really had his way with me with no regard for returning the favour, and I really did not mind.
I was high from the rough treatment and being made to feel like a slut, a devoted cocksucker, a faggot to get off with and leave his mark on. As far as he was concerned, I was less than, and I enthusiastically played the role of cum dump, assumed whatever position he wished, and expected no reciprocation.
This dynamic fulfilled me. I regarded my buddy with only fond, friendly feelings, despite the counterintuitive effect of being used for sex and being made to feel inferior.
Truly, I embodied the submissive qualities that he found enticing to exploit. I was coveted, in a twisted sort of way. When we get together, remove our clothes, and let out our animalistic impulses, our wildest fantasies come true. Our naked bodies link together in a harmonious give and take. I not only enjoy our sessions together but wholeheartedly express gratitude for this treatment despite this discrepancy between us. His dominance over me and my passive participation worked together for extremely hot results, like a lit match tossed on a puddle of gasoline. The power differential only adds fuel to the lustful fire, for some psychological reason I may never entirely wrap my head around.
Not that I even want to. His pleasure was my pleasure. It was that simple.
He feeds my appetite for giving head and I don't regret it. Not before, during, or after. It was easy for both of us to get what we wanted. That's all there was to it. He gets his balls drained and I get to preserve the memory of my time in between his legs, mouth full of his manhood, to recall while I finish myself off.
I had yet to enjoy an orgasm for myself. So I finger-banged myself and jerked off, replaying his dominating actions in my mind.
The memories I've made slaving over my buddy have proven to be effective at getting me worked up in a hurry, making me want to do it again and again. Thus repeating the cycle.
I lay right where he left me, slowly becoming sticky with remnants of him on my bare skin, wanking myself vigorously. I had my eyes closed, tongue dangling, leaking pre-cum, looking every bit the bottom bitch that I had become.
I can't say it enough: I love this shit.
I was riding a high that I didn't want to come down from.
I got frisky, bold, and shamelessly horny for more hot action, however unlikely it was that I would see any again tonight.
Slutty and insatiable, I dared to text him.
"Fuck man I'm still hot for your cock. Can't lie."
Sent. Received. Opened.
Ignored.
To be expected.
I sent another:
"I really feel like a slutty bad boy and I'm in heat. I get like this and feel like I'd probably do whatever you ask."
Sent. Received. Opened.
Typing!?
New Message from Buddy:
"Let me piss on you."
