[Warning: Racially inappropriate words and derogatory slurs are used in this story. If uncomfortable with certain words like 'nigger' or 'faggot', DON'T read any further. I don't condone the actions in this story. If you're okay with that though, enjoy!]
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I came to my senses, heaving and grunting like an animal. Sticky sweat covered my entire body despite the cool, breezy air in the hotel room. I wanted to completely remove the thoroughly messed-up tuxedo I was wearing, but I couldn't move.
He was still choking me. My lungs grew heavier by the second. The lack of air inside my blood was prominently clear even to my hazy mind; I felt my limbs twitch repeatedly as electrifying shocks ran through them, numbing my nerves, but also somehow introducing me to a higher pleasure.
If I were to compare it to a commonly known sensation, it was like a brain freeze--except this one was spread out over my whole fucking body.
The mind-fucking sensation was giving me my fourth orgasm of the day as I struggled to take deep breaths over the choke hold Jason had on me--I was fucking cumming. Again. The corners of my lips uncontrollably rose as the chemicals wreaked havoc in each and every fucking nerve in my overloaded brain. My second dry orgasm from black cock. Shit, it felt so painfully good. My gasps came in hitches as I tried to deal with the overwhelming pleasure without nearly enough oxygen to do so.
I helplessly gripped at the strong, thick arms tightly wrapped around my neck as they threatened to thoroughly crush my windpipes. I tapped it repeatedly so as to plead for release as well as the simple permission to breathe. A basic human right.
Mercilessly, they stayed on my throat like a pretty necklace, denying my requests for air. To top it all off, Jason slapped my face and spat on me, probably rubbing the fact that I had no choice but to gladly take whatever he dished out. I cried out in indignation--well, tried to, but they all came out as whimpers. The man's dick continued to roughly fuck me in prone bone as he continued degrading me.
Of course, it did nothing but amplify my orgasms.
"Fuck! Shit, you feel so good. Been keeping this shithole tight all these years, huh? Your ass feels like it's constantly cumming--oh, yeah!" That's because it was. I wanted to tell him that, but I was struggling enough to barely even breathe, let alone speak coherently.
I heard him continue, "I'm fucking close. Wanna take it in your face, pretty boy?" I bit my lips. There it was. That nickname. I've been called that for as long as I could remember. Everyone said it as if it were a good thing at first.
But then the ostracization happens. Especially with men. Terms like faggot, pretty boy, and pouf were commonly thrown in my face. I realized then that being a beautiful man was never a blessing in a society that prized its men to spit on something as impractical as beauty. In fact, it was partly why I worked out and built my jacked, masculine body during my teenage years--not that it stopped anything though. Sure, the excessive name-calling stopped but in school? I was still "pretty boy". At that point, it was connected to every degrading term I've ever been called. I didn't like it one bit.
I used to be haunted by the term until Jason said it in that party years ago--during the first time we ever had sex.
The first time I tasted black cock.
Obviously, I felt demeaned and absolutely livid when he called me that. It's like I had a flashback to every single mean thing that was ever said to me. Yet, somehow it felt slightly different than usual too. I was disrespected, sure, but the sensations of his cock made it seem so...liberating at the same time.
I was pretty sure I was straight before then, but that experience really called my whole sexuality into question.
I liked women, but I loved sex with Jason. I loved the feel of his body as he pinned me down on the wall. I loved the heat of his arms, supporting me.
Most of all?
I loved his cock.
The craving in my ass that week turned into this whole mental spiral and self-hate. I hated that it did, because that brought me to the question I never EVER wanted to face.
Were they right? Was I really a faggot?
Feeling the black cock up in my ass, I grimaced. Here I fucking am, proving that I was always, in fact, a faggot.
Still, I couldn't help it. Jason called me "pretty boy" again. After all these years too; I haven't been called that in a very long time....and boy did it feel great.
Instead of shame and irritation, I now felt profound gratitude. Gratitude for being pretty enough to have my face fucked by a big, black cock. Thankful for being born beautiful enough to attract uncaring black men with big dicks. I snapped out of my thoughts as Jason unwrapped the arm choke he had on my neck. Oxygen immediately filled my heaving lungs and I was lightheaded. I felt him pull out, my ass quivering out of confusion from the sudden lack of cock.
"Well? Answer, bitch! Do you want my cum on your face or not?" I heard him ask behind me.
I turned my body towards him and obediently knelt as I got in position to offer my face as a canvas for his cum. I looked up at him, still disoriented from the intensive, adept asphyxiation. Breathless, I said, "I do."
Jason smirked and held my hair as he pushed his cock through my lips.
