Old Lovers

As we'd agreed, he was already on his knees with his mouth spread wide when I opened his front door. He was naked, his knees cushioned by an old pillow, his hands clasped behind him. His eyes were obediently cast down.

How the mighty have fallen. The man was once a sex-god, a magnet to boned-up perverts looking for a real man to play with. Now he was just a cumdump. With his body and his mind well past their prime, he had lost his job and was forced to live on government assistance. Charity. His high-class apartment had gone, his bank account had gone, his looks had gone. Most of his friends had long since disappeared, leaving him largely forgotten - no longer a "person of interest" to the next generation. Pride had been stripped away, and the road ahead looked bleak.

He had not been a kind man, nor a generous one. He had never extended love. The Life-book he had written had earned its way to this late chapter. I had no pity for him. But I did feel a lust for his mouth. More now than ever, perhaps - because it had evolved into such a

pathetic

mouth. An agoraphobic, he had always relied on the world beating a path to his door. Now the road was overgrown, infested by weeds, and the handle of the unlocked door was oh-so-seldom turned.

I stepped inside, and pushed the door shut behind me. As I stared at him, I quickly kicked off my shoes and stripped off my clothes. I draped them over a chair near the entrance as my eyes assessed him. He did not look up or speak a word. But the trembling of his thin body acknowledged my presence. Like a dog in heat, he cocked his ass upwards and stretched his neck forward. His mouth stretched still wider, and his tongue fell out of it as he began to shallowly pant. A god turned into a dog. His hands came up and stretched forward, pleading without words for contact.

I took my time. I ran my eyes slowly up and down his body, knowing that he was feeling the full weight of my cruel assessment. The balding head. The narrow shoulders. The sagging chest and gut. The legs like toothpicks.

And the hugely swollen phallus between his legs.

When his hands stretched forward still further - and only then - did I walk over to him. He knew not to move. Instead, like the animal he was, he began to sniff. Crotch-scent. The smell he had always loved. A slow smile began to curve his lips as he knelt in front of me, as he found his way back into the world of sex and servitude that he had made his own. I reveled in the view I had of him from above, watching his body vibrate with hunger and with need.

So I gave us what we both wanted. Pushing my hardening cock forward, I let my meat graze his lips as I put my hands on his head to bless him. His tongue thrust out as far as it could, and I placed the head of my prick on the center of the landing strip he offered me.

"Take. Suck. Drink of the sperm which I bring for you."

I pulled his head forward and against me, pushing my cock over his tongue and piercing the top of his throat. His lips closed gently around me as he began to do his work. Like a baby sucking on the teat of childhood, he nursed my prick with his mumbling lips. Working his way up and down the shaft, the skin of his lips nuzzling at the skin of my cock, we both knew we had found what we wanted. For him, the shabby room and the accumulated years fell away. He was returned to a world he knew and understood: the world of dick and flesh and cock-honey. His hands grasped the columns of my legs as I rode his face. He found and held tight to the point at which we connected. As my dick grew still harder his lips accommodated the increased girth. As drops of dew began to drip into his mouth from the helmet atop my shaft, he tasted the wet beads of honey running down his throat. We both pushed our bodies toward each other, tightening our connection with forward motion, driving the head of my cock into his throat and making it harder for him to breathe. Plugging his neck. Mouth-fucking him with increasing urgency. My hands gripping his skull as I banged myself against and into him.

No, the years did not melt away. But yes, they did pull back as we let go of the anger and silence which had grown between us. We filled the vacuum with little gasps and grunts and shuddering moans. My legs straddled his crouching form as he suckled on the only thing he still understood. The only thing he still wanted. Cock. Prick. Meat. The spike of a hard fat dick spearing his head. The essence of manhood. His eyes were wide open now and staring at the crotch in front of him. One of his hands had risen to my balls and he was stroking and stretching them, working the nuts, milking them as he slobbered all over the cock-spigot they were connected to. My hips began to beat a rhythm against his face, my groin pounding against his nose and cheeks as he took me all the way in, as he gargled and guzzled at my manhood.

I started to feed him with a corkscrew motion, stirring the prick inside his mouth and throat, hitting each side of the walls inside his body. By now his own cock was twitching and bouncing, slapping up and down in alternation against his gut and the pillow as he fought to take me deeper and deeper still. I looked down at the baton of his cock dancing in the air, his prick conducting the music of his life. His mouth gratefully hummed the melody of his pleasure as he worked to earn the prize I had come to give him. As he sought to draw forth my juice.

In that moment he had found himself again. He was reclaiming himself from the wreckage of his life. He was what he had always been. A cocksucker. THE cocksucker. The man who let men make pudding in his mouth. The man who fed on cum, eating it meal after meal, building his whole body from sperm. His body was literally made up of the babies of other men, long days and nights of feasting on cum from countless pumping cocks. Holding his head against me, I could almost see them standing around him, beating their ghostly pricks in time with mine, waiting for the moment when we could all spill our seed into this faggot's throat, drenching him in the jizz he lived for.

Faster now. Harder. Ramming my body against his face, roughly gripping his head in my hands, molesting his throat and scraping it raw with the plunger of my dick. I felt my mind leaving my body. He still had his skills. He still knew how to make love to cock. He still knew how to make flesh turn to iron in his throat. He still knew how to run his tongue under and around the cock in his mouth, how to cup and caress a man's balls, how to take a man with him into the bottomless depths of sexual ecstasy. Oh yes. So good. So perfect. To take him. Own him. Batter into him. Possess him. My lost lover. My clinging crooning cocksucking buddy. My phallic friend of the crotch.

I can feel my balls retracting, pulling up tight to the base of my cock. I know my load is cumming soon. It yearns to be inside him. To pour into his tummy and swim in his gut. To pass into his bloodstream and join with the cells of his body and become part of his bones forever. To possess him. To hide inside him and wait for the next load of man-cream that will come to join it. To swim inside him and eagerly await the arrival of more fagload brothers at his core.

Ah yes. Ah yes here it cums. Here it cums....

His arms wrap around my waist as he pulls me still more tightly against him. His head is drilling itself hard into my crotch, his lips and mouth and throat pulling me in deep, deeper than I have ever been inside any man before. His love for cock is profound, his need for it inexpressable. He is in bliss, joyously awaiting the moment when his mouth will once again be drenched in seed, the moment when he will again feast on men-babies. He is so happy. So very happy.

And so I feed him. One spit of cum into his mouth. Followed by a harder jet pumped into his neck. Then another. Yet another. He is gobbling and crooning and gulping and yes it is good. It is so good. It is wonderful. I feel my body dissolve and float away as we find our way back through the years and back to this. Cock and throat. Balls and chin. Hands on head. Take. Swallow. Feast.

When the moment has passed, his body sags against my legs. He is worn out, exhausted by his pleasure. There is a puddle of thick scum on the floor between his legs, the evidence of his joy found in the load he has himself pumped out.

I kneel. I pull him to me and wrap him in my arms.

I will take care of him now. He is no longer alone.