"The way I see it," Rod said as he casually opened a beer, "You cost me three or four good fucks tonight." He sauntered over to the couch, set down the beer and undid his belt. He stepped out of his trousers, his dick dangling semi-erect before him.
He extracted his belt, and along with the wallet and keys from the pockets, he laid them on top of gym shorts that had been there from earlier. He held the pants out for me. "Here. Take these. Sit down." He grabbed his beer and we both sat on the couch. I folded the pants and sat with them in my lap.
He switched on the TV, and, without looking over at me said, "Don't just sit there, clean those up. They're a mess. You couldn't even suck my cock right tonight." I started to get up, but he corrected me with a glare, and it dawned on me what he meant. I held them to my face. They reeked. They were a mess of various bodily fluids, some dried, some still wet.
Most of it appeared to be semen, but I'm sure there was blood, spit, piss, and pussy juice in there too. I started with the globs of cum. They were sticky and cold, coagulated drying lumps with millions of tiny, dying sperm in them. It was nowhere as exciting or appealing as fresh sperm, but I had my orders and I started to dab at the biggest globs with my tongue.
The cum had a familiar smell and taste to it, and I decided that it wasn't all bad. I had to actually suck on the fabric to get the older, dried stains out, but it didn't take me too long to get the messiest parts clean. Rod just absentmindedly watched TV while I did this, but when I glanced over at him I could see his erection proudly pointing away from his body, so I knew there was something he was getting out of the process.
"That's good enough. Go hang 'em up," he finally said. "This, too." he said, tossing me his shirt. I did just that. I felt oddly domestic - with him sitting on the couch, naked, while I went up to his room to get hangars. This gave me the most unusual, girly feeling. Hanging up his clothes, in a way, was more humiliating and degrading than sucking his Cock.
While performing this menial service, my own little cock got hard about something there.
From the living room, I heard his voice. "Get me another beer, cocksucker."
I returned to the couch with a cold bottle, and Rod was still watching TV, but he had moved so his legs were widely splayed open. His Cock was at full erection now, and there was little question where I was supposed to be. Without diverting his eyes from the screen, he reached out his hand and I quietly put the bottle in it.
He just looked at the bottle and held it back to me. I hadn't opened it. I struggled with the twist-off for a couple of seconds, and he glared at me, reaching for it. He twisted off the top easily and handed the cap to me. I had to go out into the kitchen to throw it away. By the time I returned, he'd finished half the bottle. He just pointed at his dick with his free hand.
I knew my job, so I dropped to my knees and started doing it.
I don't want to say I was becoming complacent in my duties as a Cocksucker - I wasn't. But when he pointed at his dick, I was relieved. By then I was possessed by the need to have his Cock back in my mouth, to feel his lust, to taste his cum - and more than that, to make him happy, to repay for the displeasure of the evening.
It felt good to suck his Cock again, it felt...
normal
. I thought maybe I could put the chaos of the date night behind us with a really good blow job - knowing Rod it would take more than one - and I got busy working his Cock with all the skills I'd learned to date. I wanted so badly to make him happy.
As I worked his Cock, I recalled that I'd blown him somewhere around fifty times in the past week or so. I thought I was getting pretty good at it. But while it was a routine I was beginning to like, it was, in fact, becoming a routine.
Apparently, Rod shared in this last sentiment.
Rod just lay there on the couch, beer in one hand and remote in the other, as I industriously worked away at his knob. I relaxed my throat and took him all the way in, rolling his nuts softly in my hand and milking at his dick with my throat, controlling my gag reflex so that it added to his pleasure but let me keep him deep in my throat.
Releasing much of his Cock, I worked on the delicate underside, tonguing that sensitive spot that I'd learned was called the frenulum until I felt his hips roll just a bit underneath me. (
Yes, in my free time I was doing independent research on my role as a Cocksucker. I was learning more about how to properly please a plump penis.
) I felt a wave of Cocksucker joy as I could feel his shaft swell in my mouth. I knew my man was close to giving me another load of seed.
His hands grasped my head as a prelude to the now-familiar flood of semen I was about to enjoy. I was beginning to think that things were going to be all right again.
He suddenly pulled my head up, away from his lap. His penis left my mouth so abruptly that I felt my teeth snap together because of the sudden departure of his meaty shaft. I looked up at him hopefully, expecting that he was preparing to spray my face with his love offering. He was still absent-mindedly looking at the TV. Without making eye-contact, he spoke. "Go to the bathroom and get the tub of Vaseline."
A wave of fear shot down my spine. The hair on my neck stood on end. My heart fell into my stomach and my eyes grew wide with terror. I couldn't even talk coherently. "no... no
sir
... please let me suck you... don't... not...
not that
...
no
...
please no
..." I protested weakly.
I opened my mouth and tried to recapture the head of his Cock with my outstretched tongue. I could only lick the the very tip of it, and, as if to tease me further, it tantalizingly gave me a drop of clear, sweet nectar.
I looked up at him with terrified, imploring eyes.
His hands were still on either side of my head, and he slowly, but forcefully, pushed me back. His Cock was tantalizingly out of the reach of my open mouth. Slowly he turned his head to meet my gaze. I was looking up into his eyes, my tongue still flailing desperately to reconnect with his penis.
"Get the Vaseline. Now."
I swallowed hard. Yes -
That
.
I rose from my position of service between his legs, and shakily headed toward the bathroom. As I passed the kitchen, I saw the back door, where only a few days ago, I'd narrowly made my exit before his dad could discover what Rod and I were doing. I longed for the strength to make another exit out that door, but I kept walking past the kitchen and into the bathroom.
The tub of Vaseline was huge, the 13-ounce size with a dark blue lid and a pink label. As I carried it back to the living room it felt like it weighed 13 pounds. I was terrified of what was about to happen, suddenly terrified of his Cock, his lust, and his insatiable sexual appetite. I was most terrified of his anger. Apparently, there was still a lot of that left.
As I walked past the kitchen again, I took one last longing look at that back door. My feet kept carrying me past it as I headed to the living room. That back door wasn't going to get used soon.
But
mine
was
. I shuddered.
Rod was still sprawled on the couch when I returned. I could tell that he wasn't as distracted as he wanted me to think he was - his Cock was hard as a rock, still shiny with my spit, and a substantial amount of precum had formed, dripping from his head down the ample shaft.
