"Dirty boy!" he whispered, grinning. "Keep going."
My hand was frozen on my cock as he closed the stall door behind him, locked it, and turned again to face me.
"I said, keep going." Louder, although still just above a whisper. He wasn't kidding around. His voice was uncanny. I started to rub my cock, still covered in cum and my own spit.
He unzipped his pants. I'd barely had a chance to look at his face – clean-cut, muscular, wearing a ballcap, looking for all the world like any average jock on campus – but once his cock came out, that was all I could see.
"I'm not" I began.
"I know what you are. Open up. And don't stop jerking that cock of yours."
I opened up. I let a new cock into my mouth. I kept tugging at my own cock, not quite as large as his but equally stiff. He fucked my face hard, sliding back and forth against my tongue and lips. I didn't understand what was happening, but the abuse and novelty of it, the confusion, turned me on. I knew this was something I shouldn't be doing – even if I were gay, I wouldn't want to be sucking some random in the library - but I couldn't stop.
I was dying to come, but whenever I got close he'd thrust further into my mouth, gagging me, or he'd pull back and slap my cheeks. He shot his first blast into my mouth, then pulled out and hit me right in the eye. It stung. He laughed. That stung even more.
He grabbed some toilet paper and bent over me, wiping my eyes off, then licking my face clean.
"Stand up."
I stood up, now thoroughly confused. He turned me to face away from him, and I began to be afraid that he'd want to fuck me in the ass. I wasn't ready for that, no way. He put his left hand on my ass and the other on my cock and began to push me back and forth. He wasn't just tugging at my cock, but at my whole body, moving me backwards and forwards to make my penis move through his fist, slick with come and spit.
I moaned incoherently as his middle finger grazed my asshole, and then he stopped just as suddenly.
"You don't come until I say. You ask permission."
"Unh."
He resumed. "Do you want to come?"
"Unh."
"Whats that?"
"Yes!"
"Say please!"
"Please, can I come?"
"Not yet." He stopped again.
"What will you do if I let you come?"
I wasn't sure what to say.
"Will you do whatever I say?"
His hands were still on me. They squeezed slowly. I had no will.
"Yes!"
"Do you promise?"
"Yes!"
"Come for me."
His hands sped up, rocking me over and over again.
"Yeah, gimme that come, dirty boy. You're gonna come when I say. Do it."
I came rapidly, forcefully.
"Now, you owe me. Lincoln hall, side entrance, ten tonight. Be there."
Then he was gone. I wiped the remaining semen off myself with toilet paper, pulled my pants up, and walked on shaky legs over to the bathroom mirror. I was flushed, and there was still some ooze on my eyebrows. I washed my face with cold water, dried off with paper towels, and got myself into some sort of presentable shape. I didn't actually look any different from before, but I'd just had the most intense and unexpected sexual experience of my nineteen years.
With a guy.
And he'd asked me to choose, of my own accord, to come back for more.
And I was thinking about doing it.
I pushed the thought from my mind. I'd gotten off, I'd cleaned the pipes, that was all. I just needed to do that to finish my paper, and I had. It had been weirder than expected, but whatever, it got the job done and then some. I'd be able to concentrate now. I returned to my table at the library, ignored the stickiness of my cock in my jeans, and finished my paper.
Back at the dorm, I took a long shower, imagining I was washing off the shame of sucking two dicks and begging a strange man for permission to come. As I thought about what I was trying to wash away, though, I began to get hard again. Super embarrassing to have to walk back to my room in a towel with a hardon, so I turned the water to cold until I was focused only on that, and then dried off.
