Date: Fri, 18 Feb 2005 17:35:30 -0800 (PST) From: muse97 Subject: Identity Volume 2 The humility that Turner now feels is apparent with every slight moan that escapes from the folds of scrotum that now occupy his mouth. His senses rush through his being; he feels he has reached the zenith of his existence. Turner's sublime act is suddenly interrupted as John's hand pushes him away. "Gotta piss" John comments as he exits the room. All Turner can do is wait, humbly on his knees. Then it occurs to him, this means more to him than it does John. This event, so far, is the pinnacle of his nineteen years on this earth. And all he has done is licked the sweaty balls of some middle aged man, who is more interested in the Panthers game than with him. Turner had been in the midst of the most spiritual act he had ever participated in, until John had roughly brushed him aside to make his way to the pisser. Turner's train of thought is halted by the reemergence of John, naked from the waist down with a fresh beer in his hand. John walks straight towards Turner. He reaches out with his free hand, grabbing Turner by the hair, and in one quick motion spins him around and tips his head back. Turner is shocked by this sudden explosion of movement after the hour or so of relative tranquility they had had while he licked John's balls. Turner's mouth is abruptly full of beer followed shortly after by John's balls; John is straddling his face tea bagging him. John pulls Turner's hair while he rubs himself back and forth over the pitiful young face. Turner feels John's other hand grab him by the hair, then he has air, fresh air, no longer the musky, damp, environment he has been in. As Turner opens his eyes he sees a mass of flesh falling onto him. Then he feels it, whap, whap, John is smacking him in the face with his phallic weapon. Then it stops. The game can be heard in the background, Turner opens his eyes, looking straight up. John is looking down at him. Chuckling John says, "look at you, you're pitiful. You licked the sweat off a man's balls and liked it. Your nothing to me." Turner feels the words burn into him. He feels his face and neck flush; for the first time this afternoon he feels embarrassed. It is defining to Turner to know that another person knows his innermost self. This strangers masculinity is the elixir to dissolve the layers of disguises that envelop his soul. "What do you feel?" asks John, looking down. "I feel humble." Answers Turner. "I feel born." Turner adds. "Whatever bitch, your about to feel my dick in your mouth." Laughs John. "I want to suck your beautiful cock," pleads Turner. John places his dicks royal helmet onto Turner's lips. "Is this what you want?" asks John. Turner knows that the appropriate answer to this question is an action. He slowly opens his mouth and tongues the tip of Johns rugged cock. The dick tastes different than the balls, much milder. Turner finds the cock almost sticky to the touch. John releases his hair, and he instantly turns his head up to better devote himself to this Caucasian Titan. Turner opens his mouth and slides the cocks length into his mouth. The feeling is like sucking on pure sunshine to Turner. Turner feels the limits of self-merge with the hot cock in his mouth. He works at the cock for a while, not thinking anything, just living in the Buddhist now. This cock feels nothing like his cock. It is hard and soft in the same sensation. It is very warm, and the underside feels very smooth and fleshy against his tongue. After about ten minutes of bobbing, Turner feels John grab his hair again. John's body closes the small gap between the two, Turner feels like a ship about to be boarded by Pirates. Then John puts his leg up and onto the couch behind Turner's head. Turner feels what is coming before he knows what he feels. John roughly takes autonomous control over Turner's head and begins slamming his pelvis into Turner's face. Turner is in chaos, he can't breath, he can't see, he feels like he is going to puke. Then through the haze of the assault Turner feels Johns weighty balls slapping his chin and curling under to strike him below his jaw. This trivial series of collisions is a pinpoint of light in Turner's darkness, and he follows it out. Suddenly he is aware of the present. He feels Johns pubes, rough against his face; He smells the musky odor of John's crotch. He feels Johns hard lower abs butting against his forehead; He hears John far above, grunting with each thrust. Turner is at leisure to allow his mind to wander. John, this Caliban of a man, is taking his pleasure from his body. His mind wanders to scenes throughout history of powerful men taking what they want from others. In his mind scenes of them raping and using women is indistinguishable from scenes of them exploiting members of the same sex. Turner thinks about war and sport and men, and it all starts to form a coherent whole, pleasure taken is power proven. This thought tears down the last barriers between his soul and that of this man's. He relinquishes ego and becomes one with everything. He reaches around and grabs John's rapidly flexing butt cheeks. The feeling is intense, they are hard, and rippling, and masculine. Turner thinks how ironic it is that he experiences a personal epiphany in combination with experiencing a large cock down his throat. John has turned into a predator. He makes a few loud grunts then plunges his cock down Turner's throat. Turner's nose is in a jungle of pubic hair. He feels a few shudders and then a hot explosion in his throat, closely followed by four successive eruptions. "You should feel honored I gave you my nut." John echoes from above. "Thank me for nutting in your bitch mouth." Demands John Turner tries to pull off Johns softening cock but meets resistance from John's hands which still have hold of his head. He has no choice but to try to articulate his message with a dick filling his mouth. "Hmm Arhhh Hem" moans Turner. "What a fucking joke, you're the most pathetic whore I've ever seen. At least a whore can stop, your right where you want to be." John says. Turner is listening without the filter of ego to distort the meaning. He is more than happy to relinquish his dignity for the bliss of this Nirvana he has found. John slumps down into the couch. Turner watches Johns fat flaccid dick and majestic balls come to rest between Johns large quads. The penis is slimy and the pubes are matted down with moisture. Turner can smell John's balls on his skin, and taste his cock in his mouth. He is humbly kneeling in this man's living room. At this moment Turner experiences the joy at having realized his innermost fantasies. John snaps him out of his daydream with, "hey slut, get over here and kiss my cock and balls until I tell you to stop." Turner crawls over to John and begins to kiss his fleshy cock and sweaty balls. John's crotch smells more pungent now than it had previously. Turner laps at the balls, knowing that John likes the humiliation it causes him to lick another mans heart of masculinity. Turner settles in for an extended session of ball sucking. God he loves balls.