Date: Thu, 13 Jan 2022 01:34:32 +0000 (UTC) From: Chubby Boy Subject: Cyrill Usual disclaimers apply. This story is pure fiction. I welcome your comments. chubbyboyinbama@yahoo.com You come home late at night after a particularly hard day at work. Some girl from some app strung you along all day with the promise of a good time only to ghost you at the last minute. Tired, horny, frustrated, you walk to the door to the sun porch where you normally smoke cigarettes. But instead of the door to the sun porch, you find yourself standing in the dark doorway next to it. The room where I sleep. I am a light sleeper, but the noise machine dampens the sound of the floor boards creaking as you step into the darkness with me. I am awoken by the simultaneous grab of your hand at the back of my head and sensation of your hard, uncut dick pushing through my lips and instantly down my throat. I am startled awake and at first, confused. I gag hard as the head of your dick presses deeply into the soft tissue at the back of my throat. Tears instantly well in my eyes. I try to cry out in shock, but your cock fills my throat completely. You are fully hard, over seven inches, thick. A muffled grunt is all I can manage. Lowly. Almost a whisper, you spit at me, "That's what you want, isn't it?" The rasp of your voice brings me fully awake and aware of the situation. I relax a little. Still startled and a little scared, but no longer struggling to get away. I can't see you. The room is near pitch black. Your left hand holds a fist full of my hair as you push my head forward and your cock backward. Each thrust gags me, but I don't resist. My nose fills with mucus. The tears begin to stream down my face. You speak again. This time, the question has become a declarative statement. "That's what you want isn't it". I hesitate for a moment before grunting an affirmative "mmhmmm" around your thick cock. You ease up a little, allowing me to do the work. You keep your hand on my head, but just as a guide. I am not the one moving my head up and down your cock. I feel your right had brush up against my face before coming to rest on my neck. No pressure. Just another guide. Your hand is rough and warm. I can smell you. The gentle musk from the last 8 hours of sweaty work you have been doing. I am intoxicated. I want this. I have wanted this. Since the day you moved in. My clumsy advances always politely but definitively rejected. You are, as I have come to tell my friends, tragically straight. And while I can't think now with your dick in my brain, I will later realize that you are still straight. This isn't about romance or attraction or even about getting off. This is you, taking out your frustrations. And me, eagerly wanting to be the pit you pour your troubles into. I want to enjoy this. To savor it. To have you lay down next to me and let me worship at your alter. I want to run my tongue along your thighs and put your balls in my mouth. To suck your nipples. Your pits. Your everything. But I don't dare deviate from the course you have set for me. Your hands on my head and neck send a clear message. It doesn't take long. A minute at the most. I've heard you in your room upstairs fucking a girl for hours. But that's not what this is. This is you, scratching an itch. I'm just the post you decided to scratch it on. And while it is only about 60 seconds, I know in that time that one minute is too many and a thousand not enough. I can hear you quickening. You pant a little, then grunt. You don't warn me. You know I know. Or maybe you have forgotten I am there. You take harder hold of my hair and pull me hardest yet into your pelvis. My nose buried is your musky pubes, your balls on my chin. No breathing as your thick cock entirely filled my throat. Not even enough room to gag. Your cock feels as if it widens slightly as I feel it convulse, sending waves of hot jizz directly into my throat. I can't taste. It never touches my tongue. After several shots, you finally begin to relax. You release my hair but guide my head back just enough so that I can gasp for breath. Once quick breath before I eagerly gobble your cock back up, cleaning every last sperm away. I can taste it now. It's bitter and acrid. It is mana. As if total satisfaction was a flavored soda. You grunt a few more times as you come down from your climax. I want to cup your balls and take them into my mouth, but I am afraid. You control me totally. My biggest fear is that you would let me make a decision as to what happens next. When you are fully emptied inside me, you gently release me and step backward, your big spent cock still hard disappears along with the rest of you into the dark. A few steps, I see a sliver of light pierce the darkness for a moment as you crack the door. I see the shadowed visage of your smooth shaved head as you slip out the door. I won't see you again tonight. I know that. I lay back on my pillow. As the tears dry on my cheeks, as my throat aches from its abuse, I gingerly reach into my waistband and touch myself as I replay the event over in my head. An activity I will repeat 10,000 more times before my life is through. The next day, we don't speak of it. We will never speak of it. We will pretend like this never happened. Because it didn't. You are straight. We are just roommates. But each night, I wait in bed in the dark and listen for your car outside as you arrive from work. I count the seconds that it takes you to fetch out your keys, unlock the door, walk in the house, take off your shoes, and walk toward the sun porch. An on days when the universe seeks to reward me for anything good I have done in the past life, this life, or the next, you choose my door over a cigarette. On those nights. On the greatest nights of my life, you slip into the darkness with me and we scratch each other's itches.