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Talk about your bad luck. My department was sending someone to the West Coast for a week-long training course. I put my name in, thinking it’d be cool to see Silicon Valley, or maybe even San Francisco, but once I was told I was accepted for the program I was told I’d be taking it in Sacramento. Nothing against it, of course — but it’s a deadly dull town. And anyway, I was in a pretty bad mood because my girlfriend had just dumped me. So once I was there I was desperately bored and horny.
I scanned through all the pay-per-view porn on the hotel channels and it all seemed so mainstream and so tame. And the hotel had the shittiest, most expensive wi-fi known to man. I was desperate by my fourth night there. I’d even gone to a nightclub and tried to hit on a couple women, but there wasn’t anything happening. By the next night, I was trolling through Craigslist and checking a Grindr account that I’d set up out of curiosity, but hadn’t ever really done anything with.
Anyway, poking around, I saw an ad for Sacramento under the banner “BI-CURIOUS BOYS FOR WATERSPORTS?” and opened the link. Maybe just because I was so horny, I figured what-the-hell and sent off an email. I’d never have done that do that back home.
It didn’t take long for a response to come back. It said, “this is what I want to do to you. If this isn’t what you want, don’t bother replying.” And it had a link. I clicked it (and waited forever for it to download on that lousy connection) and it turned out to be a video. There was a guy, in profile to the camera, with a cock in front of him. There was a commanding voice, off-screen, giving orders to the guy. He opened his mouth, stuck out his tongue, and the cock started pissing into his mouth! The guy swallowed as his mouth filled with piss, catching every drop. At the end, he turned his face to the camera, mouth open wide, showing that it had all gone down his throat.
The clip was only a couple minutes long, but I watched it over and over, jerking off as I did. This had been a secret fantasy of mine for… years.
Well — here I was in a strange city, one that I never planned to come back to. No one knew me here. What would it hurt to have an anonymous fling and try it? I sent an email back that read, “that is what I want you to do to me.”
It didn’t take long after that for another email to come back. It told me to show up the next evening and gave an address and a hotel room number. It turned out it wasn’t that far from my hotel. I watched the video again a couple more times, masturbating furiously before I fell asleep.
In the cold light of day the next morning, it seemed like less of a sure thing. Was this really a good idea? All day long, I was going back and forth with myself over whether I was going to go through with it. The good part is that it was no pressure if I cancelled. But the image was so powerful and made me so horny that in the end, I found myself walking over to the address I’d been given. I was so nervous I’d skipped my dinner, so that might have been one reason I was feeling a little shaky as I took the elevator up. I walked down the hallway, found the door, and hesitated. This is my last chance, I thought to myself. I could turn around now and walk away.
I knocked on the door.
When it opened, I was surprised to see a naked man with a video camera facing me.
“What d’you want?”
I looked at him with mild surprise, unsure what to say. “Um, are you Ford? I’m here about your online ad? We exchanged some emails?”
“Yeah, so what did you come here to do today?”
I swallowed. I was still standing in the hotel hallway, a naked man right in front of me. “I uh… I came here for you to piss on me.”
“You sure fuckin’ did. Come in.”
He walked backwards as I entered, tracking my movements with the camera until we were past the short entryway and in the main room of a large suite. We went past an open door that led to a bedroom and a closed one that looked like it would connect to an adjoining suite. There was a kitchenette opposite that, and a couch and love seat at right angles to each other across from the TV. There was a low rectangular coffee table in front of the couch, and beyond that there was another video camera on a tripod. The room was brightly lit by several lights on stands covered with umbrella reflectors.
What’s the deal with the cameras? I thought to myself, confused. But my observations were cut off by Ford, who barked at me, “Okay, get undressed.”
“You fuckin’ heard me. If this is gonna happen, you’re gonna get undressed now.”
I was struggling to figure out where I had heard that voice — phlegmatic, almost lisping — before. And in a flash, I realized it was the same voice as in the video Ford had sent me! That wasn’t just what he was into — he had made the video!
Oh shit. What I had got myself into?
“Listen,” Ford said, a note of irritation in his voice. “This is it. Either you fuckin’ get undressed or you leave.”
Another flash through my mind. I thought about how turned on his video had made me. I needed… şişli escort I needed something from this man. His tone said he wasn’t bullshitting me. I figured if I went along with him now, we could talk about the cameras after.
I started undressing. I hadn’t been sure what to wear, so I came in the business casual clothing I’d been going to meetings in. I unbuttoned my shirt and took it off, hanging it on the back of a stool at what looked like a breakfast nook. Kicked off my shoes, undid my belt and lowered my pants, roughly folding them off and laying them across the stool. Pulled off my socks with my toes. And then, I looked up at Ford with a questioning look. He only returned an impassive gaze, and I took the next step, dropping my boxers to the ground and stepping out of them. I was as naked as he was now.
“Step in front of the camera,” he said, his free hand gesturing toward the tripod. The entire surface of the floor on the other side of the love seat was covered with a tarp, and there was an X in gaffer tape about three yards from the tripod.
I moved over toward it, beginning to speak as I did. “Um, look… we didn’t talk about the cameras…”
“Are you fuckin’ dense? I sent you a video. What did you think the deal was?”
“I thought… I mean, I figured that was just an example of what you wanted to do, not something you had made yourself.”
He moved up toward me, now just a step away from me. He was in front of me, at enough of an angle to not block the tripod camera. “Do you realize how fuckin’ stupid that sounds? I think you knew exactly what that video was, but you were too pussy-assed to admit it to yourself.” I didn’t know what to say, and I think my head dropped down a bit. “So here’s the deal. Either you man up and go though with this — which is what you want to do anyway — or you leave now.”
I closed my eyes for a second, and what I had seen in that video flashed in front of my eyes. There was a wave of desire that was drowning out the fear. It was insolence and not insolence; it was modesty and not modesty.
“Okay,” I said.
Ford stepped over to the desk and picked up a piece of paper that was in front of an open laptop, stepped back and handed it to me. “I want you to read this.”
I read the title out loud. “I am a whore.” I looked up at him and he made an impatient gesture at me. I looked down and continued: “I am here today of my own free will because of my debased erotic desires. By signing this contract, I agree that I am a submissive bitch who will follow the orders given me. Once I have signed, I have given blanket consent to any activity considered appropriate by my top, and will comply with all commands. I understand that this session will be recorded, and consent to any use of the footage, acknowledging that where it ends up is none of my business. In exchange, I will receive the sexual pleasures of a compliant bottom.”
As I finished, Ford grabbed the paper from me and set it on the desk. He picked up a pen and handed it to me. “Okay whore,” he said. “Now sign it.”
I looked over at the desk, and then at Ford, holding the camera on me. The phrase sexual pleasures of a compliant bottom bounced around my brain, and I felt a buzz in the pit of my stomach.
I stepped over, picked up the pen, and signed the paper. I was just starting to feel a weird rush of queasy release when Ford barked at me, “back in front of the camera!”
As I moved back to the X, Ford opened a drawer in the kitchenette and as he stepped back toward me, I looked over my shoulder to see he had a pair of handcuffs.
“Hands behind your back, whore.” I reached my hands back and heard the ch-clicks as he put the manacles on. Then he stepped back in front of me. He panned his camera up and down my body, as if slowly leering at every inch of me.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Uh, Jim,” I said.
With a lightning-fast flash, his free hand reached out and slapped me hard across my cheek. It was so forceful and unexpected that I reeled, almost losing my balance.
“Don’t fucking lie to me, whore. What do you think this is, porno? This is real life. There’s no stage names. If I think you’re lying, I swear I will beat you. Now… what is your name?”
“Okay, Danny. So you said you’re straight?”
“Yeah, I mean… mostly.”
“Where are you from?”
“Did you come to California to suck cocks?”
“No, for business.”
“So you’re not a professional whore?”
“An amateur whore, then. How tall are you?”
“And you’re pretty heavy. How much you weigh?”
I didn’t want to answer, but I was swept up in the clipped rhythm of the exchange. “Two-ten or so.”
“Two hundred and ten pounds? And there are women who will fuck you?”
“You must have a nice personality. Or you’re a champion pussy-eater. Why are you here today?”
“I want you to piss on me.”
“Yeah, and what else?”
“I want to drink your piss.”
“You ever drink a man’s piss before?”
“Um, çapa escort just my own. And my ex-girlfriend’s.”
“Ex girlfriend? Was she into it?”
“No. Not really.”
“Ever sucked a cock before, Danny?”
“Uh, yeah… a couple. I met this one guy on Grindr one time. And there was a guy at my gym I had a… thing with.”
“You like sucking cock?”
I could feel myself blushing. “Yeah.”
“Ever get fucked up the ass?”
“Not by a guy.”
“Different ex-girlfriend. And, um, with toys on my own.”
“You like it?”
And thus began my interrogation. The last thing I was expecting was to be asked so many questions — it was somewhere in between a cross-examination and a therapy session. As Ford doubled back and asked and re-asked some questions (“how can you call yourself straight?”) I could tell he was trying to make me feel as exposed emotionally as I was physically. And to show he was the dominant one by finding little soft shameful spots and picking at them like scabs (“why are you so fat?”). It went on and on — for more than a half-hour, I could tell by the clock by the TV. While he questioned me, he went through a couple bottles of gatorade. At one point he had me bend over, and my cuffed hands struggled to pull apart my asscheeks as he asked me questions about my asshole, his camera holding steady on it.
Eventually, his questions started taking a different tone, asking me about specific sexual acts. Some of the things were gross (“would you let somebody shit in your mouth?”) but a lot of them seemed designed to turn me on (“and yet you want her to piss in your mouth?”), and after a few minutes of this, I had a raging hard-on.
Finally Ford broke off, looking at it. “I see you’re horny now.” He walked around behind me and undid the handcuffs.
“Sit down on the edge of the table, and spread your legs.” I did so, my open thighs facing the tripod. Ford went over to the desk, grabbed a bottle of liquid lube. He flipped it open and squeezed some out on my cock and a bit on my belly. He set it down and went over to tilt the tripod camera down and the resumed filming me with the one he was holding.
“Okay, you can jerk off now. But do it slowly — and don’t come ’til I say you can.”
I looked up at him, and then at the other camera. I was about to say something, and then I realized I wanted to jerk off now. Really badly. I was intensely horny, and surprisingly turned on when he gave me orders.
I reached down with my right hand and started stroking my cock, going slowly, as Ford had told me to. It felt exquisite! I could feel so much pressure that had been building up during the interrogation releasing. Almost drunk with pleasure, I leaned back, supporting myself with my left hand on the surface of the table behind me. I half-closed my eyes, let my head fall back, and delicately pleasured myself. Ford stood and filmed me for a couple minutes, his handheld camera zooming in to get close-ups of my cock and my face. That turned me on even more, and, mindful of his warning, a couple times I had to pause for a moment to make sure I didn’t get to he point of no return. Without realizing it, I was playing to he camera, too, at one point rubbing my balls to let myself cool off; at another pulling back on the base of my cock to show it off at its most engorged. Then back to slow, gentle strokes.
Ford moved over to the desk, and pressed a couple keys on the laptop there. “Right now on the live stream we have thirty-seven viewers. What do you think of that?”
I almost came right then. And simultaneously felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach. “Live stream?” I gasped.
“Don’t talk. Just keep masturbating.” The sudden realization that the cameras were live — that somewhere people were watching me jerk off was both thrilling and terrifying. But after the burst of panic, I tamped it down, concentrating on the rush I was feeling, and fell back into my rhythm.
Ford went to the kitchenette and came back with a large stainless steel bowl, setting it on the floor between my legs.
“When you’re ready, hit that,” he said. “But don’t speed up when you get close. In fact, go slower now. And slower.”
My hand kept moving up and down my turgid cock. Gliding steadily, but as slow as I could bear it. There was a building burst of fireworks in me, and it was a struggle to not speed up to bring on the climax. But I kept nudging it along — slowly, slowly.
And then I had to lean forward, and point my cock downward as my orgasm ripped through me. Three quick bursts of creamy semen shot out and hit the rim of the bowl. I kept stroking, and more oozed out now drooling down in a thing string. After a few more strokes, I made a final milking squeeze from the base of my cock upwards, letting one more dollop drip out.
I didn’t quite realize I was smiling as I looked up at Ford. “Okay, whore, don’t get too full of yourself. Everybody can come, y’know. Now grab the bowl, and get on your knees on the spot.”
Still feeling pleasantly unsteady, I pushed myself up off the fındıkzade escort table, got up and kneeled on the X, facing the camera as I set down the come-spattered bowl.
“Turn ninety degrees to your left,” instructed Ford as he stepped toward me. I rotated so my profile was to the tripod camera. He looked through its viewfinder, making sure it was aimed correctly. Then he stepped in front of me.
“Okay whore, now you’re gonna get what you came for. You have no idea how bad I have to piss. But remember: you’re working here — you already had your chance to get off. So your number one job is to catch every drop of piss, right? I don’t want any piss getting on the floor. Cup your hands together.”
Ford stood about five inches taller than me, so as he stood in front of me his cock was almost exactly even with my mouth. I raised my hands, cupping them together into a bowl just below his cock. His penis — the one I had unknowingly liked so much in that video — was unaccountably pretty. I don’t really understand why some cocks look so instinctively nice, and others less so. But Ford’s, even in its flaccid state, was pleasingly thick with a plump, completely symmetrical circumcised head. It just seemed intuitively obvious that this was something you’d want to touch, to lick, to put in your mouth.
I didn’t have much time to think about the aesthetics of his cock, as Ford was gripping it and pointing it at my upraised hands. Without further warning, he started pissing, half-filling the bowl before cutting off his flow. I held my hands tightly together, trying to make sure that none dripped out.
“Okay,” he said. “You can wash your face with that.”
I raised up my eyes to look at him, but complied without doing anything else. I raised my hands and brushed the piss over my face, feeling its warmth across my cheeks and forehead. And then I could feel it dribbling to my shoulders and chest, some dribbling into the bowl below me. I returned my hands to their cupped and raised position.
He nodded. “That’s good.” Then he pissed into my hands again, filling them up a little more this time. “This one you can drink. But don’t swallow until I tell you.”
Without hesitating, I lowered my hands to my mouth, and, tilting my head forward, carefully slurped his urine into my mouth, holding it in my cheeks.
“That’s good — slosh it around a little.” I did so, pushing it back and forth across my tongue. He nodded at me, and I swallowed it, getting the full measure of its taste as it ran down the back of my tongue. It was strong and bitter — harsh, but not totally unpleasant, although there was a strong aftertaste.
“This is the point where you might think I’d ask you how it tastes. But you know what? I don’t care how it tastes. I just want you to drink it.” He leaned down and picked up the stainless steel bowl. He pissed out another small-ish burst into it. “And now you can drink this, and lick up all your spunk, too.”
Most of my come had dribbled down to the bottom of the bowl, and as I took the bowl from him I sloshed it around a few times, watching the milky white blobs suspended in the faintly yellowish liquid. Then I tipped it toward my open mouth, swallowing it in a couple slow gulps, feeling the contrasts of the thick texture of the jism and the hot salty liquid. Then I rotated the bowl to move the remaining come-spatters closer to my mouth. I leaned in closer, licking up all the remaining traces, leaving the bowl perfectly clean. I leveled it and looked up at Ford, licking my lips.
“Don’t get cocky, whore. I’ve hardly started pissing yet.” He picked up the handcuffs and again went behind me. I moved my arms to my back so he could cuff me again. He returned in front of me with the bowl. “Now we’ll see you drink.”
Aiming into the bowl, he let loose a much longer stream, filling the bowl with at least twelve ounces. With that much piss in front of me, I could smell it more now, and the sharp odor aroused me. After he stemmed his flow, he tilted the bowl forward and began pouring it into my mouth.
There wasn’t time to do anything more than gulp as rapidly as possible. Given the amount he had pissed, it was basically like shotgunning a can of beer and I was gasping for breath as I swallowed the last of it. Involuntarily, I let out a little belch at the end, and that earned me another hard slap across the cheek.
“Don’t be so fuckin’ coarse,” Ford said as I winced at the stinging sensation. “There’s a lot more for you yet — and now I think you’re ready for the direct injection.”
He set down the bowl and stepped right in front of me. I knew what was coming — suddenly I felt as if I were in the video I had been watching the night before. I opened my mouth and tilted my head back just as he began pissing. He wasn’t holding back now, and he let loose at least as much as he had just pissed into the bowl, and I drank as quickly as I could, struggling to keep up. As he pissed, he leaned forward, resting the tip of his cock on my outstretched tongue, pissing straight into the back of my throat. Although I was nearly overwhelmed in trying to keep any of his urine from spilling, I tried to show my dedication by tensing my tongue to excite the sensitive underside of his cockhead. Eventually, his flow stopped, and I thought I could celebrate taking it all.
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