4 comments/ 7974 views/ 6 favorites If I Had the Balls By: 0311ninja To preface: I am straight; not kinda straight, not bi-curious, not attracted to the male physique in even the slightest - I am straight. I have a wonderful, beautiful girlfriend who satiates my every sexual craving; however, I have fantasized for many years lately about being dominated by a man. Being a Marine infantryman and a combat veteran, having worked enforcement and as a government contractor, I have always held a very dominant mentality which can grow old and stale; at times, I want to be the submissive, I want to be taken advantage of, I want to be ordered to do something that doesn't necessarily pique my interest. So, what if I succumbed to those carnal desires? In the privacy of my home, I troll the internet for tales of a straight male being seduced or blackmailed or hypnotized into situations he wouldn't otherwise seek out. I pleasure myself to videos "forcing" men to become "cock craving sluts" and "cum addicted bimbos". I peruse websites and scroll through never-ending lists of "casual encounters," seeking something that will arouse my interests and maybe cause me to stray from the straight and narrow. Finally, I chance upon one ad which nags at my subconscious, a man seeking a skinny, tattooed "boy" to suck him off. The "boy" needs to be submissive, requiring little to no experience, be willing to take orders without back-talk, no kissing or hugging or cuddling, simply mouth to cock until he decides how and where to finish. Could I respond? If I did, would I be able to follow through? Or would I wimp out at the last moment? I walked away from my computer erect and filled with anxiety. I wouldn't go through with it, would I? If I let this fall through, would I ever grow that nerve or would I simply saunter through the rest of my life in quiet regret of never having taken the step to fulfill my fantasy? Hours were spent busying myself with menial tasks around the house, but my aching cock pressing firmly against the fabric of my jeans and the developing wet spot betrayed to where my wandering mind kept returning. Finally, I gave in. I sat down in front of my computer, fingers trembling, and typed out a response complete with photo. "Dear sir, Attached is a photo of myself. I have never been with nor done anything remotely like this. I am straight, 150 lbs., 5'10". I have a girlfriend whom, due to distance, I am only able to see once a week or once every two weeks. I have fantasized about doing something like this with a dominant man for years. I am not necessarily submissive, but I want/need to submit. I cannot host; however, would be more than willing to meet up wherever you would like, should I meet your requirements. Humbly, T." I pressed send. I sat dumbfounded knowing I had actually responded, and, not only responded, but sent a photo of myself to some stranger in my city offering to take his cock in my waiting mouth until he blew his load down my throat ... or on my face ... or on my body ... in my hair? What had I done? My phone vibrated once. My computer dinged. In the top corner of my screen the icon of a received e-mail flashed. He had responded. "T, Meet me at 6326 W. Roosevelt Dr. in one hour. The door will be unlocked, come in, grab a beer from the 'fridge, and sit down on the floor in the living room." Grab a beer and sit on the floor? Maybe he wants to meet first and see if we are compatible. Not really what I had pictured in my mind. I still have an hour to decide if I can really do this. Forty five minutes later I was sitting in my truck, palms sweating, driving down the road alternating between speeding and driving obnoxiously slow, following the directions my phone so blandly described considering the momentous decision I was driving toward, as the tumult of my mind played havoc with my emotions. I came to a stop in front of one of those cookie cutter suburban homes. Not lavish, but likewise not what I would picture to be the home of a serial killer. I sat in my truck listening the engine idle as I worked to settle my pounding heart. I wasn't hard ... maybe, I really didn't want this. If he's inside, he would know I had arrived. If I left right now... that would be rude to not even explain why I couldn't go through with the proposition, right? I walked up to the front door, placed my hand on the door knob and, as he said, the door was unlocked. I walked in, shut the door and sought the kitchen. At this point, a beer sounded like the perfect pairing to the situation I had just put myself in. Searching the refrigerator, I found a nice cold beer, popped the top and was slurping down its courage before I had even shut the door. I meandered through the house until I found the living room, and, as directed, took seat on the floor in front of a nice leather recliner. Almost halfway though the beer before he walked into the living room shirtless, wiping grease off his hands with a dirty rag. I would guess him in his late-30s, early-40s, an easy 6 foot, and probably sitting around a well taken care of 240 lbs. This man was by no means a body builder but he was obviously strong. "I told you to grab a beer, not drink it. I've been working my ass off under my car and was looking for a nice beer while you blew me. Simple instructions. Pay attention next time." "I'm sorry, sir, want me to go get you one?" I asked dumbly. "Don't worry about, I'll get it myself." He said annoyed, "Take your shirt off and stay there." He came back with beer in hand and walked directly toward me. By the time I realized that he was going to sit in the recliner, it was too late; he stepped over my head easily and sat down. "Stand up and spin around, lemme see what you look like in person." I stood up and awkwardly turned around for him and sat back down. "You'll do. Let's get to it." He said, as he began to unbuckle his pants. The butterflies in my stomach must have flown into a tornado, as every emotional and logical fiber of my being began to scream at me to leave. There are lines that should not be crossed and I was a foot away from one of them. "I don't-," was all I could get out before his meaty palm reached the back of my head and started forcefully suggesting forward movement of my neck putting my lips within inches of a well-endowed, rock hard phallus. I could smell the musk, the man. I was within inches of feeling his head resting on the back of my throat, his shaft sliding along my tongue. Could I have fought him? Yes. Would he have probably released me? Yes, I never got the impression he would rape me. But did I want to do it? Did I want to wrap my lips around that throbbing member jutting from his pants? Did I want to swirl my tongue around the tip and experience what it was like for so many women who have done the same to me? Did I really want to know what it felt like to submit myself physically to another human beings, another man's carnal desires? Yes. If I Had the Balls Pt. 02 Fuck it. Yielding to the constant pressure from his hand on the back of hand my head, the soft hardness of his tip laid upon my lips glossing them with the already present drop of precum. My tongue slipped past the confines of my mouth tasting the first ever drops of man. Sliding my tongue underneath, I gave silent permission for his body to enter mine for the first time ever allowing another man's masculinity to enter my hesitant mouth. I pulled my head back, not from disgust nor trepidation for this act, but to allow my lips to explore what my eyes could see. He assented his manual pressure on my head while maintaining constant contact letting me subconsciously know of his charge over me. My lips and tongue explored every inch of his shaft, feeling the texture and taste of the skin wrapped tightly over the veins of his erection. I licked and kissed and wetted every portion of him, allowing myself to give in to the subservience of the situation. I'd already crossed the line. I had already jumped both feet forward into something that I never thought I would do, why not explore it? There was no turning back at this point. My chin brushed his weighted sack as I explored down the length of his shaft. His precum glazed every so often across my face as his head bobbed across my forehead and cheek and nose. As my mouth explored the top, his lubrication splayed its way across my throat and chest. I pulled back, sitting on my laurels evaluating the next step of my quasi-submission; I stared at the tip of the iceberg, the point of no return, the tip of his hard, throbbing, bobbing cock while feeling his growing pressure on the back of my head urging me, telling me to resume and I succumbed. I opened my mouth and allowed the fullness of another man to be taken in. I let him slip past my lips, past my teeth, and slide along my tongue as far back as I could take him (which wasn't far). I swirled my tongue around the head as much as I could; I allowed the warmth of my mouth and the building of my unexpected salivation to wet and lubricate and mix with his excretions. I plied every trick that I have ever had worked on me as I bobbed and tasted another man. He controlled the pace. He controlled how slowly or how quickly he entered my throat. I was erect. I was hard. I had a hard, granite phallus attempting to force its way through my jeans. I couldn't believe what I was doing. The taboo nature of not only having this stranger's cock working its way in and out of my throat while I submissively kneeled their between his legs, but I was rock hard. Another man was using my face to get off and here I was excited yet constrained by my own clothing unable to pleasure myself. The situation was intoxicatingly perfect in its own mind-blowingly frustrating way. Slowly, yet forcefully his cock was exploring the depths of my mouth, while I stared up into his face and consciously allowed him to use me. With both hands placed firmly on the back of my head, he began force himself further and further down my steadily adjusting throat. Tears began to form in my eyes, not from pain nor embarrassment, simply from this henceforth inexperienced sensation. I could taste the sweet saltiness of his precum preparing the back of my tongue and throat for more of him to enter me. Fuck, I was horny. I reached down to play with myself and he stopped with his cock buried deep in my throat. "You came here for me," he said, "you can take care of yourself after you leave. If your hands are bored, I have two full balls you can fondle." "Mmph." I mumbled through my first mouthful of dick and tearing eyes. I reached up with one hand and began to caress and massage his cum-filled balls as they lay mere inches from of my chin whilst he continued to use my mouth to massage his hard shaft. He pulled everything from my mouth accept the head. I slithered and twirled my tongue around every inch left. I sucked and tasted every drop of precum as my fingers worked to massage as much of it into my mouth as I could. And then he started again, more forcefully and quicker this time, using my throat to jack him off. "You know, you really aren't all that good at this, but I think if you were to come over a few more times and practice, you might become semi-decent," he said. What the fuck? I was trying my hardest, I was using every trick I could think of, I was trying to mimic every oral movement I had ever enjoy in the past and here he is telling me I'm not that good?! My jaw was aching and tears began to run freely as I began to force him down my throat. I wanted every inch of his throbbing member down my throat. I would show him! I would show him that I could suck a dick. 'Not that good' my ass. This motherfucker was going to blow every last drop of cum he had saved up if I had anything to say about it. I renewed my vigorous massage of his weighted balls, which he apparently liked because it became a competition almost on who could force me down further and faster on his cock. His breathing increased. My gagging increased. His pace increased. My tears flowed freely. He stood up from his chair without slowing the pace of my throat being berated by his piston. I swallowed and salivated and sucked and massaged his shaft with my tongue and then he changed position of his hands placing one on my forehead as he pulled himself from me with the tip barely grazing my lips and outstretched tongue. His other hand began to furiously work himself to climax. This man was about to finish ... I was about to take his load in my mouth. Craziest of all: I was kneeling in front of him excited both anatomically and emotionally because I got him to this point. What was wrong with me? The first shot hit me just above the mouth, but the rest landed on my awaiting tongue and chin and I slurped it all up when he finally finished and plopped back into his chair. I swallowed his cum. Kneeling there on the floor in front of this mostly naked man whose name I didn't even know, I swallowed his cum. "I could use another beer." Without saying a word as I processed everything, every minute detail of what had just transpired, I got up and got him a beer. I came back and handed him the opened beer "If you want more practice, which you desperately need, there is a notepad beside the door, leave your number and I might call you over sometime. Drive safe." That's it? I just let this guy fuck my face ... and that's it? I grabbed my shirt, wiping whatever cum was left from my face and began my walk toward the front door. Did I enjoy that? My painfully hard cock says yes, but I feel used at the same time which has my heart pounding in my chest. I wrote my number down on the paper just in case and climbed into my truck, my mind reeling with confusion and fear and anxiety and excitement.