And Now He's In Charge

Maybe it's just the humiliation. Him being unattractive. Me being compelled, because **** really doesn't feel like the right word when I'm this achingly wet.

Maybe it's the humiliation of being subjected to this, here in the relative privacy but still close enough to a busy street in the downtown of this busy enough city. The early morning rush of people moving along and the two of us so close to it that we just might be caught because really there is no privacy here.

And no one would think well of me, when they found out that I did this willingly. That I stripped down and offered to let this man do anything to me. That I was aching and begging for it, willing to do it out loud if he so much as asked me.

Maybe it's the humiliation of knowing that I am what he calls me.

Slut. Whore.

Because I'm sucking the cock of a guy I just met for the sheer joy of sucking his cock. Because I'm doing it for a pittance of pennies and I'm not going to regret it at all.

Slut. Whore.

Yeah, that's what I am and he knows it.

I moan when he pushes me back, my head going dizzy from having him **** me like that. Turns out I like things a little rough and turns out even a man like this can turn me on because when he slides me off his lap I whimper and mewl at the loss of that bulge pressing against the panty clad mound of my sex.

He tugs me down, so that I can watch. He's not pinching my nipple anymore now that hand is tugging his zipper down and unlatching his belt. All with jerky movements as he lifts his ass to shove his jeans down and thrusts down a raggedy pair of tighty whities afterward.

And then I see him.

God there is so much hair. That's the first thing that I think. The man is unkempt, not unclean exactly but seeing him all natural with a considerable amount of hair makes me realise that every cock that I've seen to this point has been neatly trimmed and maintained.

By contrast he looks like he is just too much. His hair wildly unkempt and going in a dozen different directions at once and there is so much of it that I don't know how I'll handle it or what I'll do about it.

Then again, I won't have much of a say in things.

So that's my first thought, what's my second? Surprisingly enough it's not regret or second thoughts. No my second thought is entirely around the fact that I hit the nail on the head when I imagined his cock. Well, at least I got a good whack on that nail even if I didn't drive it all the way in.

Let me be clear, he is by no means small in length. Long enough that he'll still tickle the back of my throat. Not the longest I've ever seen, and god I promise I'll take a moment in the future to unpack how fucking weird it is that I actually have enough experience to have a catalog to contrast with, but he is by far the thickest.

His cock, in a lot of ways, is a lot like him. It's fat and squat.

So thick that I have to wonder at the logistics of it and how I'm going to manage to spread my jaw wide enough to actually manage to get it in me. Because I seem positively delicate in comparison to this thick beast of a heavy dick.

And the head of him is thicker than the shaft and the uncut nature of it is still throbbing, pulsing eager for me to put my young and slutty little mouth to good work.

Which in his case means a simple order.

"Open up girlie," he says, "I'm about to have some fun."

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