You didn’t expect this. It’s someone else’s party, someone else’s friends. You’re pretty much a stranger here. You came upstairs because you’re not nearly drunk enough to have fun yet and it’s *loud* down there.
The bathroom is locked, the hallway has an intense couple fighting and a nebbish guy trying to make them stop, and here’s the main bedroom all empty and quiet. You slip inside and half-shut the door. Someone’s already tried out the bed, it’s all wrinkled. You sit down gingerly, just grateful for a moment away from everyone. And you see it. Poking out of the trash.
Can’t be. That’s – it ought to be gross, right? Or funny. All pale and translucently wrinkled, held up only by the thick rolled ring drooping over the side of the wastebasket. You look around the room, as though you didn’t know it was empty. Voices in the hallway – you shouldn’t, you know you shouldn’t. What if someone sees you? But you get up and close the bedroom door the rest of the way, and nudge a chair in front of it.
Maybe someone will think there’s a couple in here having sex. You’re so turned on already, it’s very nearly true. You step over to the trash, kneel down. The bed half-hides you this way; even better.
It could be awful. It could be covered in germs, full of disease. You don’t care. You pick it up gingerly by the ring, stare at it. There, in the tip, pulling the condom down like a plum-bob, a little pool of thick white cum. Like mucous mixed with milk. You carefully sniff at the outside of the condom, partly because you’re curious and partly because you’re putting off what you already know you’re going to do.
The drying fluids smell like bread and the ocean, and you think of seagulls. It’s not really funny, the adrenaline is singing in your ears and you can barely think with the terror of being seen as you give in and slide a finger down into the condom, touch the juice inside.
It’s cold and a little slimy; you slip your finger out, bring it to your nose and sniff. It smells like secrets; like the inside of a man. You inhale, trying to get a picture. All you can see are testicles and cock bobbing in and out of your mouth. You flick your tongue out, just a little taste, and the flavor of it shorts out your brain; salt and swimming pools and musky sweat in your mouth, on the tip of your tongue.
You suck on your finger, dip it back for more. Tip the condom up and let the cold cum slide down into your mouth, down your throat. You almost gag. It’s the panic, the terror of being seen like this on your knees with some stranger’s cum on your lips and a condom dangling in the air over your face. You drop it into the trash, stand up so fast your vision goes black for a sec. You’re breathing too fast and you head for the door, anxious to get out of this room, to not be caught here. As though your secret could stain the air with afterimages.
You move the chair, get out into the hallway and the arguing couple is still there. You’re down the hall when you remember to wipe your hands over your face, make sure nothing is showing. Nothing is damp, so you’re okay, but now you’re down the stairs and the party is just as loud as before except you can still taste his cum in your mouth. Like electricity. You look around from inside a shell, wondering: who do I have inside me? Which one of these guys did I swallow just now?
If you enjoyed reading that story, if the guy at that party could be you, you’re not alone. Every day I get calls from otherwise straight guys who can’t stop thinking about sucking cock and swallowing cum. They are lured by the erotic humiliation of doing something so seemingly taboo- especially of a gorgeous, dominant Mistress is watching you.