Cocky str8 broski (Patreon)

Author’s note: All my characters are consenting adults (18+). All sexual acts depicted are consensual between the adult characters.

I hope you enjoy some real confessions sometimes…

This happened last year. I opened my mouth like he told me to.

A minute after he walked into my place I was already on my knees serving that ugly straight cock.

“Open it. Take that shit.” He said it low, almost bored, like Batman if Batman was a 25-year-old gym-rat bro who’d never let a gay mouth near his dick. “Open that shit.”

No please. No smile. Just the order and those pale blue eyes looking down at me like I was a problem he was about to solve with his cock.

We’d met online about an hour earlier. He was looking for some easy blowjob with face fuck from someone who can take it. He decided fast. He wanted to see if a gay cocksucker could actually take his monster. First time a guy was going to suck him. 

He showed up in a black hoodie that said THE FUTURE IS PAST across the chest with that ugly stylized A35TH3TIC graphic, black beanie pulled low, blue eyes and that baby face showing. No beard. Blonde hair tucked under the cap. Stocky gym body, not tall. The kind of face that looks almost pretty until he opens his mouth and the cocky-bro attitude comes out. His voice stayed in that same low register the whole time. He never raised it once.

When he pulled it out I understood why he’d never let anyone gay near it.

It was ugly. Uncut. Crooked. Not porn-pretty. Not even regular-guy pretty. Thick from the base, veins running crooked and raised under the skin like they were trying to escape. The head was fat, still half-covered by skin, a little misshapen, already looking ready to drip. The kind of cock built to wreck a throat instead of look good in photos. Heavy. When he wrapped his own hand around the base you could still see how much was left. It hung there flushed dark pink, a little drool already at the slit.

Monstrous in the honest way: too much meat, too much weight, the kind of dick that makes your jaw ache just looking at it.

I got on my knees on the wooden floor. Messy room. Yellow lamp throwing cheap light. Cables everywhere. Laptop open on the couch. His sneakers kicked off to the side. He stood over me with one hand already on the back of my head like he owned the angle.

“Show me your skills.” he demanded.

I licked first. Taste was clean but strong, skin slightly salty, heat coming off it immediately. I ran my tongue up the underside where the biggest vein sat crooked. He didn’t make a sound. Just watched. Then I opened wider and took the head. It filled my mouth fast. Fat. The ridge sat heavy on my tongue. I sucked, let spit run, used my hand on the shaft because there was no way the whole thing was going in without work.

He pushed.

Not gentle. Just forward pressure and that same low voice. “Deeper.”

I took more. My lips stretched around the thickness. The veins dragged across my tongue. I felt the weight of it sitting in my mouth, the way the head flared when I tried to go further. He kept his hand on my head, not slamming yet, just holding me there so I couldn’t pull off when it got uncomfortable. Spit started dripping down my chin onto his hairy thighs.

Then he started counting. Quiet. Almost under his breath. Like he was timing a set at the gym.

“One… two… three…”

I pushed down. The head hit the back of my throat and I opened for it. No gag at first. Years of practice. I swallowed around it, felt my throat close and then give, the fat head sliding past. My nose pressed into his hoodie. I could smell him — skin, a little sweat, detergent on the cotton.

He kept counting.

I stayed down. Throat full. Jaw starting to burn from how wide I had to keep it. That ugly thickness stretching everything. My eyes watered but I didn’t pull off. He wanted to see how long I could take it. I gave him the seconds. I lasted twenty.

When I finally came up for air there was a thick string of spit connecting my lip to the head of his cock. It hung there, shiny. He looked at it like it was expected.

“Again.”

He didn’t let me stay on my knees. He grabbed me by the arm, dragged me to the sofa, shoved me onto my back and hung my head off the edge.

He had me flat on my back on the sofa with my head hanging completely off the edge, throat pointed straight up, face fully exposed and already a dripping mess. He stepped in close, those big sagging balls hanging heavy and low right over my eyes, and dropped that thick veiny uncut monster straight down my open throat until my lips stretched around the base. Instant throat slime exploded out of me — thick ropes of spit bubbling from the corners of my mouth, running down my cheeks and dripping off my chin onto the floor while more of it coated his shaft and those low-hanging balls. His voice came from above, that same low Batman growl, bored and commanding:

“Take it. Don’t you fucking pull off.”

I kept my eyes on his arrogant mean baby face the whole time he used my hanging throat, the fat covered head punching the back of it over and over while his heavy balls rested against my forehead. Every gag only made more slime pour out, shiny strings connecting my lips to his cock and those big balls, my whole face soaked and submitted under that cocky 25-year-old straight bro who never once sped up or showed mercy. He just kept feeding it to me, counting the seconds I could take that ugly monster without tapping, those big drooping balls slapping softly against my skin every time he pushed all the way in.

He fucked my face like that for a while. Not frantic. Controlled. The way a guy fucks when he knows he’s got the bigger dick in the room and he’s just confirming it. Every time I thought I needed air he’d give me half a second and then put it back in. Spit everywhere. Down my chin, on his legs, on his boxers, on the floor. The cock never got prettier. It just got wetter and darker, more crooked, veins standing out harder, the head looking even fatter when it pulled out shiny.

Then his breathing changed.

He pulled me back onto my knees.

He pulled out, slapped the wet head against my tongue a couple times, then shoved back in and stayed. I felt it swell.

“You want some cum?” he asked, arrogant.

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Mouth. Face. Everywhere.” I was desperate for his load.

He stroked fast and came like the rude bro he is — thick, a big load, splashy, heavy ropes, more than I expected from a 25-year-old who claimed he’d never done this. I guess it had been sitting repressed in his head and his balls. It filled my mouth and hit my face fast. I swallowed what I could. The rest spilled out the corners and ran down my chin. He kept the head in my mouth while he finished, small mean thrusts, milking the last of it onto my tongue.

When he finally pulled out there was a fat string of cum connecting the slit to my lower lip. More of it was already dripping down my face, white and thick. He looked at the mess he’d made like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He tucked himself away without saying thank you. Just that same low voice.

“Not bad.”

That was it.

I stayed on my knees a second longer, tasting him, feeling how stretched my throat still was, looking at the ugly monstrous cock he’d just put away. Veiny. Too thick. The kind of dick that doesn’t care if it looks good because it already knows what it can do to a mouth.

I was obsessed with this one.

The cocky bro attitude. The Batman voice. The way he counted the seconds like my throat was a stopwatch. The amount of cum he dumped on my face and in my mouth. The fact that he’d never let a gay guy suck him before and still treated my mouth like it existed for his cock.

I already want him back. I want that same low “open that shit” and that same ugly heavy dick stretching my throat again until he decides he’s done. I want to see how many seconds I can take next time before he paints my face again.

He’s 25, cocky, short, straight, rude as fuck, and he just found out what a real cocksucker can do with a monster like his. I’m praying for the comeback.