Puttinout1 – check him out on Squirt.org!
The alarm was blaring. My head was pounding. 6:30 already? Fuck Mondays. I had to be at work downtown at 8 am – an hour away – but I spent last night sucking cock and getting plowed at the Adult Book Store until 2 am. I rolled out of bed, pulled on some clothes, got my coffee and a breakfast bar. Where is the fucking Ibuprofen? Grabbing my laptop and phone, I jumped in the car.
Crap! I need gas before going to work. I pulled into the corner gas station just behind a black Dodge Ram with a lift kit – not ostentatious, maybe 4 inch. The truck pulled forward to the lead pump, barely leaving room for me to pull in behind far enough for the hose to reach my tank. Hell, couldn’t you have pulled in another foot?
Then he stepped down from the truck. Holy fuck! Best guess: 6’3” – black cross-trainers, best guess: 12.5 – black jeans, best guess: 29W 34L – black t-shirt, too small (but I’m not complaining), best guess: S long body but would have comfortably filled out a large – black shield-embossed Ariat gimme cap, worn backwards. Wiry. Shredded. No hint of any belly overhang. Ass, thighs and calves filled out his black, cowboy cut jeans.
Triceps slightly over-developed, biceps bulging under the t-shirt sleeves, best guess: 16” upper arms, and his forearms overlaid with dark, dense fur. Best guess: 185 pounds. His full, dark beard was nicely trimmed with an occasional white hair showing through. Face showing ever so slight signs of weathering. Best guess: 38.
I started pumping gas and worked hard at not staring. Okay, that ship had sailed. I worked hard at not getting caught staring. His shirt was half-tucked. Not like he was trying too hard, more like he had pulled on his jeans, buttoning and zipping them with no thought about his shirttail. He was flawlessly – but effortlessly – put together. Comfortable in his own skin, without any gender fluidity. A man. Don’t call him cisgendered. Not that he would get in your face if you did, it’s just that he’s a man.
Nothing else – that’s just the way it is. As he completed his fill-up, I noticed the corners of his mouth turn upward in a slight smile. He wasn’t looking at me, but I was suddenly self-conscious. Had he caught me enjoying the eye-candy or just had an amusing thought? He climbed into his truck and started to drive away. Damn! He was hot. I was definitely stirring down there. But he didn’t leave the station.
Instead, he parked in front of the convenience store. Well, he was considerate and left the pump open when he went inside. Except he didn’t go inside. This was an older station, with the restrooms on the outside of the building and he went straight for the men’s room. My tank was filled, and I wasn’t nearly as considerate. I left my car at the pump because I had a “sudden urge” to go to the bathroom, as well.
I pushed on the door, and it opened. One room, with a pisser and a crapper, but no partitions. Oh, and the door had a deadbolt which this guy obviously had not locked. He was pissing like a horse at the urinal. As he finished, I locked the door. Shit. That was a loud click. “Subtle,” as he shook the last drops from his cock and turned around, “but, yeah, I was hoping you were a cocksucker. I don’t have much time, though.” He was semi-hard, cut, straight, looked like it would be thick but not beer-can thick.
A “husband-sized” package. Nuts hanging loosely but not necessarily low-hangers. Interestingly, he did trim down there, so his package was nicely framed with his dense but fairly short pubic triangle. I knelt in front of him, and took him into my mouth, gently massaging the underside of his shaft with my tongue. I could feel him stiffening, his fully exposed head starting to explore my throat.
“I want you to do the work,” he said, “I pound the hell out of pussy, but I like a faggot to earn his reward. It will be worth it, I promise.” I pulled back, then went down again, balls deep. In and out, in and out, until I left his cock entirely and started licking his balls.
I could feel his nutsack start to tighten, drawing his family jewels up closer to his groin. Was it just a reaction to the feel of my tongue, or was he getting close to shooting? Moving back to his cock, I worked his piss slit, traced the outline of his head, moved my lips over the head and started to take his pole back down my throat. I had worked the shaft for about three minutes when he started to moan and I could feel his nuts being drawn up across my chin. “Fuck, I don’t know what it is about male cocksuckers, but you sure do know how to please a man.” I took that as a compliment.
“It makes it hard to look at you as just a faggot.” Not sure how to take that one … “but it also makes me glad you are one,” he continued with a chuckle. His breathing became heavier and more rapid. “Damn, you are earning breakfast.” A sharp exhale followed by a deep breath and another sharp exhale. He grabbed the back of my head and rammed into my throat, pulled out and rammed it again. Four more thrusts, then … “Here it comes, queer. You’d better not let any of my seed drop to the floor or you will be licking it up.” He pulled out until just the head was inside my lips and started pumping.
I made sure I had a tight seal. He filled my mouth so full I had to swallow while he continued to pump. “Shit,” he said as the last drop of his jizz was cleaned off by my tongue and I released his cock.
“Thanks, man. Hope that was as good for you as it was for me. I’m divorced and work all the time, so I don’t get much sex. I do like to fuck, and the way you arched your back and presented your ass while sucking says you might like to, as well.”
“My daughter says I’m predictable – I prefer consistent – but whatever – I fill up every Monday morning here at exactly 7 am. I think I am going to move that time up to 6:45, in case that matters to you.”
“Name’s Jacob, by the way. Friends call me Jake, and I consider a cocksucker a friend.” With that he left the restroom.
I think I just became predictable. Or dependable. Or consistent. Or something like that. Now I just have to figure out what to tell my boss about being late. “Duty-bound, as a cocksucker, to service a man in need,” probably wouldn’t be excused as “public service” at my conservative company.
