Summary: Straight married man submits to a young stranger at airport.
Note: This will be a multi-chaptered tale of one man's journey from straight as an arrow, to submissive, eager cocksucker and much more.
Note 2: Thanks to goamz86, Robert, and Mab7991 for editing this story.
I was pissed off. I had rushed my ass off to make my flight only to learn it had been delayed by an hour and a half.
Exhausted, I sat down and texted my wife:
I looked around and saw many others sitting around, seemingly as annoyed by the delay as I was. Realizing that I hadn't eaten since breakfast and it was now one-thirty, I went to a little bar and grill to have a beer and a meal. I grabbed a seat at the bar, as there were no tables available.
My wife texted back:
Just relax honey...grab a bite to eat.
I texted back:
Already at the bar getting ready to order. Text you later.
She texted back:
After ordering, a young guy, maybe twenty-one, asked, "Delayed?"
"That obvious?" I asked.
"You have that frazzled, rushed to get here, and now I have to fucking wait look," he answered.
"There is a look for that?" I joked.
He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of me. I was about to ask 'what the fuck?', as he turned the phone around and showed me the photo he had just taken.
"Fair enough," I laughed, the photo caught me indeed looking pretty frazzled.
"I'm Gary," he said, extending his hand.
"Chris," I offered back, shaking his hand, amazed at just how blue his eyes were, like the water in the Bahamas, which I had visited last year with my wife.
"You have rather soft hands," he said.
I shrugged, "A business man," still unable to stop looking into his eyes.
"You okay?" He asked.
"What? Oh, it is just that you have ridiculously blue eyes," I said.
"I get that all the time," he shrugged.
"I imagine so," I nodded, again looking into his exotic blue eyes.
"Why don't you buy me a drink?" He said, casually.
Not wanting to be rude, I agreed, "Sure, what are you drinking?"
"Rye and coke," he said, again his eyes boring into me.
I was not gay. I had never even considered a guy sexually attractive, yet something about his eyes had me drawn to him. If I was single, and he was a woman, I would have launched a full on frontal attack.
The bartender came and I ordered a drink for Gary and another one for me.
When the bartender returned with the drinks, Gary put his hand on my leg, gave it a squeeze and said, "Thanks Chris," before just as quickly moving his hand away
"You're welcome," I said, stunned by his sudden contact with my leg and the realization that he might be gay.
We chatted for ten minutes about sports, his school and my work, and I concluded his squeeze on my knee was just him being overly friendly. I would be lying if I denied that there was something unexplainable about him. I wasn't attracted to him, yet his eyes seemed to be causing strange feelings inside me.
He asked, "Buy me another drink?"
"Sure," I shrugged, finding it strange he didn't buy this round but figuring it was because he was just a young first year college student and probably didn't have a lot of money.
So I bought another round and when the bartender left with us our drinks, Gary's hand returned to my leg, but this time it didn't leave. "Thanks, Chris."
"N-n-no problem," I stammered, distracted by his hand on my leg and the sudden growth in my pants.
"What's wrong?" He asked.
I should have said the obvious, 'you're hand is on my leg', but, for some unexplainable reason, those were not the words that came out of my mouth. The words that did come out of my mouth sealed my fate forever, when I didn't protest his sexual advancement, "Oh nothing, I just still can't get past how exotic your eyes are."
A male stranger hits on me and instead of punching him in the face, I give him a compliment. What the hell was wrong with me? Also, why was my cock growing in my pants?
"Exotic as in beautiful?" He asked.
"I guess," I shrugged, knowing how gay it would sound to compliment his eyes with a feminine word like beautiful.
"You guess?" He scoffed, his hand moving up my leg ever so slowly.
"Yes, they're beautiful," I said, for some reason just wanting to please him.
"You're married, I see," he responded.
"Twenty-one years," I said, my tone implying it felt a lot longer.
"You must have a nasty itch," he said.
"What?" I asked confused.
"Well, they say that marriage gets stale after seven years, and you are triple that," he said.
"Oh, I love her it's just..." I began and stopped.
"It's just what?" He asked, his hand moving up a bit more.
"The sex isn't what it used to be," I admitted.
"No more head?" He asked knowingly.
"Only if she is really drunk," I admitted, wondering why I was revealing such intimate details of my pathetic love life to a gay stranger. I reflected on how, for twenty years, our sex life had been good, but over the last year or so it had declined to almost nothing.
"Sex once a month?" he asked.
"On a good month," I joked.
"Give me your wedding ring," he said.
"What?" I asked, surprised from the sudden shift in our conversation as well as the odd request.
"Now!" He said, suddenly authoritative. I looked into his blue eyes and felt compelled to obey.
Taking off my wedding ring, which I never do, I handed it to him without a word.
"Good boy," he said, his tone back to normal as he moved his hand and squeezed my stiff cock. I watched him put the ring in his pocket. Smiling, he seemed to flirt, "You may want to adjust that thing, it seems as if is feeling rather trapped."
Without hesitation, I adjusted my cock so it was comfortable....but still begging for attention. Stunned by the reality that he had just squeezed my cock, and how I wanted his hand back on my leg or, even better, on my cock.
Just then our food arrived and we ate in silence. My head was a mess. I had just given some stranger, a gay stranger, my wedding ring. A stranger had squeezed my cock making it as hard as steel and begging for more attention. Yet, I wasn't gay. I had never even considered doing anything gay before. Oh sure, I could tell when a man was good looking, but I never got hard, never fantasized about a guy and had definitely never masturbated about one. Yet, I ate in silence, waiting for him to talk to me again...like a girl waiting by the phone for the guy to call, I imagine...my cock never really going down.
Both of us done eating, he asked, "Want some dessert?"
"I probably have room," I said, always having a bit of a sweet tooth and completely naive to the real meaning of the question.
"Pay for the meals and meet me in the bathroom in the last open stall, just to the right when you exit the restaurant," he ordered, standing up and leaving before I could protest.
I went to speak, to say this was all a major misunderstanding, but of course by then I was alone...and I was no longer sure if it actually was a misunderstanding. I was definitely attracted to him, he definitely turned me on, and I was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Yet...I kept telling myself...I am not gay; I am married. I have two children. I would never cheat on Laura.
Yet, it no longer seemed black and white. Straight and gay were suddenly blurred lines and not the distinct definitions I had always perceived them to be.
I paid for both our meals and drinks, and continued to ponder my current situation. It would be rude to just leave him in the washroom, yet I didn't want him to think I was interested. I wasn't...was I? My cock was even harder now, it seemed, yet I still didn't see myself getting involved in a gay sex act. I decided to just go and clarify my position so as not to offend him.
I headed to the bathroom, adjusting my stiff cock again. There were a couple of guys in the washroom washing up and another at the urinals. I realized then that I would have to go into a confined stall with him to explain, yet even though I knew it was wrong, I took a deep breath and entered the second to the last stall.
"Close the door, Chris," he instructed.
I did, but whispered, "Gary, I think there has been a misunderstanding."
"I don't think so, Chris," he said, with the same confidence I have often used in sales presentations when I we knew we were going to get the deal.
"I'm not gay," I said.
"I'm not either," he said, "but I know when a straight guy is dying to cross the line and submit to his inner curiosity to suck cock, and you Chris, are the 'straight but curious' prototype."
"I don't think so," I replied, although after the past hour I wasn't all that sure anymore.
"You are in a marriage of convenience, you are right around your middle age crisis and even though you knew it was wrong, even though you knew what I was expecting when I ordered you here, you came," he continued.
My resolve weakening, I tried to explain my position, "I just came to tell you I can't do this."
"On your knees, Chris," he demanded, ignoring my refusal.
"I can't," I weakly said, his eyes still drawing me in undeniably.
"Tell you what. Get on your knees and pull out my cock. If after one minute it is not in your mouth, I will return your ring and leave you alone," he said.
The ring, shit, I had forgotten about that. "That's all I have to do?" I asked.
"That's it," he shrugged, "resist my cock for one minute."
"Okay," I said, slowly dropping to my knees, a compromise that somehow seemed fair.
"Go ahead, unbuckle my belt," he instructed.
My hands were trembling as I struggled to complete the simple task of undoing a belt. His belt finally unfastened, he said, "now unzip my pants, Chris."
I again obeyed, my head spinning with just how surreal this situation was.
"Zipper," he continued.
Hands still trembling, I pulled down his zipper.
"Pull it out," he ordered.
Tentatively, I did. It wasn't even completely hard, but it was at least seven inches long and growing. I stared at it. My cock twitched in my pants. My mouth watered against my will.
Gary said, "Stroke it."
That wasn't part of the deal, but feeling his cock in my hand felt strangely natural; stroking it just seemed to be the next step. I slowly stroked it as it continued to grow right in front of my eyes.
"Go ahead, Chris, get it nice and hard," he instructed.
I was mesmerized by his cock. Like his eyes, it was drawing me in to a part of myself that I didn't even know existed. I loved the feeling of his cock in my hand and the thought of it in my mouth would not leave my mind. I slowly stroked his cock until it was completely erect and ten inches long, twice the length of mine.
"Impressive isn't it?" He asked smugly.
In a daze of admiration, I said, "It's huge."
"I know. That's why all the ladies, and all the cocksuckers love it," he said.
His declaration clarified that first off that he was not gay, but bisexual, much to my relief. But his view of me as a cocksucker disturbed me.
The term 'cocksucker' was degrading, and yet, as I stared at his massive tool, in utter awe of its majestic beauty, slowly stroking it with my hand, I couldn't pull myself away like I should have.
"Go ahead, Chris, take it in your mouth," he said, his hands going to my head.
My mind screamed 'No!' Yet my body ignored logic, morals and consequences as I felt the magnetic pull, and I leaned forward, opening my mouth.
As his cock slid between my lips, he purred, "There you go, Chris. Now be a good cocksucker and worship my cock like it deserves to be worshipped."
I have no idea what I expected it to feel like, having never fantasized about it until it happened, but it seemed strangely natural. I sucked just on his mushroom head at first, getting used to having a cock in my mouth. My cock head was super sensitive, so I swirled my tongue around his, trying to replicate the way I liked to be sucked.
Gary said, "That's it cocksucker, get used to having a cock in your mouth."
I noticed he said 'a cock' and not 'his cock', but prayed it was just semantics.
As I slowly tried to take a little more of his cock in my mouth, my brain shut off and I concentrated on just pleasuring his tool. I wanted to hear him moan; I wanted to take as much of his cock in my mouth as I could; I wanted to taste his cum.
A couple of minutes later, as I slowly bobbed back and forth on a third of his cock, I heard over the intercom, "Boarding for flight 647 to San Francisco."
"Isn't that your flight?" He asked.
His big cock in my mouth was more important than making my flight as I continued bobbing on his cock hungrily.
"Do you want my cum, cocksucker?" He asked, even though his tone implied he already knew he answer.
Taking his cock out of my mouth, I answered, "Yes."
"Yes, sir," he corrected me.
"Yes, sir, I want your cum," I repeated, calling someone half my age 'sir'.
"But you're married," he said, tapping my lips with his cock.
Although I loved my wife, I surprisingly felt no guilt, as all I wanted was to please him. "And I'm your cocksucker," I said, taking his cock back in my mouth.
Pulling back out, he said, "You understand I plan to use your mouth whenever I want."
"Yes, sir," I said, the thought both undeniably exciting and yet just as undeniably frightening. My whole marriage could fall apart, my children could find out and my career could be ruined, but at this moment, this cock, this big juicy cock, was all I cared about.
"Open up, cocksucker," he ordered, shoving his cock in my mouth and began pumping his cock, "I expect you to eventually be able to take all ten inches of me in that mouth of yours."
I moaned in response, the thought of taking all his cock both a turn-on and yet seemingly impossible. He only pumped half his cock in my mouth for a couple of minutes before pulling out and instantly shooting his sticky white seed all over my stunned face.
I was expecting to swallow his load and not get a facial. My mouth wide open, a few drops of his cum landed in my mouth and on my lips. I swallowed them, getting just a small sample of his taste and instantly wanting more. His cum on my face felt sticky and heavy, as if I had a coat of paint on me.
Once spent, he shoved his cock back into my mouth and said, "I could tell the minute we started talking you were a cocksucker."
I couldn't fathom how that was true, since I had never considered it before this day, yet somehow he was right. I had become his cocksucker.
Pulling out he said, "Give me your phone."
"Yes, sir," I agreed, pulling it out of my suit pocket and handing it to him.
He typed something into my phone and handed it back to me. "First, you will not wash my cum off your face until you get to your hotel room, is that clear?"
"What? But I...." I began to protest, but was shut down.
"Shut up, cocksucker," he said raising his voice loud enough to let anyone in the bathroom know exactly what was happening in this tiny stall. "Second, you will get a stewardess to take a picture of you once you hit the ground in San Francisco, and text it to me to prove you have obeyed. Is that clear?"
"Y-y-yes," I stammered, stunned by his expectations.
Pulling his phone out he ordered, "Smile, cocksucker."
"Please no," I said, not wanting photo evidence of my submission.
"I wasn't asking your opinion, cocksucker," he said, raising his voice again, clearly showing no patience for disobedience.
"Sorry," I whispered, mortified that we might be heard by other travellers.
He snapped a couple pictures and continued his expectations for me tonight, "You will then take another one, a selfie this time, in your hotel room, is that clear?"
"Yes," I nodded, unable to believe what was happening.
"Second call for passengers with tickets to flight 647 to San Francisco," a woman said on the intercom.
"May I have my ring back?" I asked, looking at my watch.
"When you complete all your tasks," he said.
"How many?" I asked, petrified at the power this beautiful young man had over me as I looked up into his blue eyes and back to his still erect cock.
"Seven," he revealed, before adding, "unless you disobey and I have to add more punishments."
"I-I-I'll obey," I stammered, his ominous tone scaring me.
"I'll text you your first task tonight," he said, putting his cock away.
I felt a rush of disappointment as his cock disappeared from my view.
He laughed, "You look like a child who just had their teddy bear taken away." I felt a rush of humiliation at both his assessment and the fact that he was right. My face burned with shame as he asked, "Do you want to kiss it goodbye?"
The question was humiliating, ironic since I already sucked his cock in an airport bathroom stall with people in it and was wearing his cum on my face, but once the question was asked, it was all I wanted to do.
"Yes, sir, may I please kiss it goodbye?"
"Tell me what you are first and say it loud and proud," he ordered.
I could hear people in the washroom, knew that some had to know what had transpired and I knew I would eventually have to leave this stall. Yet, I said, in a loud clear voice, "I am your cocksucker, sir."
"My cum bucket?" He continued.
"Yes, sir, your obedient cum bucket," I repeated, shame and excitement bouncing inside me, battling for control.
"And what about your wife?" He asked.
"I'm yours first, sir," I said, without hesitation, wondering if I had to choose between my almost sexless marriage with a woman I still loved, or serving this gorgeous stranger and his beautiful cock who I would choose.
"So if you are in bed with your wife and I call," he started.
"I will lie to her and come serve you," I said, finishing his sentence.
He pulled his cock back out and said, "Tell it how much you love it."
So drawn into the submission, so in lust with his cock, I said, like a complete queer, "Oh I love you, cock." I kissed the head, before adding, "I'm going to miss you while I'm gone." I kissed the shaft and finished, "And I can't wait to see you again, my love."
"Passenger Chris Wellington, for flight 647 to San Francisco, please report to gate 67 immediately," the female voice announced.
"You better go cocksucker," He said, again putting his cock away.
"Yes, sir," I said, getting off my sore knees.
"And when you get there I want you to turn on your phone recorder and tape yourself telling her why you are late. That will be task one," he instructed.
"Oh God," I gasped, the task mortifying.
"You already have cum all over your face and hair, cocksucker, it won't be much of a mystery," he said.
"Okay, sir," I nodded, defeated, humiliated, late and unable to say no to this stranger.
"Go, cocksucker," he said.
"Yes, sir," I said, opening the door to see a dozen people staring at me.
I lowered my head and quickly scurried out of there, so humiliated I thought I might die. What if I knew one of those people?
I made it to the gate, my phone already on to record my next public humiliation, where a very pretty women my age looked at me smiling and I watched her smile fade as I said, "Sorry, ma'am, I am Chris Wellington, I was just getting a goodbye gift from my master." As soon as I said the word master I gasped to myself.
She said in disdain, "I think you forgot to clean up your goodbye gift, sir."
"Oh no ma'am, my gift goes with me as a reminder of his beautiful penis," I said, trying to be politically correct.
"Ticket," she said, so repulsed by my words and face that I felt yet another rush of shame coursing through me.
"Bye cocksucker," I heard Gary say from behind me.
"Want to say bye to your Master?" She asked, condescendingly.