Greg's fingers dug into my jaw, prying it wider, forcing my mouth to stretch around that massive hairy ball. The skin was hot and slick with sweat, the coarse hairs scraping my lips as it popped inside, filling my mouth completely.
Fuck.
I had never had anything hat big in my mouth. This guy would have choked me easily with one of his giant balls !
My eyes immediately went teary with the stretch, like biting on something way too large and instantly regretting it. But I had no regrets. I wanted this. Yes, I was made for this, made to take his fat jewel in my mouth and please this hunk, help him release.
I gagged light, throat clenching, but he held me there, grunting deep and low, his grip unyielding. The taste hit hard on my palate : bitter, salty grime from a day of rugby sweat, unwashed funk thick on my tongue as I started to suck with an instinctive force.
He needs his ball sucked.
I’ll try to please him the best I can.
Even though I don’t fully understand what’s happening ?
My lips sealed around the heavy orb. It barely fit, my cheeks bulging hard and my jaw aching from the strain, but I lapped at it anyway, tongue carefully swirling around his wrinkled sack, bathing the sweaty skin in spit.
He started jerking his fat cock above me, hand wrapped tight around the beer-can thick shaft, veins bulging under his palm. I was only there to suck on his balls, that’s it.
Precum oozed from the slit, fat drops falling slow, splattering my hair, soaking the strands sticky and warm :
« Yeah… bitch, » he whispered low, bucking once against my mouth.
My mouth worked harder, sucking the ball deeper, feeling it throb against my tongue, his musk invading my nostrils for good and making me drool even more. His large genitals had such an effect on me.
My own dick strained in my jeans, leaking pre, the submissive rush hitting as he used my face like his own personal sink were he could dip his balls, make them wet and warm.
Minutes dragged, my jaw burning, but Greg didn't rush. He pulled the ball out slow, it stretched my mouth bad once more, trying to leave my poor mouth, until it popped free with a wet smack, strings of my spit connecting us.
« Fuck. » he moaned low, rumbling from his chest like thunder.
The sound alone made my cock twitch.
Greg sounded and acted so primal.
And it made me fucking hard, like no girl had ever made me before.
Is this how gay sex is supposed to feel ?
Less words, more raw energy and musk ?
Is tea-bagging a usual thing for gay men ? Because Greg was the second guy I knew that made me bath his globes and like it. And I never had any chick do that to me.
He switched quick, scooping the other swollen orb, even heavier, shoving it past my stretched lips.
Maybe it was me. Too shy to ask, too shy to try with ladies.
I forced my mouth wider, teeth grazing the hairy skin, gagging again as it filled me, the weight pressing my tongue down.
Maybe it was supposed to be this way.
Bitter taste stronger here, more concentrated sweat, and I sucked greedy now, licking every crease, bathing it thorough while his hand pumped faster on that massive dick.
Me, at my knees. Worshiping cock and balls.
Precum rained down, dripping from his cockhead, landing in my hair, running down my forehead, into my eyes stinging.
Being man-handled.
He grunted silent mostly, just those deep moans when the ball popped out, slick and shining from my mouth.
Being told what to do.
Back and forth he went, presenting each one like offerings : left, right, forcing them in one after the other.
Without any words required.
I honestly don’t know how long this bathing session lasted, maybe 5, 10, 15 minutes ? Anyway, my lips got numb, mu jaw was sore as hell, but I kept at it, tongue lapping the sweaty balls, sucking the grime off, inhaling the raw male stink. I didn’t even think about the others entering the living room and seeing us there.
Anyone could walk in (Adrien, Julien) but Greg didn't care, just dominated the kitchen with his unwashed junk.
I hollowed my cheeks, vacuuming the orb the best I could, feeling the coarse hairs tickle my throat.
POP
Out it came, his deep moan vibrating the air, hand blurring on his cock now, precum pouring thicker, matting my hair like glue.
The other ball followed, shoved deep in my mouth, my gag reflex firing strong, tongue swirling frantic to clean the sweaty skin. He bucked slight, hips thrusting, grinding the sack against my face between switches, smearing more musk on my cheeks. Finally, after what felt like forever of ball worship, Greg yanked the second ball free, the pop loud and wet, his deep moan echoing. He gripped his cock base, aiming the fat head right at my mouth entrance, slit gaping, precum bubbling.
I could see his cock getting even thicker, his slit even wider. He was about to cum in my mouth!
But when it came out, I was honestly surprised: it was so different from Julien's!
No jets—just a constant flow erupted, hot and thick, sticky goo pouring from his slit like a faucet turned on slow. Acrid hit first, stronger than Julien's by far, bitter and pungent, coating my tongue in viscous waves.
It filled my mouth quick, creamy and heavy, way thicker, clinging to my teeth, the taste burning salty-sour. He grunted continuous, sighing deep as the cum kept coming, five, ten… twenty seconds straight of that warm flow, overflowing my lips, dripping down my chin despite my efforts. I swallowed hard : once, twice, the third time gulping the last thick globs, throat working around the acrid load, his giant balls contracting above me as I drained them.
Mouth’s full of his spunk. Can’t even keep up.
The fat veins on his dick kept twitching (that specific detail was fascinating to me), helping his cum erupt, his unwashed musk mixing with the cum stench, my face a mess of spit, pre, and jizz.
Shit…
I think he’s finally done.
He pulled back slow, cock softening slight, slapping wet against his thigh, but his eyes stayed cold, pinning me on the floor. I gasped, mouth tired and coated, the bitter aftertaste lingering, my own cock throbbing untouched, begging for release.
Greg stood there, sweating, almost panting, like after a run and a try scored in a rugby match, his powerful chest rising and falling in steady motions. I stared at him for a long moment, my eyes lost in the somewhat overwhelming mass he created above me, without really realizing that his own eyes were locked onto mine, and that there was something unfathomably complex in his gaze.
When I finally understood that he was looking at me — really looking at me — it felt like panic tightening around my throat, and I looked away, too anxious to try to understand why. Maybe there wasn’t even a reason. Maybe he was simply looking at me because I was at his feet. Just fed on his release. Just splashed with the constant trickle of his sweat. Just humiliated by the way he had treated me.
I lowered my eyes toward his two glistening orbs, reddened by my attention.
I still wanted them.
A month ago, I probably would have laughed in the face of anyone who told me I’d soon be on all fours on the kitchen floor, mouth open wide, eager to taste his jewels again, and with that strange feeling of being his thing — devoted to satisfying him.
Because I had managed to satisfy Greg.
I could admit it: I loved that feeling of having completed my task, of having brought the colossus to pleasure, and I was almost…
Proud?
Time moved strangely in that moment. I wished it could last longer — that instant where I fully embraced that submissive part of myself — but Greg pushed me away with a slow, indifferent motion of his hands, moving my head from his still-heavy member (it seemed he only gained an inch or two when fully aroused, unlike Julien, who easily doubled in size).
He didn’t say anything.
He simply stepped away from me, going around the obstacle I had become on the floor so he wouldn’t bump into me again. And as he did, I tried to catch one last glimpse of him.
What I saw made me go cold.
The expression on his face...
Anger?
No.
Worse.
Disgust.
I couldn’t get that last moment out of my head. I didn’t even bother finishing the tidying after cleaning; I just jumped into my bed, pulled off my jeans and T-shirt without really thinking, and wrapped myself up in my duvet as if I could hide from the truth.
Greg had used me.
But he hadn’t reacted like Julien at all. It was as if coming had suddenly changed him completely. Or maybe it wasn’t him who had changed — maybe it was me, in his eyes.
I get it.
After all, I had just let him soil my mouth. With his heavy balls first, and then with his bitter, powerful release that still lingered on my palate.
Shit, that’s right.
I hadn’t even bothered to rinse before going to bed.
I got up quietly, slipped into the bathroom, and took the opportunity to brush my teeth. I wasn’t especially tired, but I didn’t feel like doing anything anymore. Yeah, bad idea, I know. I was definitely going to replay everything over and over in bed — but it was like I needed to reassure myself.
To tell myself that in that final instant, when I saw his face, I hadn’t actually seen what I thought I had — that it was just a trick of the light, or my imagination exaggerating things. That it wasn’t over for good, and maybe I would still remain his roommate.
He was there.
In front of me.
Right at the foot of my bed.
He was there, waiting.
Is this some kind of night terror?
No — it looks like daylight outside, a golden glow filtering through the blinds.
I couldn’t move.
He was talking to me, and it took every ounce of concentration to finally hear him — or rather, to understand what he was saying.
“Hey! Are you deaf or what? Steph. You hear me? Are you high or something?”
He was firing off questions as if I were miles away, even though I was only a few steps from him.
I rubbed my ears and my eyes, like after one of those afternoon naps you regret because they leave you groggy for the rest of the day. Except it was clearly morning.
“Hey, you hear me?”
“Yeah… sorry. What were you saying?” I managed to answer, still disoriented.
“You didn’t clean properly, man. I thought we’d made that clear last time. The mop was still in the hallway and the kitchen floor was disgusting.”
He lifted one of his feet and showed me.
The sole looked slightly translucent.
Shit.
It was his semen. His own release that he must have stepped in by mistake that morning.
Greg stepped closer to my bed. He was wearing his usual morning outfit: a black tank top too tight for his own good, white knee-high socks, and boxers that were also too small to properly contain his fat cock.
He came close enough to be level with the bed and grabbed himself in his powerful hand.
“This better not happen again, okay?”
I swallowed. The rugby player looked deadly serious.
Greg suddenly moved his foot to the corner of my bed, right level with my mouth. His rugby sock gave off a strong, musky smell — like a locker room after a full day of traffic. The white fabric on the sole was still stained with a thick substance. I was surprised to see that his release hadn’t even fully dried overnight; it must have been too dense for that.
“Finish your job,” he said dryly — an order that allowed only one possible response: my obedience.
Without thinking about the humiliation Greg was putting me through, I stretched my neck, pushed myself up slightly, and opened my mouth, my tongue ready to taste his dirty foot. I licked the fabric marked by his semen. I licked it, and licked it again, politely — like a dog given a choice bone but too cautious to fully indulge in it.
I recognized the sharp, bitter taste of his rugby-player cream, and I appreciated it even more now that it was mixed with the smell and flavor of his foot wrapped in that sports sock. After barely a dozen laps of my tongue, my roommate pulled his foot back with a relieved sigh and set it down on the floor, still looking serious — but with a hint of satisfaction.
“Next time you better not lose a single drop, you got that?”
I nodded, a little lost and anxious to satisfy him, he muttered a curse and slammed the door behind him.
I had thought I’d gotten Greg on my side with my cooking, our talks about seasoning, and even that whole “kiwi swallowing” thing the other day. Now I felt like I had disappointed him — maybe even angered him.
Making a place for myself in this flat was going to be more complicated than I had imagined.
If you enjoyed this story, consider supporting the author on Patreon.
