Chapter 49: The Perfect Cocksucker
The stale taste of last night’s vodka had fermented into a sour tang at the back of your throat, but beneath it, overriding everything, lingered the phantom saltiness of David. You woke before him, dawn’s weak grey light filtering through the single, stark window of his minimalist room. Posters of The Doors and Led Zeppelin watched impassively. The air, usually carrying just his clean cologne, now held the musk of spent sex and dried saliva.
He lay on his back, chest rising and falling steadily, one arm thrown above his head. The sheet pooled low on his hips. Your gaze snagged on the soft curve of his morning erection tenting his boxers. A familiar, unwanted pulse throbbed low in your own belly. Your mind, still fogged with sleep and the residual haze of alcohol, skipped over the revulsion that usually followed such a pulse. Instead, a different kind of ache took hold. An emptiness between your legs that echoed the hollow feeling in your chest, demanding to be filled. Not with feeling. With friction. With proof you could still do this without choking.
Mark’s voice slithered into your thoughts, cool and authoritative. ‘Morning wood’s the best time, princess. Relaxed muscles. Takes it easier. You know what to do.’
You didn’t hesitate. Moving with a practiced silence that felt alien and horrifyingly natural, you slithered down the mattress. The cool air kissed your bare skin as you pushed the sheet aside. You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and tugged them down, just enough. His cock sprang free, already thickening rapidly in the cool air, uncut, the head dark and glistening faintly with pre-cum.
David stirred with a soft groan, his hand drifting down towards his groin. His fingers brushed against your hair. He froze, eyes snapping open, bleary and disoriented behind his askew glasses.
“T-Taylor?” His voice was thick with sleep. “What…?”
You didn’t answer. You leaned down, opening your mouth wide, the way Mark had conditioned you. ‘Open wide, bitch. Show me that pink.’ Your lips, soft and alien-feeling against your own face, stretched around the head of his cock. The skin was warm silk over rigid heat. You took him in, swirling your tongue deliberately around the ridge, tasting the bitter salt.
“Oh, fuck…” David gasped, his body tensing. His hand fluttered near your head, then clenched into the sheet. “Jesus… stop… you don’t…”
But the words died as you pushed down. Your throat opened, a slick channel remembered from countless enforced practices. No gag. Not even a twinge. Just the smooth glide of him filling your mouth, then the familiar, stretching pressure as the thick head nudged your soft palate. You breathed steadily through your nose, the faint scent of his skin and sex filling your senses. Down you went, deeper, your nose pressing into the coarse, dark hair at his base. You held it there, feeling the throb of him against the walls of your throat.
A choked moan escaped David. His hips gave a tiny, involuntary thrust upwards. “Christ, Taylor… your mouth…”
It was true. Your gag reflex was a distant memory, erased by Mark’s relentless persistence. ‘Again. Deeper. Hold it. Five seconds. Ten. Good girl.’ Your body was a perfectly trained instrument for this. The realization was a poison pill coated in slick heat.
You began to move. Up, letting the thick shaft slide wetly over your tongue. Down, sinking onto him smoothly, throat muscles working, milking him as you descended. Slurp. Gulp. The sounds were obscene in the quiet room, underscored by David’s ragged breathing and the monotonous hum of the fan.
Your mind fractured. Part of you was here, on your knees, face buried in David’s groin, the heavy weight of your breasts swaying with each bob of your head. The other part was back in that sterile hotel bathroom, tiles cold against your knees, Mark standing over you, his grip cruel in your hair.
‘Suck it like you mean it, slut. That’s it. Take it deeper. Show me how well I trained this pretty little mouth.’
David’s cock was thick, a satisfying stretch. But Mark’s… Mark’s had been longer. A relentless, punishing length that had scraped the very back of your throat, leaving you gasping and tear-streaked. David filled you completely, but Mark had invaded. David groaned with pleasure; Mark had grunted with dominance, calling you names that still burned. Filthy whore. Cocksleeve. My personal fleshlight.
“Fuck, Taylor… yes… just like that…” David panted, his hand finally settling firmly on the back of your head, fingers tangling in your long hair. Not forcing, but guiding. Encouraging. His thrusts became less hesitant, more rhythmic, meeting your downward plunges. “God, you’re so fucking good at this…”
The praise, so different from Mark’s degrading instructions, should have felt alien. Instead, it registered distantly, a flicker of warmth amidst the frigid self-loathing. You hollowed your cheeks, sucking hard as you pulled up to the swollen head, swirling your tongue around the sensitive slit, tasting the increased flow of pre-cum. Then down again, swallowing him whole. Your jaw ached dully, a familiar background pain. Your cunt throbbed, wetness slicking your inner thighs. Traitorous body.
David’s breathing hitched, turning desperate. His cock swelled, pulsing hot and insistent against your tongue, against the walls of your throat. “Tay… I’m close… fuck, I’m gonna…”
You didn’t pull off. Mark’s voice was a command in your skull. ‘Take it. Swallow it all. That’s what that mouth is for.’ You redoubled your efforts, sucking fiercely, bobbing faster, taking him deep on every downstroke. Your nose mashed into his pelvis. You could feel the tense tightness in his balls against your chin.
With a guttural cry that was half-surprise, half-overwhelm, David came. Thick ropes of hot cum shot directly down your throat. You swallowed reflexively, smoothly, the bitter-salt taste flooding your mouth. More than you could handle immediately seeped out around the sides of his cock, coating your lips and chin. You kept sucking, kept swallowing, milking him dry until he was spent, trembling, his cock softening slightly but still lodged deep.
Only then did you slowly pull off. A viscous strand of cum-saliva connected your lips to his glistening shaft before breaking. You sat back on your heels, wiping your chin with the back of your hand, breathing steadily. Your throat felt well-used, stretched. Your mind felt numb.
David lay panting, staring at the ceiling, his expression slack with post-orgasmic haze, quickly followed by a dawning horror. His hand fell away from your head. “Taylor,” he whispered, his voice raw. “Why? Why do you… why did you…”
You looked up at him. Not really seeing him. Seeing Mark’s smirk. Hearing his phantom approval. ‘Good girl.’
You didn’t answer. The numbness was a fragile shield. You just pushed yourself up off the floor, the cool air biting at your damp skin where his cum had dripped. You ignored the ache between your legs, the stickiness on your chin, the confusion and guilt warring in David’s eyes. You needed the shower. Needed scalding water. Needed to try and scrub away the feeling of being just a warm, willing hole, perfected by one roommate and now readily used by another.
Walking out, you left David lying amidst his rumpled sheets, the smell of sex thick in the air, the silent accusation hanging heavier still. The hum of the fan was the only sound chasing you down the hall.