The evening felt like a twisted dream, maybe even a full-blown nightmare. I pushed the door closed behind me as I entered my musty room, still on the phone with Amy. I had called her midway between Tony’s room and my own, desperate to reach her before she went to bed and avoid any unwanted suspicion. Guilt washed over me as I turned my attention to the TV, which was still on, showing the start of the third quarter, my futile attempt to inject some semblance of masculinity back into my life. Coping with the reality that my entire sense of self had been shattered in the past forty-five minutes was excruciating. I had gone from a man confident in his identity to an ass-eating bisexual, manipulated by a 110-pound, flamboyant twink with a man bun. The worst part was that the one thing I had come for, the gigantic prize I so desperately sought, had been withheld from me, leaving me feeling used, discarded, and utterly defeated.
It was heartbreaking as Amy recounted her OBGYN appointment from that day, completely unaware of what her husband of a decade had just done. I struggled to get through the call with her, my mind prioritizing thoughts of Tony over my own wife and soon-to-be mother entirely against my control. Her voice blurred into the background, overshadowed by the lingering taste of Tony in my mouth that no hotel towel could erase. Each word intensified my guilt, amplifying the flashbacks I knew I would never escape. Yet, even amidst this guilt, the image of the man who had discarded me like a piece of trash loomed large in my mind. The weight of the evening bore down on me, wrapping me in a suffocating blanket of shame as I grappled with the reality of having crossed over the rainbow’s edge.
The remainder of the evening was a mix of emotions, marked by insecurity and fear. I fought off the desire to jerk off with all my being, trying to stave off the deep regret that I knew would inevitably engulf me once the guilt-laden release in my shorts became unavoidable. I struggled to focus on the presentation that awaited my attention. I was more obsessed with refreshing the chat with Tony, praying for a message that would summon me back to his room to finish the job I so desperately wanted, a chance to purge all my wrongdoing in a single evening. I’d become a broken man, suddenly gripped by the fear that I might have seen the last of Tony. What if I had failed his test, leaving me unworthy of a second encounter? I became unrecognizable to myself, caught in a dizzying mix of desire and self-doubt.
The morning arrived quickly after a restless night, and a shower did little to wash away the shame of the previous evening. Even after brushing my teeth multiple times, Tony’s phantom taste still lingered. When my alarm went off, he consumed my thoughts, leaving no room for anything else. I refreshed the chat even before responding to Amy’s "good morning" text, gripped by anxiety over whether he had replied. While I had managed to resist the urge to relieve myself, I knew that the guilt I had artificially suppressed from the night before would eventually surface, forcing me to confront the monster I had become.
I quickly dressed and rushed down the elevator and through the drab, deserted lobby, passing Amy's younger doppelgänger still at the front desk. Her curious eyes seemed to pierce through me as if she had been in the room watching my every move. What would typically be a flirtatious vibe with someone like her was instead replaced with a look of judgment, as if the events of last evening were somehow plastered all over my face. Overwhelmed with shame, I quickly looked away, unable to meet her gaze. By the time I reached my rental car, the weight of last night bore down even heavier, and Tony’s hold on me felt completely inescapable, leaving me trapped under his spell.
It felt like the longest day of my life, dragging on more painfully than any agonizing waits in hostile territory during my deployments. With each passing hour, my fear intensified that I would return home to my pregnant wife, burdened not only by the guilt of cheating on her with another man but also by how it happened. I struggled to focus on client work; every minute felt like an eternity. My phone was locked away on the military base and accessible only during brief breaks and lunch. Each time I checked it, it felt like waiting for a job callback, my desperation fueled by blue balls I refused to address until Tony was finished with me. Each anxious refresh of the chat was met with silence, amplifying my dread that I might never hear from him again.
Meetings blurred together, overtaken by a relentless stream of images my mind replayed like a photo album from the night before. I felt desperate, consumed by the detailed acts I envisioned performing on him if given the chance. Just after 4 PM, the long-awaited message finally arrived, igniting the same nervous anticipation as his text from the day before. “6 PM, my room,” it read, more a command than a question. Tony had dismantled me so thoroughly that I felt like someone who had just hit the lottery, exhilarated yet terrified of what was to come.
“Sounds good,” I replied, attempting to restrict my nervous exuberance from coming through the phone.
During the last hour of the day, anticipation nearly incapacitated me as I fixated on the thought of worshipping at the feet of the very man who had discarded me less than eighteen hours earlier. Time raced forward, and before I knew it, I was slamming the door of my rental car and stepping through the sliding glass doors of my shabby hotel at 5:20 PM. I passed the front desk, again unattended, and took the elevator. Upon exiting, I paused briefly to glance down the hallway I would soon traverse before heading toward my room.
The next half hour was a blur as I tried to settle my nerves. I quickly switched out of my business casual attire and into my usual athletic wear, replicating my choice from the night before. Though I wanted to avoid wearing another Marine Corps T-shirt out of respect for what was to come, it was my only option since I hadn’t packed anything else. A mix of nervousness and excitement enveloped me, intensifying my anticipation to see Tony. The unresolved tension in my shorts was fueled by desperation, knowing I wouldn’t find relief until long after I left his room that evening. I did my best to brace myself for the guilt and shame that would eventually come pouring out of me into the hotel shower drain when I returned to my room later that evening.
As I stepped into the corridor and pulled the door closed behind me, the reality of my situation hit me hard. I quickly texted Amy, letting her know I was about to grab dinner and would call her later, ensuring no notifications would pull me back to reality while Tony violated me. The hallway seemed to close around me as I swiftly covered the 500-foot distance to his door, which was slightly ajar from not being pushed closed. I hesitated, feeling my life flash before my eyes again as I contemplated the stark contrast between the man who had checked into this hotel just a day ago and the one standing before Tony’s door now.
My arm lifted, and for a moment, I hesitated, reflecting on how yesterday had offered the chance to walk away unscathed and return to my wife as a straight man. That option was now irrevocably lost. Just before I knocked, my phone vibrated in my hand, a timely acknowledgment from Amy, accompanied by a selfie of her smiling as she held up paint swatches in Home Depot for the room that needed to be ready in a month. It felt like the latest visual reminder of my betrayal, almost as if it had been planned. But the hormone-driven desire coursing through me quickly washed away any guilt, nearly forcing a knock on the door.
“Coming,” the distant, familiar feminine voice replied, barely penetrating the heavy door. My heart suddenly pounded in my chest.
As the heavy door creaked open, my gaze immediately fell on Tony, who stood almost entirely nude, a grin still plastered across his face, save for the rainbow-striped tank top he had worn the night before. Unlike yesterday, when he had stuffed his bike shorts to their breaking point with his nearly footlong kielbasa, he now appeared completely relaxed; his flaccid cock, still an impressive seven inches and draped over his gigantic testicles, dwarfing me even in my most-excited state. My firsthand knowledge of how imposing it would become only heightened my sense of intimidation.
“Hey, Steve, come on in,” he said, holding the door open and stepping aside, allowing me to enter after a brief moment of hesitation.
Though barely twenty hours had passed, stepping into the dingy Alabama hotel room felt like entering a sexual crime scene. My life had been upended, and this place wasn’t done with me yet. The memory of last night lingered, an inescapable part of my reality. Aside from the absence of a football game on the TV, the room looked exactly as I had left it. The duffle bag lay on the bed, while the white towel I had used to clean myself off remained crumpled at the foot. The loud hum of the air conditioning filled the heavy silence, amplifying my discomfort.
"Hope you didn’t get in trouble with the wife," Tony sneered, shutting the door behind me with a grunting push. His words were soaked with mocking amusement, fully aware of my ignored notifications. His grin grew more expansive, the taunt hitting hard as he played on the anxiety he knew it triggered. My gaze drifted to the shredded bike shorts hanging over the trash can, serving as some fucked up monument to my transformation and only amplifying my shame.
I laughed nervously, unsure how to react to his remark. Tony hadn’t mentioned Amy once the night before, but now he taunted me, asking if she knew about this. His sudden curiosity made my stomach tighten. It was clear he was savoring the control he held over me, and with every word, he intensified the humiliation. Knowing I had a wife waiting at home seemed to fuel his cruelty, making the degrading acts he'd coerced me into the night before even more unbearable.
As Tony moved further into the room and approached the bed, my eyes locked onto his bare ass, the same one my face had been buried in the night before, now freed from its spandex prison. He climbed onto the bed, sliding into the familiar doggy-style position, his head turning just enough to glance back at me through his glasses. My heart sank. The anticipation and dread of repeating the act surged within me, the moment's weight pressing down as I braced for what was to come.
“Just kidding!” he exclaimed, abruptly pulling out of the doggy-style position and standing at the foot of the bed before I could fully process what was happening. His grin widened, a clear indication of his delight in taunting me, a constant reminder that he could put me through it all over again and make me beg for it if he chose to. With his hands on his hips and that playful smirk plastered across his face, I found myself staring at his flaccid cock, still impressive in size, putting most men to shame even in its relaxed state. Despite everything that had just transpired, I felt ashamed to meet his gaze.
Before I could react, Tony grabbed the crumpled towel from the foot of the bed and let it fall back into place, just as he had the night before. “Lay down with your head here,” he instructed, his tone more serious this time as he pointed to the edge of the bed. I obeyed without a word. I still hadn’t adjusted to my new reality, reduced to nothing more than a tool for his satisfaction. There was no small talk, no interest in who I was or what I did; my identity had been stripped away, leaving me with no significance beyond what I could provide in this encounter. Yet, I complied, trapped in this unsettling new normal. I settled onto the bed; head tilted slightly off the edge, the Marine Corps logo on my T-shirt almost mocking the dignity I had given up.
From my upside-down vantage point, I could see Tony standing behind me, his rainbow-striped tank top and crooked grin in view. He gazed down, his wry smile unwavering as he let me fully absorb the vulnerability of my position. “Are you ready?” he asked, stepping over my head before I could respond to his rhetorical question. In an instant, my view of the ceiling was replaced by his flaccid cock brushing against my lips as it passed by. His massive balls settled heavily on my nose and mouth, their weight almost suffocating. The height of the bed, combined with his shorter stature, made the contact inevitable, forcing me to look up into the ass crack I had begged to service the night before.
Tony lingered for about fifteen seconds as if he were giving me a moment to process my reality. With cruel precision, he reasserted his dominance, his massive sack enveloping my face and suffocating my every breath, leaving me feeling utterly humiliated. The weight of his balls constricted my airflow, while his occasional lifts onto his toes provided fleeting moments of relief, allowing me just enough time to gasp for air before he settled back down. The sheer degradation of having another man's balls pressed against my face was overwhelming. Unlike the night before, Tony began to taunt me, amplifying my humiliation with every mocking remark he made.
“How do you like my big balls?” he shouted, his lisp lending a mocking tone to his words. Though I couldn’t see his grin, the delight in his voice was unmistakable as he reveled in my humiliation. As his sack descended again, my attempt to respond became a muffled sound, lost beneath its weight. “Which one do you want first?” he teased, swaying his hips from side to side. Each of his massive testicles brushed against my lips, which instinctively remained sealed shut, deepening my sense of degradation and muffling my uncertain mumblings even further.
“Open up, Steve,” he commanded, pressing forward and shifting his asshole so it rested on my nose, nearly pinching it shut as it became a human butt plug. My view was now framed directly through his ass crack, guiding my gaze up his pale back to the greasy man-bun blocking the ceiling. The weight of his massive left testicle pressed against my closed lips, causing them to part against my will. Tony gently nudged it into my waiting mouth with his fingers, stretching it beyond its normal capacity.
At that moment, I felt utterly emasculated, consumed by the reality of another man's testicle stuffed in my mouth and the sheer size of Tony. This was a stark contrast to the fantasy I had imagined while pursuing my desire to give oral sex. I wasn’t meant to be in this position, enduring such intense humiliation while gasping for breath. It seemed he was determined to make me pay for the vague “only interested in giving oral” label I had carelessly included on my profile, dragging me through a level of degradation I had never anticipated.
Descriptions only go so far, and the best way to capture this moment is with a physical prop because words alone will never fully convey how massive Tony was. If you’re up for it, pause your reading, head to the fridge, and grab a Grade-A egg, preferably a jumbo one. Don’t worry; your significant other won’t notice it missing. Are you back? Now, go ahead and stuff that egg into your mouth. Open wide and keep it there. That’s it. Don’t worry, no one’s watching. Pretty big, huh? This is as close as you’ll get to understanding what I dealt with, short of experiencing Tony firsthand.
I struggled to consume him, my vulnerable position providing no relief as he alternated between stuffing each testicle into my mouth. Each reentry elicited a feminine grunt from him as my mouth stretched to its limits. My breathing was restricted, with only fleeting moments to catch my breath between what felt like a cruel game. Tony deliberately kept each ball in place just long enough to make me squirm, forcing me to seek oxygen through my nose, wedged between his butt crack, as I fought against the suffocating pressure.
The head of his still-flaccid cock hung down past his balls, occasionally brushing against my chin and neck with his movements. His limp state was a clear sign that the current action was more about humiliating me than inducing pleasure. “Do you like my balls, Steve?” he taunted, his voice muffled by his body. I responded with a muted mumble of agreement before he swiftly lifted himself onto his tiptoes and stepped back, causing the ceiling to come back into view. His abrupt stop felt like part of a pattern, as if he were following a timed schedule.
As I looked up at an upside-down Tony, still clad in his rainbow tank top, I struggled to catch my breath and process the shame of what had just happened. Suddenly, he shifted to the left, moving toward the desk and the grimy yellow chair. “Come here,” he commanded. I rolled over and slowly pushed myself to my feet, the blood rushing back into my body from my head that had hung off the bed, causing me to stumble as I fought to regain my balance like a boxer getting off the mat. Before I could fully steady myself, Tony sunk into the yellow chair, releasing another feminine grunt as he did.
I hesitated before stepping toward the chair just a few feet away. The grin on Tony's face and the way his legs naturally opened made my next instruction clear. His balls, still glistening with my saliva, rested against the stained yellow fabric of the grimy chair, which had likely borne witness to countless scenarios like the one about to unfold. Dropping to my knees, barely a foot from his flaccid cock draped over his balls, I struggled to reconcile the sight of the man attached to it peering at me through his oversized glasses. My gaze flickered between his cock and the discolored fabric, deliberately avoiding his eyes.
Time seemed to stand still. Despite Tony having already shattered my self-image beyond repair, I knelt on the grimy carpet, anxiously awaiting his command. The embodiment of my desires over the past decade was now just inches from my face. Even after everything he had put me through, it felt surreal to realize that I hadn't even touched his cock yet. Though I could physically overpower this twenty-two-year-old twink with ease, I was trembling, desperate for the nearly footlong kielbasa I had witnessed the night before to reappear. My nervous anticipation echoed every degrading act he had already subjected me to.
Tony shattered the silence with a provocative question: “What do you think your wife would say right now, Steve?” His words struck me like a lightning bolt, sending a jolt through my body and causing my heart to skip a beat. I looked up at him, his wry smile and piercing gaze amplified by his glasses. The mention of Amy, now a tool for his taunting, brought me back to the harsh reality of my situation. Stunned and at a loss for words, I shifted nervously, feeling the grime of the carpet pressing uncomfortably into my knees.
“Show me what she looks like,” he demanded, cutting me off before I could acknowledge his previous comment. Paralyzed by shock and compelled to comply, my hand moved almost involuntarily into my shorts pocket. At that moment, Tony was the puppet master, and I was his puppet, helplessly following his lead. I fumbled with my phone, nervously unlocking it with my thumbprint and navigating to my messages before hesitantly expanding the selfie Amy had sent just minutes earlier. The situation had suddenly turned personal.
“Oh, my goodness, she’s cute,” Tony remarked, his lisp becoming more pronounced as I turned the phone toward him. He snatched it from my hand, bringing it closer to his face for a better look. After studying the picture momentarily, he flashed a taunting smirk and said, “Nice work, Steve.” Fully aware of how unsettling it was to lose control of my phone and have my wife suddenly thrust into this moment, he reveled in the discomfort he was causing. “Aww, it’s a girl!” he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he took notice of the pink paint samples Amy displayed in the picture, which only intensified my guilt.
“How far along is she?” he asked, leaning back in the chair and widening his legs, a gesture that only served to emphasize his dominance. His inquiry felt more like a taunt than a genuine question. Suddenly, his limp cock began to rise from his hefty balls, still slick with my saliva, seemingly stirred by the weight of my guilt and the thought of Amy. I hesitated for a moment, my heart racing. “Eight months,” I finally managed to reply, my voice barely above a whisper, but I could tell he didn’t care about my response. His playful smirk never wavered, as if my answer was irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.
“That’s great!” he exclaimed, his taunting exuberance fading into the background as I became entranced by the transformation of his flaccid seven-inch cock into its infamous near-foot-long length in just seconds. Instinctively, I reached for my phone, desperate to shift the focus away from Amy. However, my attempt was thwarted when he slapped my hand away.
Tony pulled the phone away from his face but didn’t return it to me. Instead, he turned it around, screen facing outward, and propped it against his stomach just above his belly button, secured by the hem of his flamboyant tank top. “I think she wants to watch,” he taunted, a wicked grin spreading across his face as Amy's image unwittingly became the backdrop to the fully erect kielbasa now pointed directly at my face, its mushroom helmet seeping pre-cum. “What do you want to do, Steve?” he asked abruptly, the air conditioner cutting off and plunging the room into near silence as he looked down at me, awaiting my response.
“I want to suck your cock,” I muttered, my desperate plea echoing in the silent room as I stared down the barrel of Tony’s fully loaded salami doing everything I could to avoid locking eyes with the digital image of my wife resting against the rainbow backdrop of his stomach. Words that felt foreign just a day ago flowed effortlessly from my mouth, the shame of voicing my desire melting away.
“Tell her what you want to do, Steve,” he commanded, his eyes behind his thick glasses urging me to focus on the phone. “I want to suck his cock,” I blurted out as Amy stared back at me, almost as if she were there in person, my voice trembling. “Say her name, naughty boy,” he taunted with a smirk. “I want to suck his cock, Amy,” I responded without hesitation, feeling every ounce of shame dissolve into the air around me.
“It’s all yours, Steve,” he said with a giggle, reclining as far back as the crusty chair would allow, spreading his legs wide within the limits of the chair’s arms. He laced his hands behind his head, exposing his bare armpits, my phone resting in plain view on his stomach, moving up and down with his breath. My momentary hesitation, triggered by the sight of Amy staring back at me, quickly faded. Instinctively, I reached out with both hands, pausing briefly before wrapping them around Tony, his massive mushroom cap still protruding from my double-fisted masculine grip.
Hands typically reserved for handling some of the most advanced weaponry on the planet were now reduced to gripping Tony’s thick, beefy cock. The unfamiliar sensation of another man in my hands was overwhelming, almost embarrassing. I began to stroke him. “Oh, that feels good,” he taunted, his voice oozing satisfaction, fueled by the discomfort he knew I felt with Amy’s image staring back at me. With each stroke, the swollen mushroom head, too large to be covered by my double-fisted grip, began to glisten as beads of pre-cum accumulated on the tip, thick and slick, growing with every pull.