Once it’s obvious they’re both finally done I sit back shakily on the bed as aftershocks course through my body.
“Thanks sucker” they say, dress, and make to go.
As they strut out the door, there’s another older guy standing aside there to let them pass. He looks at them with mild empty eyes, a little confused and embarrassed. He steps warily into the room. He must be able to smell the rich funk of sex in the air. See the rumpled bed covers messy with pools of moist ejaculation. The discarded panties in a soggy pile on the carpet.
“It seems you’ve got spunk on your face, young man” he says.
It’s true, I have. I laugh and wipe myself, gooey strands of it transferred from my nose to my fingers. It breaks the ice. He undresses and sits back on the bed. I crouch down on the carpet between his splayed knees. He has a respectable circumcised cock. I manage to murmur a deep purr of satisfaction as I fully envelope its plum-sized head into my warm moist well-fucked mouth. After what I’ve just been subjected to, this is almost a soothing come-down. I pull backward so my lips lock tight beneath the glans ridge and he smiles down as I make gentle tugging motions against the sensitive spongy tissues trapped in my mouth.
Grateful for his passivity, I want to make this good for him. I roll the saliva gathering on my tongue and swirl it all over the hot enflamed surface of his knob. Then simply concentrate on sucking him off deep and self-indulgently. When he begins to cum I just hold it in my mouth and let it happen, sucking more gently. He ruffles my hair in a show of gratitude. This time I raise my head and open my mouth so he can see his spunk there before swallowing it.
It’s fair to say that none of the evening’s sexual visitors were Gay, in fact, none of us for that matter. Simply opportunists, lonely and sexually frustrated, presented with the chance of a no-strings cum-in-mouth. A mouth is a mouth, after all. Who is to blame them? Certainly not me. We take our pleasure where we find it. I’d taken seven cum-loads. My jaw feels a mite tender, my bum-hole throbs, not unpleasantly. I feel giddy and spunk-drunk. I can feel it queasing in my gut. I brush my teeth and floss. I pour myself what’s left of the wine and wash it around my mouth. But I can still taste spunk. Have I passed the audition…? I guess I have.
Eventually, the original guy returns. Will he expect more sex? I’m resigned to it if that’s what he wants. Instead, he slumps down on the bed, he’s had too much to drink, so we just sleep together, side by side. Over breakfast the following morning, before we part he begins counting out notes to me. Ten notes per guy. Forty notes.
I was drinking cappuccino. “Four guys, hell no, there were six.”
He acts surprised. “Look son, I can tell you this straight, I only sent up four guys.”
“What about the two younger guys who came up together?” I protest.
“Sorry, I only sent up four guys.”
I could tell he was being truthful. Who those two younger guys were I don’t know to this day. They must have been watching, figured out what was going on, and decided to take advantage of the situation. Pragmatically, I shake his hand. Gratefully take my forty notes. We part at the freeway turn-off, and continue towards our separate destinations… until I find myself getting sidetracked by the next weirdness again.