He jacked off when he woke up the next morning, later than he would have ever before, in that old life. It was so distant now, that he could barely recall any of it–not even the names of his wife and daughters. No–in this life, he’d lived as a perpetual bachelor. He’d been in a few relationships over the years, but he’d never found them particularly satisfying, and few women had been able to put up with his rather brutish behavior. The church had receded from his life–he no longer attended with any regularity–but the misogyny had remained unhindered. If anything, it had intensified.
Still, as the day progressed, with no company beyond his thoughts and his hand, there was restlessness, and there was shame. What was he doing with himself, on a Saturday, just sitting in his apartment, jacking off over and over again? He needed to get out, he decided. It had been a while since he’d last fucked a broad–some company would be a nice change, he supposed. Through the afternoon he resisted the urge to keep jacking off and felt better for doing so, for demonstrating he still had some willpower, at least. By seven he was good and horned up, he got in his car and headed for a nearby bar where he had a bit of a reputation as a regular.
The drinking was new, but he hadn’t noticed the shift. Before, he’d never been much of a drinker, considering it to be a sign of weakness to rely on alcohol. On the weekends, he might have the occasional glass of whiskey, but nothing beyond that. Now, however, he bellied up to the bar and started hammering back beers. He told himself he wouldn’t drink too much–just enough to help him loosen up around the women. Still, as soon as he started striking out with every woman he chatted up, three drinks became six, and he was lost. He was so fucking horny, that he thought about slipping off to the bathroom to jack off quickly, but that would amount to admitting defeat. No–he might not be able to get a woman to want to sleep with him, but he could at least pay someone, right? There were a couple…regular woman he slept with on occasion, who were willing to tolerate him for slightly inflated rates. He got back in his car and drove home, went inside and placed a call–the sensual woman on the other end promised to be there in half an hour, but that seemed like forever, suddenly.
His cock was raging like the day before, and the intensity was only increasing. He started stroking, telling himself he was just going to edge himself for a moment, to make sure he could stay hard for the bitch who’d be arriving soon, but the heat of it was too much. Still, he was sweating and panting by the time he finally managed to push himself over the edge, the world lurching around him as his cock exploded, coating his belly and chest with a massive load of cum, leaving him panting and heaving in the mess, head spinning, and feeling like an idiot. How was he supposed to perform now? The whore would be here any minute, and he’d just shot his wad!
There was a knock at the door–heavier than he would have expected from a woman’s hand. Shit–should he just tell her to forget it? He’d probably still have to give her some fucking money, or she’d throw a fit. Not bothering to clean himself up–forgetting, in fact, that he was coated in his own cum–he went and answered the door, but his mouth went agape when he saw the older man on the other side of the door. He was so shocked, first, because he hadn’t expected a man, and second, because the man was so…damn sexy, and he’d never once thought that of a man before in his life.
Or had he? At the sight, he suddenly couldn’t remember being with many women before this. Or…any women, really. “Hey daddy–looks like someone got a bit too excited already.”
Randal blushed, “I…yeah, I don’t think I’ll…be needing anything tonight, actually.”
“Oh, but daddy–we both know what you need more than that, don’t we?” he said, stepping inside, pulling Randal into him, squeezing his ass and making him moan, “Yeah–it’s my cock you need, right daddy?”
Randal tried to object, but his body was like putty in the man’s hand. They ended up in the bedroom, Randal bent over the side of the bed while the man slid his cock up and down his crack. He should say no. He didn’t want this, did he? It didn’t matter–as soon as the whore was inside him, the pleasure of it wiped away all doubts he might have felt, and he was begging for it, shoving back, demanding the young hunk seed daddy’s dirty hole. The whore was more than willing, and fifteen minutes later he was on his way, two hundred dollars richer, and Randal was feeling the cum leak from his ass while he stroked his cock off again, unable to believe what he’d just done–but he’d needed it, right? He needed to get fucked, almost as much as he needed to jack off. He tried to convince himself it was a lie, that he’d called a woman, that he’d been married before all of this, but none of that even seemed possible anymore. No–he was a faggot. A faggot who loved to get fucked. A faggot willing to pay to get fucked by a nice, massive cock.
A cock like he’d had, once. He could remember that better, his ten inch tool–but now it was just seven. He wasn’t imagining it, it really was getting smaller–still larger than average, but for how much longer? Was it because he was jacking off too much? It had to be. He’d stop–he’d get help. He’d go to church tomorrow, and talk to someone. They would have to remember him, right?
Bracken's Corner 