His briefs were gone. His cock loomed above my face. Beyond, his flat-muscled stomach was bunched into tight folds of flesh beneath the sculpted domes of his pecs. His eyes were on mine. The look on his face frightened me—a look of contempt and total control.

“Stop twisting your face up, Bill. It makes you ugly. Cock, Bill. My cock. Look at it.”

It hovered over me, white and thick. It was perfect, like the rest of his body. Alabaster white and enormously thick, tapered slightly at the base. The head was huge. The skin was pearly white and translucent, as smooth as glass, showing deep blue veins within. The circumcision ring was almost unnoticeable, the color of cream. The shaft looked as hard as marble, but spongy and fat, as if it were covered by a sheath of rubbery flesh. I could feel its heat on my face.

“My cock, Bill. Taste it.” He rubbed my face all over his meat. I felt its fullness on my cheeks and nose. The big head pressed against each of my eyes in turn.

“Lick it. Lick my cock, Bill.” I opened my mouth—able to move it now—and stuck out my tongue. He slid my drooling mouth over his meat, flattened my tongue against the bulging shaft, ran it over the beveled edge of his cockhead, allowed me to probe into the deep slit at the tip.

He pushed my face onto his shaft and filled my mouth with his cockhead. It came back to me, the old days, when this was what I craved from other men, the privilege of feeling their meat warm and solid in my mouth. I realized he was trying to pacify me—giving me something big to suck on to make me forget the shock of what had just happened—or what I imagined had happened.

I rolled my eyes up and drew on the massive beauty of his chest and arms the way my mouth was drawing on his massive cock. My throat had grown thick with saliva—I tried to swallow, found I couldn’t, just as I couldn’t speak—realized I wasn’t even breathing. The accumulated spittle frothed around my lips and oozed over his shaft.

He pushed my face all the way onto his cock. There was a bruising pain as it entered my gullet, as if he were shoving a beer bottle down my throat. I retched, and spattered his balls and thighs with spit. I was gagging, but not choking—how could I choke when my breathing had stopped?

His hips never moved. He forced my head up and down, driving my throat onto his shaft and pulling back till my lips caught on the ridge of the head.