“Use me!”

It all happened last time I was vacationing in the south of France. After a sunny weekend of taking a boat trip around the coast of Marseille, during which I saw a plethora of tanned, muscled, hot furry French guys—all wearing small, tight and package-enhancing speedos—I felt very horny. Every time I saw one of those gorgeous heterosexual dudes showing off their incredible bodies and bulges—because, let’s be real, French guys are all sex-craved exhibitionists—I felt my hairy stretched balls getting fuller and, subsequently, heavier.

On that Monday, my morning wood was so stiff —I could have battered pancakes or played baseball with it—that it hurt. We’ve all had days when our cocks are so gloriously swollen and with an everpresent drop of precum about to fall down our cockhead; days like that, we have to cum, nay, we need to cum right away. Anyone can then understand how, in those kinds of moments, I have no choice, and owe it to my penis, to hunt for cock. A big fat juicy dick— or dicks, plural—that will ideally explode inside my mouth, repainting the walls of my cavity with creamy salty and sweet dick juice. I was to penis what zombies are to brains, and I was famished. There was no time to waste on those sex app; instead I went down to the local mega sex shop, inside which they’d installed two x-rated cinemas, one showing heterosexual porn and the other, gay porn. I could easily find some decent meat to enjoy in there, I thought. Although I didn’t have much experience when it came to cruising, I did know I had to visit the first porn room. It was there that I would find the best remedy to my horniness: hypermasculine track suit wearing French heterosexual douchebags. Coincidentally, a lot of them got off on gagging anonymous fags during their lunch breaks.

Believe it or not, the backroom scene abode by a few unwritten rules: guys wanting to get sucked sat in the second and third rows, while the ones wanting to suck—that was me—had to walk around the room until one of the guys sitting in these rows would tell them to come over. Being a big masculine-looking blond guy with blue eyes that screamed “use me!” I was normally called by a hot daddy or by a young, hung bisexual suburban guy in a matter of seconds. That day was no different: a forty-something dark-skinned dude signaled me over with a subtle head movement. He was caressing what looked like a large uncut ten-inch penis through his Adidas track pants. No joke, his huge dong was almost as long as his thighs. There was a huge spot of precum on his pants which, at the sight of it, made me salivate, almost to the point of drooling like a popper bator. The guy was wearing a matching Adidas vest he’d unzipped to show off his amazing six-pack, his gorgeous chest and his exquisite nipples, which he was pinching vigorously between belly strokes. As they say, he was good to go.

All the pornstars in the world didn’t excite me as much as he did; I became the hungriest of sluts and got down on my knees in front of him instantly. The social contract was clear, he was to offer me his heterosexual veiny cock and I was to use my homosexual mouth to satisfy him and his unmet needs. I started off by pulling down his Adidas pants entirely to his ankles, pushed open his vest on the sides of his perfect hairy chiseled torso—so I could admire what God had created just for me—and shoved his enormous dick deep down my aching throat. He let out the most incredible soft moan, as if he was almost crying; I had a feeling that no woman had sucked him like that before. Servicing men is my main hobby and talent, and he was enjoying every second of it. I came up for air and spat a generous amount of saliva onto his prick, before starting to suck his cock furiously. If the ecstasy of it all made it difficult for that dude to concentrate on the porno playing in front of him, his eyes never left the screen. I bet he was imagining that the blond chick, who was being sodomized by huge black cocks, was now blowing him. In his eyes, I was a hot barely legal girl with supple breasts and huge dick-sucking red lips. We both knew that, but he didn’t dare look at me, not wanting that fantasy to evaporate. Even when I was looking at him while devouring his tool, he never even glanced at me. Instead, he’d push my head closer and closer to his balls, not caring if I were gasping for air. The more I choked, the louder he was moaning, and the more he moaned, the more I felt him getting closer to feeding me his load.

The French guy suddenly pushed me away, and to my surprise, looked at me straight in the eyes with a mix of sexual violence and lust; it only lasted a second but we both knew what had happened. He took his cock in his hand and started masturbating it with my leftover saliva. I felt the tip of his cock head bouncing off my lips leaving a mix of spit and precum around my mouth. He glanced at his penis, to see where he could/would shoot, and that’s when our eyes met again, and locked. He couldn’t escape it; we were in a sexual trance.

Then, it happened so fast: he moaned very loudly —that was my cue to open my mouth—he came on my tongue and I swallowed right away. His abundant man juice tasted like pure heaven. He put his Adidas pants back on, told me he would be there all week at two in the afternoon and that I should also be there. He’d bring his hottest daddy friends as he’d enjoy seeing them cover me with their dad jizz. That night, I changed my vacation plans to be available at two for the next ten days. Vive la France !

Jonathan Lemieux @johnnimagni