The first taste

by BRK   

Martin didn’t even know sucking yourself was a thing… until now. 

Martin finished drying off and pulled back the plastic curtain on his little white-tiled dormitory shower cubicle with a quick scrape of metal rings being yanked across the old fixed-in-place rod, only to find Brett “No Boundaries” Noble from down the hall standing right there in front of him. He was stark naked and ready to shower, a heavy tropical-fish-themed bath towel tossed casually over his bare shoulder… rather than being cinched around his trim waist where all the rules of decency Martin knew of said it should be.

Martin gaped at him. Brett gave him a quick once-over, then smiled crookedly at him. “Bro, you’re kinda huge,” he said approvingly.

Head down and cheeks burning, Martin quickly pulled his own solid blue towel around himself, glad he’d made sure his mom had bought the extra-large towels as part her crazy pre-off-to-college shopping bonanza. He thought he should say something—you were supposed to say something when people paid you a compliment—but saying “thanks” felt… weird. He wasn’t responsible for the size and aesthetics of his dick. More to the point, he was a more than a little self-conscious about the weird second growth spurt he’d started experiencing last year in his senior year at high school, and which was only now tailing off. No one else in his class was growing out of their jeans (again) or experiencing increased lankiness. “Uhhh…” he mumbled with head still down, his brain still stalling on what to say.

“So, can you suck it?” Brett asked eagerly. It was like he was quizzing a buddy on his top-tier sports car and what kind of acceleration and braking stats it had.

Martin looked up sharply. “Huh?”

Brett grinned genially at him. “You know, suck yourself?” he said. He shrugged slightly and glanced down at himself. “I tried a couple times, can’t quite manage. But you—” He hauled his gaze up again, used the return trip to give Martin another appraisal. “I bet you can do it. You look kinda bendy, too, so that should help.”

Martin stared at him, dumbfounded. He’d thought for sure the main challenge of living in the dorms would be the embarrassment of getting constant instaboners from various naked encounters with smirky, smooth-torsoed muscle-jocks like his roommate Orrin or hairy-chested super-defined dudebros like Brett. (Neither was quite his type, his preference being happy, mousy guys like his high school crush Wes; but his hair-trigger dick didn’t seem to care lately as long as whoever it was was hot and male… and there was a lot of hot and male around here.) The last thing he’d expected was guys marveling at his junk and wondering if he could—if he could fellate himself.

Martin didn’t think he was all that sheltered. He’d seen porn. He knew most of what two guys could do together, or thought he did. But it had never, ever occurred to him that sucking your own dick was even a thing.

He hadn’t stopped gawping at Brett, who was still grinning at him, still naked. And male. And hot. Belatedly, his cock got with the program and started to react to the simple carnal stimulus that was Brett—and, he thought ruefully, a good thousand other guys within a stone’s throw of where he stood.

Brett noticed the movement under the navy blue towel and winked. “Maybe you should give it a try,” he suggested, giving Martin’s shoulder a pat—still in the manner of a guy telling his bro he should find some empty road and really open up his throttle.

They stood there like that for an agonizing half-second. Then Martin realized he was in the way and flushed again. Uprooting his bigger-than-he-was-used-to feet from the tiles he hurried from the bathroom, his mind all out of kilter and his dick more excited than he could remember.

This was a mistake, Martin thought, squirming in the bleachers as he watched his school’s mid-ranked but very scrappy football team try to slam and tackle their opponents into submission. Why had he let Orrin talk him into coming to one of his games? It wouldn’t have been a big deal a few weeks back, at the start of the semester, but things had changed since the incident in the showers and Martin’s first taste, life-changing of his own fat, hard, delicious, mouth-filling dick.

Now Martin literally could not get enough. Everything about it called to him. He vividly remembered the first sharp, invasive taste of his own precum, like a sacred elixir created solely to seduce him into a life of constant autofellatio. The feel his mouth experienced as he pushed his wide, flat erection further and further into its depth, introducing every single receptor on his tongue and his palate and his inner cheeks to the experience of hard cockflesh, one by one, further and further in, until the firm spongey glans was brushing against his throat, toying with the seeming impossibility of swallowing himself, while his tongue and lips wrapped helplessly around his broad, stiff girth. The intensity from the other side of being engulfed in a hot, eager mouth, sending constant sparks of gratification through his entire being, over and over, like it was new and unprecedented pleasure every single second. The surging tightness of his balls as he took himself to an entirely new level of sexual stimulus. The shocking ecstasy of his first try at sucking, pulling back and then swallowing his dick again. Three such envelopments and he was undone, and then the tsunami of orgasm shuddering through him and the high-pressure gouts of cum exploding from his cock, almost choking him before he got the hang of gulping down his own addictive spunk-brew.

He swallowed, his dick as hard as it could get in his restrictive jeans. He could taste his own cum, his soul demanding that it be for real and not in his imagination. The need to suck himself and have that hot dick fill his mouth and make himself cum again down his own throat consumed him every waking moment and probably through his dreams, too.

“Fuck you, Brett,” he whispered to himself, unheard under the roar of the crowd as the home team forced another fourth down. If it hadn’t been for his dormmate’s friendly suggestion, he was sure he would never have known it was possible. If he hadn’t ever heard of self-sucking, he would never have tried it that moment after the shower, never created a hunger that could not be slaked no matter how many times a week, a day, an hour he performed this exquisite ritual of pleasure upon himself.

The crowd settled, gabbling excitedly, and he tried to focus on the game. All he saw, though, was extremely tight golden-brown pants hugging all those firm thighs and hard muscle asses, and brawny corded forearms emerging from jerseys hiding all kinds of impressive bods. Without willing it he half-imagined all the players below suddenly deprived of their uniforms and pads, playing naked under the blazing lights. He lit on Orrin, the running back, as he got into formation—he knew what that body looked like, so it was easy to picture him strutting around down there in the buff exactly the way he did in their room while he dried his hair or talked on the phone with his girlfriend a half a state away.

Fuck, he couldn’t handle this anymore. His dick was trying to bend itself in half getting to its maximum size, and his mouth was begging him for the feel of cock and the taste of precum on his needy tonsils. He stood up abruptly and started plowing brusquely down the row to the aisle, earning a number of protests and annoyed glares as he forced his way past legs and bookbags toward egress and release.

Once he got out of the aisle he hurried up the steps and into the gaping maw of the stadium interior, making a quick left away from the overpriced concessions toward the men’s room. It wasn’t ideal, but there weren’t a lot of choices. He really hoped the place smelled like cleanser and not urine.

The men’s room was one of those like they have at airports, a sort of loop-around with sinks and urinals on one side and stalls on the other. There were a few guys in here, standing at the urinals or washing their hands, but he barely paid them any attention. Swerving right he entered the other side and ducked into the nearest unoccupied stall, closing the door and locking it before undoing his fly and pushing down his jeans and briefs as quickly as he possibly could.

His dick sprang up obediently, hard and wide and longer than his still-outdated image of his own cock, before the recently completed late-teens growth spurt. He shivered with pleasure, from seeing it and from knowing what was going to happen next.

He sat on the toilet, leaning forward, mouth at the ready. Since Brett’s revelation he’d sought out a few autofellatio images online. He knew some guys had to contort themselves to do this, planting their feet behind them on a wall or crowbarring their ankles behind their heads; but Martin was blessed with enough length and flexibility that all he had to do to deep-throat himself was bend over.

His lips brushed against the glans, immediately inducing a fat pearl of pre to emerge from the slit. He licked it up hungrily, then slowly pushed his lips over the wide, stubby head of his demanding, extra-sensitive cock. Warmth smashed through him, and he juddered out a long breath, half through his nose, half around the upper reaches of his impatient, steel-hard erection.

He was already close, from the unnerving public nature of his endeavor and the intensity of his need. He needed to cum. Quickly he drove himself down on his mighty prick, jamming the head against his throat and filling his mouth with wonderful, necessary cock. He wanted to stop and stay like this, reveling in the feel of his mouth as a tight And hungry sleeve for his most appreciative dick, but his release was both imperative and imminent.

He pushed a little further, cautiously letting the head of his pleasure-seeking dick enter his near-virginal throat. He’d only gone this far a few times, but in each instance orgasm had erupted in seconds. Sure enough, the storm of pleasure welled up in him almost instantly, driving him toward release, and a quick cupping of his heavy, drawn-up balls sealed the deal. He was done. He was cumming, right now.

He pulled back just in time, so his mouth was only half full of fat, hard cock with the hot, bitter ambrosia started gushing through his prick and inundating his very being. He gripped the wide, flat shaft with his strong lips, letting the euphoria fill him as he swallowed his own jizz over and over.

Finally it was done. A little woozy, as usual, he straightened up on his seat. He was feeling lightheaded and a little used, like he was his own fuck-slave, but—more than anything—he was awash in a level of pleasure he wasn’t sure anyone else could understand. Half in a dream he got to his feet, clumsily tucking his fleshy, half-resisting tool away as he did so. He let himself wobble in the overwhelming sensations a little longer, swallowing cum-flavored spit and feeling suffused with lingering climax, before a series of flushes gradually reminded him of where he was.

He sighed at the unwelcome return to reality, already missing the taste of his own hard, hot dick. Checking his fly to make sure he’d fully secured himself, he unlocked the stall, wiping his mouth on his bare forearm as he left the facilities.

Outside he stopped short, surprised to find Brett standing there near the men’s room entrance. He was grinning. “You were doing it, weren’t you?” he taunted amiably. “I saw you bolt up here, and I knew. You were, weren’t you?”

Martin dropped his head, blushing hotly, and tried to brush past him, but Brett turned and matched his gait, dropping an arm over his shoulder and pelting him with questions. “So what’s it like?” he asked. “You gotta tell me, bro. Can you deep-throat it, or just the tip? Is it like being blown by someone else? Have you tried anything else while you’re doing it?”

At that one, Martin looked up in surprise. “What?” he exclaimed.

Brett beamed at him, his bright hazel eyes full of knowledge and ideas.

They walked back to the bleachers together, Martin feeling all at once both excited and agitated. He wasn’t sure whether he could even handle any further escalation of his self-pleasuring experience. He was also certain that nothing on earth could keep him from finding out.

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