Caught in the Showers

"Yeah, I know all about you, Carmody boy. Don't you work some fancy finance job up in the city? Ha, big important man. And here you are, jerking off your little dink, bare butt naked like some shameless, horny 13 year old boy." I closed my eyes and stood there, letting him hold me in his tight grasp and push his big body into mine.

Yes. Though his words shamed me, they gratified me as well. That's what I was. Not a successful, upstanding man worthy of respect, but a naked boy. I let him berate me, feeling his humiliating words wash upon me like a pleasantly steaming shower stream, titillating my bare skin. Words had never elicited such a physical reaction in me but I could feel each insult he spat out, splattering on my nude body.

Chronic jerk off, spanky boy, palm jockey. I reveled in it, the feelings of my nakedness and naughtiness. And though I had let go of my penis the moment he caught me, it remained bobbing about in a ridiculously erect state as he dressed me down.

He clung to my bicep while running his other hand up and down my abdominals. He was feeling me up, giving me an unnerving smirk.

"Yeah, fellow your age, good looking fellow, nice body, you should up to your elbows in pussy. But you're still just jerking off? Spanking the monkey in the men's locker room like some sexually frustrated teenager? You must still be a virgin, huh spanky?" I flinched at the insult and he chuckled. No one had ever spoken to me like this. He licked his lips, watching my face closely with his smirk, observing the effects of his degrading verbal onslaught.

"Is that it, spanky? You're just a needle-dick virgin loser, struck out with all the girls so you gotta whack it off all the time like some wimp kid?" He taunted me by brandishing his fist in my face, pumping it back and forth, imitating masturbation.

"Pathetic. Now, even your faggot Carmody forefathers managed to trick some poor girl into having his brat. But you're still just a virgin jerk off, huh?" He pointed at my boner.

"Yeah, you're just a goddamn virgin. You've never gotten this little dick wet, huh?" I gasped when he took my dickhead between his fingers and shook it around mockingly. He again asked me if I was a virgin, slapping the back of my head when I failed to respond. I nodded sheepishly then answered with a Sir yes Sir when he spanked my buttocks, all while still holding onto my boner by the tip. It was a lie but in that moment, in his clutches, it felt immensely true. I wanted it to be true. I stuttered that I was a virgin and he howled in laughter. He made me declare that I was a virgin with a virgin's penis, slapping my ass each time I repeated it. My shameful mantra echoed through the locker room.

"Can't blame them, can you? You drop your pants and show a girl that dinky little thing you got hiding between your legs, she's going to be disappointed." He laughed, pawing at the bulge in his tennis shorts to adjust himself. He shook it around gratuitously. He was peacocking, showing off his own big endowment while belittling mine. The animal disrespect of it exhilarated me.

"That little three inch pecker you got..." He mused, dropping his package and rubbing my belly again. I closed my eyes, enjoying the feelings of his rough touch on my bare skin even though it made me squirm, being fondled by this deranged old man.

"Looky there, your little buddy spit a bit of your goddamn pre-cum on my shorts during your spanking. Get down and lap it up, boy." His finger pointed at a stain on his tennis shorts, over his right thigh. He squeezed the back of my neck painfully, pushing me down to my knees. He sat back on the bench and pulled me in front of him.

Suddenly I was between his hairy thighs, and he forced my face against his shorts. I could smell my pre-jizz in the fabric, as well as the strong musky scent coming from his crotch. His hand pushed my face into his leg as he hollered down at me.

"Lick it up!" I dabbed my tongue out, obediently. He kept his hand clasped on the nape of my neck, grinding my face against the white material of his shorts. As I lapped at the white polyester I felt his bulge expanding. The heaviness of his genitals, first pressed against my left ear, brought itself to life and pushed against my cheek. Satisfied by my clean up job, he grabbed me by the hair to pull me from his leg.

"Let's see just how talented that tongue is." He asked, flicking his own big tongue at me lewdly. He sat up from the bench and pulled his shorts and boxer shorts down, revealing his enormous, bearded manhood, flaccid but huge, then sat his wide, bare ass back down on the bench. The big old bastard was packing. The sight of it shocked me, I had never been so close to another man's penis before, and this was by far the largest one I'd seen outside of porn. I kneeled on the hard tiled floor between his spread open legs. He kept his hand on the back of my scalp.

"Now look, boy. Just look. Look at that fat hog. Look at those big old balls. Hell, look at my bush. Don't take your goddamn eyes off it, boy." He forced me to stare at his junk. He had a thick, maroon-colored circumcised dick with a big, burgundy head, and a pair of enormous balls. The whole ugly mess was wreathed in a dense bed of gray pubic hair. He kept me there, pawing the back of my skull, forcing me to gaze between his spread open legs. For several minutes we stayed like that, silent but for his angry breathing, me looking at his manhood and him glaring down at me.

Like any guy I had been conditioned to look away from another man's cock, to avert my eyes, but now, with my face a few mere inches from his phallus I took it all in. The red veiny flesh of it, the mane of gray hair, the overripe heft, pulsing, swaying slightly with his breath. Furred and snouted, it was alive. I felt a dizzying swirl of fear, awe, revulsion, embarrassment and something like lust.

His hands squeezed the sides of my head, narrowing my vision to the monstrous slab of virility between his open thighs. Minutes passed as I remained captive down there, obediently studying the creature. It was like he wanted the image to be burned in my mind.

Finally he released my head, leaning back. He grabbed his stiffening knob and shook it at me.

"Now this, boy, this is what a man has between his legs. A real man. You wouldn't know, raised by those Carmody faggots, they're all just skinny little thistle-dicks like you. You Carmody faggots don't have cocks, just little peckers. But real men like me, we've got big old cocks." He spoke in a slow and falsely kind voice, patronizing me while holding onto my head and making me stare at his privates.

I cowered there before his rampant prong, mesmerized by the sight of it. His cock, his balls, his bush - it was all so obscenely big. The sight of it was repellent to me but I couldn't look away. I was transfixed. His hand pulled my head toward him.

"Pucker up those pretty lips and give that cock a nice kiss." He spoke with a mocking sweetness. I looked at his purple cockhead, the wetness of precum dripping from his urethra, shiny like a runny nose. I couldn't. It would be like kissing an animal's snout. Like kissing a monster. His hand slapped the back of my head, hard, shaking me and blurring my vision.

"Do it, boy." He barked. I leaned forward and brought my lips to his cockhead. I could feel the large bulb of flesh pulse against my lips and part them, hardening fully as it entered my mouth. His leaking pre-cum turned my stomach as it pooled upon my palate, and soon he was banging at my tonsils with his thick rod.

"Suck on, it boy. It's in your nature." I struggled to breathe through my nose as the pillar of flesh invaded my throat. He held onto my ears and slowly pulled my head towards his steaming crotch, his great prick spearing into my gullet.

"Look up, boy." I turned my eyes up to his smugly smiling face and saw him holding his phone, then heard the sound of a photo being snapped. I struggled to stand but he slapped my head roughly then grabbed my ear and twisted it so painfully it felt like he was ready to tear it off. I kneeled down again and meekly let him photograph me in this profoundly compromising position.

He wrenched my face up and down on his spit-soaked schlong, taking pictures to show me with just the bulbous tip in my mouth, or all the way down, each time forcing me to look at the camera. Surely my blushing face would be identifiable. He slapped my head again and ordered me to give a thumbs up to the camera as he took a few more pics.

Then he put his phone down and ran both big hands through my hair, palming my scalp, directing me up and down on his big hammer. It was difficult, painful, having my throat violated like this. I could just barely breathe, catching enough air at the top of each gurgling thrust to keep from passing out. I could tell from the gratified groans and coos of pleasure from above that he was enjoying himself.

"Good. Now pay homage to the balls, boy." He praised, running his fingers through my hair then slapping the top of my head to prompt me to stop. Grateful to come up for air, I pulled my mouth off of his thick hard-on and brought my face to the seat of his manhood, those great big goose eggs that hung below his prick in a furry red sack. The sight and smell of them caused a strange reaction in me, like I was swooning.

When had I ever truly studied another man's testicles like this? What alien anatomy. They were so hideous and yet so powerful. One of his nuts was larger than my entire pair. Pay homage. First I kissed them, pecking each steaming gonad respectfully as I had kissed his cockhead. The factory of his sperm, the font of his virility. I wanted to pay homage to them. To honor them.

I smooched them again, slower, more sensually, making sure my lips were wet. His steel wool pubes on his scrotum scraped my tongue as I licked up and down. I wanted to pleasure him. He patted my head affectionately, snickering. I was making out with a man's ball sack, and the thrilling indignity of it made my hard-on pulse and ooze.

"Attaboy, ball-kisser." I opened my mouth as wide as possible to try to suck on them. The soft, rubbery flesh quickly filled my mouth and I could only do one at a time. I sucked and licked on his big hairy nut eagerly, then sucked upon the other.

I wasn't thinking, not really. Or what I was thinking shocked me, bypassing all reason. Instead I acted upon some kind of twisted impulse, some deep-buried instinct. All I could do was pay homage, as he had instructed. Pay homage to his manhood, the very center of his potency. This man had balls. He had the balls to act upon catching me masturbating. Other men discovering a guy jerking off in a shower stall would have looked the other way or stormed off in disgust, maybe shouted something. Reported me at worst.

He had the balls to take matters into his own hand and punish me himself. He had the balls to drag me bare ass out of that shower and throw me over his knee. The balls to spank me, to humiliate me, to take photos of me that could ruin me. He had the balls to force another guy to suck his cock, to suck his balls. And he didn't seem to care if anyone found us here like this. The man had balls. I had to praise them with my mouth.

As he yanked my head off his nut sack and forced his huge hog back down my throat, I realized this is what I had wanted. At least in some small and sick part of me. In the fantasy I had about being caught jerking off, caught by a brutish old man just like this, I hadn't just wanted them to laugh at me, to shame me. I'd wanted them to make me serve them, just like this. Pay homage to them.

In my nature. Naked and on my knees, suffering for another man's pleasure. He'd told me it was in my nature to suck cock. That thought helped me overcome my gag reflex and desperation for air as he began to really pummel my mouth with his prick. He occupied my throat, forcing me up and down on it. Long-dicking my larynx. I kept my eyes closed as his pubic hair scratched my face and told myself that this was where I belonged. Face first in his forest.

Soon he groaned out as if in pain, squeezing my head between his hands like he wanted to crush it. He lifted his ass up and down off the bench as he came down my throat. I tasted his jizz - it tasted salty, mostly unobjectionable, but the quantity of his load was huge and it was thick, viscous. It felt like I downed a glass worth of his slime. I coughed and sputtered, felt some go in my nose but still I forced it all down my gullet.The man must not have cum in a week.

"Drink it up boy, maybe it'll make a man outta ya." He commanded as he regained his breath, coming back down to earth from his orgasm. I just kept my eyes closed and did as he said, sucking the old man's spooge from out of the tip of his softening dick, swallowing it down into my belly. Something about obeying him like this, submitting to this degrading task, was making my boner pulse as it stuck up from my crotch.

He sat up from the bench, kicking his shorts and boxers off his feet and picked me up from the floor. His strong hand clamped the back of my neck.

"Hey I got an idea. You want to show off, huh? Let's show you off then, boy. Let's really show you off." He stood me in front of the mirrors, smiling fiendishly, and I gathered my breath for the next ordeal.