MY BRAND NEW MOUTH I would choose the first one who met the requirements: active, over fifty, preferably married, cultur

MY BRAND NEW MOUTH I would choose the first one who met the requirements: active, over fifty, preferably married, cultured, with a “bear” type physical build, tall and thick, with room. Cleanliness, seriousness and discretion should be assumed by both parties. It was my usual fantasy, my hidden, secret desire, confessed only through a few anonymous lines on a contacts page. "Mature, passive, without any experience, looking for active, over fifty, preferably married, cultured, with a "bear" type physical constitution, who has room to suck his cock. I will choose the first one who meets the conditions to submit me and use my mouth for the first time." When I hit “send” I felt the nerves of a beginner and even a certain stupid senseless blush, since they were just a few lines, without further details, without any information about my identity being revealed that would expose it to family or acquaintances. I was straight, happily married to a pretty woman, but my hottest fantasies always led me to imagine being subjugated by a robust man, older than me, before whom I would end up naked and kneeling to suck his cock until he spilled his last drop of milk on my mouth. His response message to my private email arrived the next day: "I am who you are looking for. What makes you assume that you are the one who chooses? You have twenty-four hours to respond to me and provide me with a contact telephone number." It did not provide any more information. In the header of the message, your email and a name: Alberto. I still can't explain why I responded immediately, almost unconsciously, as if an inner force pushed me to do it without even stopping to think. A simple message with the nine digits of my cell phone. With no way to turn back, a chill ran down my spine when the phone alerted me that I had a new message. It had only been a couple of minutes since I sent the reply email. I tried to calm my nerves thinking it would be someone I knew or the annoying advertising from the bank or the telephone company, but when I pressed the message key and an unknown number appeared, I felt my pulse speed up again. "Tomorrow, 6 pm. Tonight I will send you the meeting address by email. It is not your choice." I rang the bell extremely punctually. Left behind were the long hours of waiting, the endless night, the impossibility of thinking about anything other than the meeting, at the scheduled time and at the address indicated in an email that arrived at the stroke of midnight. I knew the street, of course, in my own city, just twenty minutes from my home if I took the bus. I wondered a thousand times if we really knew each other, if we had met somewhere before. I mentally reviewed, to the point of boredom, the list of all the Albertos I knew and was always relieved to discover that I didn't remember knowing any of them, if that was their real name. We had not exchanged photos nor had he used the phone other than to send a single message. That was a real blind date. That, in reality, was a madness caused by my own desires, of which I knew its beginning but not its end. And yet, an uncontrollable impulse kept dragging me until it took me to that door in front of which I was, waiting for someone to open it from the inside. The first image of Alberto showed me a tall man, perhaps six feet five, thick, stocky and mature, closer to sixty than fifty, with a semi-gray beard and a perfectly shaved head. Instinctively, I lowered my eyes after meeting him for the first time, until his deep voice echoed throughout my being. "Happens". I tried to smile and entered that spacious house decorated with exquisite taste. He waved me to follow him down a short hallway that led to a small living room. Alberto, after turning on the light, went to the window to close it and lower the blinds completely. The silence of the house was absolute and it didn't seem like there was anyone in it except Alberto and me. It was another silence that made me uncomfortable: that of that small room in which we were standing, one in front of the other, me unable to move a single muscle in my body and Alberto with the gaze of his black eyes fixed on me. - Why were you looking for someone educated? – he asked me in a friendly tone. I was so surprised by the question that I was not able to answer him immediately and only managed to stammer out a series of ridiculous sounds. He felt an enormous dryness in his throat and a growing blush on his face. In some ways, I was embarrassed by the fact that I didn't have an answer for something so simple. I always thought that, if that were the case, there would be prior contact, via email, perhaps later via phone. And it seemed essential to me that the other person knew how to express themselves correctly and write fluently. It would inspire more seriousness and confidence in me, maybe silly, but that's how I felt. However, I was not able to express it. - I liked that – it calmed me down. – I also like that people read and know how to express themselves correctly. I would never have answered you if your message had been riddled with spelling mistakes. It seemed like he was reading my thoughts and that made me shudder. I was only able to look at him, unable to articulate a word, with a whirlwind of indefinite thoughts hammering my head. I was there, in the house of a stranger who faithfully fulfilled the conditions set out in my message, but who could have been radically different from what I was looking for and who would have kept the appointment in the same way. His voice, with a much more serious and serious tone, broke my momentary abstraction completely. - I haven't heard your voice yet. But it's true that you didn't come to me to chat. I'm not interested in your mouth speaking, at least for now. You're going to open it better to give me pleasure. And for other things. I'm going out for a moment and I'll be back in ten minutes. When I return I want to find you in this same room, completely naked. You are completely prohibited from leaving it. Remember that you are not at home. Be polite. He closed the living room door when he left. His voice continued to echo in my head. Specific words, specific phrases. "Pleasure". “Give me pleasure.” “For other things.” What the hell would he have meant by “for other things”? “Completely naked”… I got ready, leaving my clothes on a chair. At that moment, I would have liked to be able to contemplate my body in a mirror, my forty-odd years badly worn physically due to lack of exercise, my belly and those hidden love handles under my clothes but not in the absence of it, "damn lack of exercise", even though I would seem thin in comparison to Alberto, my languid and uncircumcised cock that always seemed a little small to me although not so to my wife, my retracted balls, my mouth, the mouth that I was going to open to give pleasure to a man for the first time… “And for other things”… To shorten the wait, I entertained myself by reading the titles of the hundreds of books neatly arranged on the shelves of the only piece of furniture in the room, from encyclopedias to historical novels, including a vast collection of erotic literature. Alberto returned suddenly, at the exact moment when I was looking at the cover of “Dominated by Desire”, by Shayla Black, which caused the book to slip and fall with a crash to the floor. Alberto closed the door behind him. He was naked and in his right hand he carried a sports bag that he left on the same chair where I had placed my clothes. Seeing him naked made my heart race. His corpulent and very broad figure loomed before me, despite exceeding his height by a few centimeters. “Bear-type physical constitution.” He certainly had it, the hairy torso, the prominent belly, the width of his arms and his robust legs. And his cock, still flaccid, with the glans completely exposed, falling on the large bags of his balls. He approached me until he put his lips at the level of my right ear. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my ear before he whispered imperatively, “Pick up the book from the floor.” I obeyed quickly, replacing the book in its place on the shelf, with trembling hands. Alberto grabbed me by the waist and pressed my body against the furniture, pushed by his own body. I looked for the necessary support with my hands but he grabbed my wrists and opened my arms, ordering me not to move while he pressed his body more against mine. I felt my heartbeat rumbling in my chest and in my head, Alberto's burning skin burning my back and my buttocks on which I could sense the growing erection of his cock. He repeated that I should not move, before releasing my wrists to find my nipples with his fingers and pinch them somewhat harshly, making a slight moan escape my mouth. My mouth. Still silent in words but loud in the labored and sonorous breathing, as if I were going to lack air at any moment. Motionless, I let his hands twist my nipples in a pleasurable way, to separate and reattach his body to mine, again and again, to rub his step against the groove of my buttocks. Submissively, I let myself be carried away by that man who, when he wanted, grabbed me by the neck to take me to the middle of the room and, without saying a word, pushed my shoulders in an unmistakable signal for me to kneel before him. The moment arrived so many times imagined and desired in my hot mature-straight fantasies, secret and unconfessed to the world that was beyond that room, that house, that stranger whose swollen cock was less than an centimeter from my lips, haughty, shiny, powerfully hard. My lips kissed the pink bud and my tongue ran along the rough trunk with marked veins. I didn't know what to do, where to start, how to act, when to catch that cock to suck it, to eat it whole. I didn't even know if I would be capable of it and if I would know how to suck her properly. I was intoxicated by the smell of that cock that my tongue slowly ran over, the smell of a man, a macho, its palpitations felt in my hand gripping the trunk to rhythmically raise and lower the skin swollen with blood and desire. Hundreds of images of blowjobs seen in porn videos, of men and women, were boiling in my mind, and I felt capable of being like those protagonists of magical and endless fellatios. But Alberto had other plans that involved being the one who governed my mouth and my impulses, who dictated the precise orders, who directed all the maneuvers to penetrate and subdue that virgin mouth. His hands intertwined at the back of my neck dominated my spirit and all my movements, they marked the rhythm and depth of the blowjob, when I should linger to savor the first drops of his milk in the cocoon and when I should drown in the immense suffocation of my mouth absolutely penetrated by his cock, always until the opportune moment when the watery eyes and burning cheeks begged for a pinch of air, given in large gulps when his hands relaxed the pressure and he himself removed the cock from my mouth soaked with saliva that spilled over my legs and onto the floor. And without rest, I felt the cock hit my cheekbones harden even more, resting on my forehead so that my lips and my tongue could kiss and suck the round, full balls, until I began again, once I had completely recovered my breath, the frantic movement of the lips closed on the glans, of the mouth swallowing the twenty centimeters of flesh, faster and faster, with more force, barely breathing, my ears deafened by the noise. Alberto's gasps - come on, come on, bastard, suck faster! - matching the very sound of my pierced mouth, of my labored breath, of my nose hitting his belly, of my throat generating more and more saliva. Until Alberto's scream, the rigidity of his fingers clenched against my neck, the tension of his legs firmly supported on the floor and the throbbing flesh of his stopped cock announce the imminent explosion, the liquid discharge of his milk in my mouth, on my forehead, on my chin, like an uncontrollable fountain that pours in continuous jets onto my lips and my tongue that savor the bittersweet taste of sperm. We both try to regain our pulse and breath, while my mouth does the obligatory work of cleaning the last drops of milk in the cocoon, followed by the soft and slow blowjob, as if wanting to take advantage of the last seconds of rigid erection before the meat softened. Until that moment I was unaware of my own arousal reflected in my hardened cock. I felt the pain of my numb knees and a shiver ran through my body when I realized that everything had been as real as being there, naked and kneeling before a man who had subjected my mouth to the whim of his cock, my mouth new and silent. I was still panting, with my hands resting on my thighs, contemplating the erection of my cock from which the tip of the glans was barely showing. I wet the palm of my left hand with the milk that Alberto had poured on my face and that served as a perfect lubricant to achieve in a few movements that the cocoon was completely exposed. While I masturbated, absent from everything, Alberto stood behind me and placed a ball gag in my mouth with a leather strap that he tied to the back of my neck. I had been caught so off guard and so absorbed in my own pleasure that I had no time to react. “Keep masturbating!” he ordered me forcefully. And I obeyed, while, scared, I followed him with my eyes to see how he took out a rope and an anal dildo from the sports bag. - You asked me to submit to you, not just to open your mouth – he told me calmly and with a half smile on his mouth. - Or do you want to leave now? I shook my head. As always, without thinking about it. It was as if he had a powerful influence over me and absolutely overrode my will. All that was needed was a dry “Enough!” so that I could immediately stop masturbating, stand up and obey, one by one, his instructions. He tied my hands with the rope, joining my wrists, before ordering me to kneel on the sofa, on the center cushion, and raise my arms to tie the rope to the iron forging of a wall ornament. He corrected my posture, so that I leaned my torso forward and opened my legs, so that my ass was exposed and at the mercy of his whims. He slapped my offered buttocks hard and whispered to me, again with his lips close to my ear: - I loved deflowering your mouth. As you see, your mouth is good for more things than sucking my cock. For example, to bite that ball... And to scream... The problem is going to be that the ball is going to prevent your screams from being heard. But if you behave well, you will scream with pleasure, even if you can't do it. But if you misbehave, oh if you misbehave!... Inside that bag I have things that you wouldn't like me to take out. So be a good and obedient submissive. Because that's what you are from now on: my submissive. You already know. It's not you who chooses... Bisslave (bisslave@hotmail.com)