b. August 16, 1963 (63 years), Chicago Heights, Illinois
You lose yourself in cocksucking rhythm. Occasionally youâd hear the Congressman say, âFuck, thatâs good,â but mostly he just breathed heavily, taking pleasure in the nonstop jackhammer process of your work on his shaft, or the downward plunge to his cockâs base, where youâd grind your face into his short brown pubes to stretch your throat muscles and lick his engorged organ. Heâd grab your skull with both hands and fuck your face then. âSuck that fucking dick, faggot,â heâd say, thrusting to the back of your throat and holding it there in the tight, warm darkness before resuming his assault on your mouth and throat. âDamn, youâre good at this,â he says, throwing himself back on the bed, allowing you to go back to the bottomâs business of servicing him.
âGet up, boy. Weâre trading places,â the Congressmen said, climbing on top of you and lowering his parted ass cheeks onto your face. âThatâs it, faggot. Get yourself some manhole.â
He jacked his big, fat dick while he rode your face, watching himself in the hotel room mirror as he did. He was muscular and hairy, going somewhat fat in his healthy aging, but he was still visibly strong, powerful. The retired Brigadier General. He was going to get his nut with your tongue up his ass, sucking his asshole until it was inside out. With a guttural moan he raised himself off of you and aimed the fat, inflamed head of his cock at your face. Moaning and gasping, he shot his load, ropes of precious white jizz flying out of him and into your open mouth, your cheeks, your eyes.
His still hard cock glistening with spit, mucous, and semen, the Congressman playfully slapped it on your cum drenched face. âSee ya next time, faggot. Looking forward to doing it again.â
