You’ve always been so sure. Girls are soft, they smell like flowers, they understand. Boys are… not for you. But tonight at the party, the music is loud and the vodka is cheap, and somehow you end up in a dim hallway, pressed against the wall with him. His mouth is on yours—hot, insistent, tasting of beer and mint. You mean to push him away, but your hands stay flat against his chest. His tongue slips past your lips, and something inside you stutters. It’s not soft. It’s demanding. It’s *different*.
A spark jumps in your stomach, low and unfamiliar. He pulls back, breathing hard, his eyes searching yours. You should be repulsed. But your lips are tingling, and your heart is hammering, and you realize with a jolt that you’re leaning in again. You kiss him back this time, chasing that taste. It’s bitter and male, and a deep, confusing hunger wakes up inside you. Your body feels warm and pliant against his, and you want more of it, more of this rough, urgent feeling you never knew you craved.
ou find yourself on your knees in front of him, the hallway noise muffled and distant. Your head is spinning, but your hands are steady as you fumble with his belt and zipper. You pull his cock out, and it’s warm and heavy in your hand, thicker than you imagined. You hesitate for just a second, but that new, hungry feeling drives you forward. You lean in, parting your lips, and take the head into your mouth. It’s salty, musky, completely foreign. You expected to hate it, but as you slide your tongue along the underside, you feel him shudder.
A surge of power mixes with the curiosity. You take him deeper, your mouth stretching to accommodate him. The weight on your tongue, the low groan he lets out—it sends a jolt straight to your own core, making you wet. You find a rhythm, bobbing your head, using your hand to stroke what you can’t take. You love the way he fills your mouth, the way his hips twitch when you suck harder. You love the taste of him now, the proof of his pleasure leaking against your tongue. You realize you don’t want to stop. You want to hear him lose control, you want to feel him come in your mouth. This isn’t a mistake. It’s a craving, deep and undeniable, and you give yourself over to it completely.
His hands fist in your hair, holding you steady as he starts to thrust into your mouth. It's rough, uncontrolled, his hips driving his cock deep into your throat with each push. You gag, tears springing to your eyes, but you don't pull away. You relax your jaw, letting him use you, and the feeling is overwhelming. The stretch of your lips, the pressure in the back of your throat, the sheer intensity of his dominance—it makes your own body burn with need. He grunts above you, his movements growing frantic.
You taste the sharp, bitter pre-cum, and then he slams in one last time, holding himself deep. A hot, thick pulse floods your throat as he comes. You swallow instinctively, again and again, taking every drop he gives you. It's messy and raw, and you love it. You love the way he empties himself inside you, the way he slumps against the wall afterward, breathless and spent. You stay on your knees, looking up at him, your lips swollen and wet, knowing you'll crave this again.
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