Cocklust confession

Cocksucker dreams and cum-filled fantasies

My confessor came from an angle that I’m used to, but it wasn’t his words that perked up my ears. It was his delicious torment that kept me listening. He was wrapped and trapped, engulfed in desire that he just could not shake. He was glued to every porn vid that showed a woman sucking a cock and automatically seeing himself in her place, finding that not even the most beautiful woman could interest him sexually anymore, not even a little. He hasn’t been with a woman in two years but cannot vocalize to his closest friends what he knows he should. He has not been able to name the words that form in his brain because then it would be official and as long as he does not let them escape, he lives a little bit longer not facing his truth. Being alone is hard but speaking his reality is harder, so he hides from those that know him and calls me instead so he can do more than whisper it. He can say it, and when he does, it spills from his lips in buckets and it collects in pools at his feet.

It’s his confession, and now you all know. He dreams of cum in a sea of cock, of swallows and gulps and frothy burps as he downs one load after another. He imagines hands on the back of his head, guiding him and making him. He throbs while envisioning parties where he is teased, stripped and given no other choice but to perform not just once but continuously. His mind is awash with all that makes him ache, of fat cock heads and lengths that choke him, of licking the drips from the tips that have blown. He can think of nothing else, and he knows what that makes him. He doesn’t have to shout it in real life, I shout it in mine. This closeted cocksucker wannabe is a little less hidden now. Your cocklust is not a secret, and you know who you are.