COCK SUCKER
Do you ever notice how certain moments linger, like the memory of your favorite flavor? Think about that for a second — the way a taste can stay with you, almost as if it’s playing on your lips, your tongue, your taste buds, long after the moment has passed. Have you ever felt that? Let me tell you about Vincent.
The room reeked of desperation and the faint, sickly-sweet scent of cherry. Vincent had spent the better part of the evening transforming himself into his fantasy — a fragile ingénue in a cheap, shimmering mini skirt, legs smooth as silk, trembling under the fluorescent light of his dimly lit bedroom. A half-empty wine bottle stood sentinel on the bedside table, its contents fueling his uninhibited plunge into the abyss of his desires.
On his lips, a bright red lollipop bobbed with nervous intensity, a vivid mockery of innocence. Its glossy sheen mirrored his smeared lipstick, a trembling hand pulling at his nylon stockings as the other slowly slid up the skirt’s too-tight hemline. The mirror before him revealed the caricature of his longing — an exaggerated femininity, teetering between beauty and grotesquery.
As his pleasure built, so did his carelessness. The lollipop slid deeper into his mouth, its hard candy surface grinding against his teeth. He moaned, lost in the imagined gaze of someone who might revel in his degradation. But reality was crueler than his fantasies. A sudden cough jerked him forward, and the lollipop lodged in his throat. His eyes widened, a flash of panic interrupting his euphoria.
He clawed at his neck, staggering to his feet. The stockings tore as he tripped, the constrictive skirt holding his legs together like shackles. He fell to the floor, writhing, his garish reflection watching impassively as he gasped silently, his painted lips twisting into a silent scream.
The sound of gagging echoed down the hallway, sharp and desperate. Doc sighed, pausing mid-step with an air of weary resignation. This wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last. With a slow shake of her head, she strolled toward the cracked door, her boots thudding softly against the floorboards.
Peering inside, she found him there, red-faced, gasping, and clawing at his throat. The bright green stem of a lollipop jutted from his lips like some absurd attempt at self-sabotage. The skirt he’d squeezed into had ridden up, a gaudy mess of sequins reflecting the harsh light of his bedside lamp.
“Choking again on those lollipops, huh?” Doc said dryly, leaning against the doorframe. Her tone was laced with exasperation, but a wry smirk tugged at her lips. “Didn’t I tell you to knock it off? One of these days, you’re really going to die.”
He managed a muffled, panicked grunt, his wide eyes pleading for help. Doc rolled her eyes and sauntered over, dropping to her knees beside him. “Alright, alright, don’t get your skirt in a twist. Let’s get this over with.” Without ceremony, she pried his mouth open and shoved two fingers down his throat, her other hand steadying his jaw. A slick, wet sound followed as she dislodged the candy with an efficient twist of her wrist.
The offending lollipop shot across the room, landing with a sticky thunk against the wall before sliding down in a smear of saliva and THC residue.
He collapsed backward, gasping for air, his face a blotchy mess of relief and lingering humiliation. “I just love my THC pops,” he rasped, voice hoarse, as though that excused everything.
Doc wiped her fingers on the hem of his discarded shirt, sitting back on her heels. She fixed him with a glare sharp enough to cut through his haze of shame. “You’re like a cat with nine lives, only dumber. You wanna go out choking on candy while wearing a skirt that doesn’t fit?”
He blinked at her, sheepish. “It’s not that tight…”
“Spare me,” she snapped, standing up and brushing off her knees. “Next time, I’m letting Darwin take care of you.”
She turned to leave, but before stepping out, she tossed a glance over her shoulder. “Oh, and by the way? You owe me money.”
The air in the room thickened as Vincent looked up at her, wide-eyed and trembling. Doc leaned down, her heel hovering just above his face, the glint of it catching the dim light. Her lips curled into a mocking smile as she tilted her head, studying him like a plaything that had outlived its initial charm.
“How much do I owe this time?” he croaked, his voice fragile, almost pleading.
She didn’t answer right away. Instead, her heel pressed just enough to make his pulse spike, the sharp edge kissing his skin with the promise of pain. “You’re not working hard enough, pig,” she hissed.
Doc shifted her weight and crouched beside him, her movements deliberate, calculated. She plucked the sticky, dirt-covered lollipop from the ground with two fingers, her expression one of amused disgust. “Open,” she commanded, her voice low and smooth.
“Imagine this Vincent: you’re about to take a bite of something, something so perfect it seems to call to you. Before you even taste it, you can feel it — right there on your lips. The texture, the warmth, the coolness… whatever it is, it’s already teasing you, already drawing you in. Can you feel that now?”
His lips quivered but parted as if by instinct, and she shoved the soiled candy between his teeth. “Swallow,” she ordered, her voice cold and clipped.
He gagged, the sickly-sweet taste mixing with the grit of dirt and his own fear. Her hands slid around his throat, fingers tightening just enough to make his breath hitch. “You want to choke, don’t you?” she whispered, her lips brushing against his ear. “You want to choke.”
Her grip tightened, and his eyes fluttered shut, his world narrowing to the suffocating pressure of her hands and the sharp taste of humiliation on his tongue. Her words dripped with venom and amusement, each syllable pressing deeper into his psyche. “That’s fine, Vincent. Because tonight, in your little girly fantasy, I’ve invited some friends over for you. You’ll get to show them what a good little slut you are.”
With a theatrical clap of her hands, the door creaked open, and a figure stepped into the room. Tall, muscular, and radiating dominance, the man moved with a confidence that filled the space. His dark skin glistened under the dim light, his arousal unmistakable.
Vincent’s breath caught in his throat, his fear and arousal tangling into a chaotic knot. Doc stood, a wicked grin spreading across her face as she gestured toward him. “Here’s your chance, pig. Don’t disappoint.”
She stepped back, folding her arms and watching with a smirk as the scene began to unfold, her presence looming as both puppeteer and judge.
Doc’s voice cut through the room like a blade, her mocking tone echoing as she loomed over Vincent. “You want to be a girl, you want to be a girl, you want to be a girl,” she repeated, each phrase dripping with scorn and amusement. Her eyes narrowed, locking onto his trembling form. “Fine,” she hissed, kneeling beside him, her face mere inches from his. “You’re going to suck like a girl. Like a girl.”
She grabbed his chin, forcing his gaze upward, her fingers digging into his jaw. His lips trembled, stained with the remnants of the lollipop she had shoved back into his mouth moments before. “Isn’t this what you wanted, Vincent?” she asked, her voice laced with venomous sweetness. “To be the perfect little doll? The fantasy? Then you’d better act the part.”
With a swift motion, she tilted his head to face the man standing over him, a silent but commanding presence. Doc’s hand trailed down his throat, a teasing mimicry of her earlier grip, and she leaned in close, her breath hot against his ear. “Open wide, sweetheart,” she purred. “Let’s see if you’ve got what it takes to really be what you claim to want.”
Her laughter was low and dark, a sound that seemed to vibrate through the room as she leaned back, watching him with a mix of curiosity and derision. “Come on, Vincent,” she cooed, the sharp edge of her words cutting through the air. “Show me. Show him. Prove to me you’re as much of a girl as you dream about being.”
Her gaze flicked toward the man, her smirk widening as she gestured toward Vincent. “He’s all yours. Let’s see what this little wannabe can do.”
A wave of putrid air hit him, making his stomach lurch and his eyes water. It smelled of decay, of earthworms and rotting fruit, yet beneath it all was something strangely sweet — a sickly undertone that teased his senses, making his mouth water despite his disgust.
Vincent couldn’t explain why he did what he did next. Perhaps it was the intoxicating combination of hypnosis, revulsion and intrigue, the way his pulse quickened as his darker urges clawed their way to the surface. His hand reached for the cock in his face, fingers plunging around the slick, sticky mess. The texture clung to him like warm jelly, and a shiver ran down his spine.
He brought the dripping mass to his lips, hesitating for only a moment before his tongue flicked out tentatively. The moment his lips wrapped around it, a switch flipped in his mind.
“Suck pig.”
The taste was indescribable: acrid and sour, with a lingering bitterness that made his jaw tighten. But then came the sweetness, a deep, cloying flavor that sent jolts of electricity coursing through his veins. It was like nothing he had ever experienced — disgust and pleasure entwined in a forbidden embrace.
Doc leaned in, “And as you breathe in, letting that sensation deepen, you might notice how easy it is to let go of everything else — how easy it is to focus entirely on this one, perfect moment. How easy it is to feel pulled in, to feel connected, to want to keep coming back to this feeling, over and over.”
As Vincent sucked on the foul mass of a cock, his body betrayed him. Heat pooled in his gut, spreading outward in waves of arousal that made his skin flush and his breath hitch. His mind screamed at him to stop, to spit it out, to wash his mouth and purge the filth, but his body craved more.
And that was when the her voice began.
“You’ll only get hard when you suck this cock,” it whispered, soft and mocking, coming from nowhere and everywhere all at once. Vincent froze, the words sinking into his consciousness like needles.
“You long to be a girl, a girl, a girl…You’ll only get hard when you suck this cock,” it taunted, each repetition sending shivers of humiliation down his spine. “Imagine yourself — soft, pliable, desperate. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
His mind recoiled, but his body responded differently. A deep ache settled in his chest, a yearning he couldn’t fully name. He hated her for saying it, hated himself for feeling the truth in its words.
Every insult, every mocking repetition only made his arousal spike higher, pulling him deeper into this strange new reality.
“Hard only when you suck. Hard only when you submit.”
She laughed cruelly, echoing in his mind like a chant. And as Vincent knelt there, the cock in his mouth and his body trembling with need, he realized he was no longer in control. The lines between who he was and who he longed to become blurred with each humiliating taunt, each eager suckle.
He tried to resist, tried to think of something else, but the conditioning had already taken root. His arousal now had a single trigger — a humiliating and all-consuming craving that he couldn’t escape.
The voice grew louder. “You’re nothing but a desperate girl, Vincent. A girl who loves to suck. A girl who only feels alive when she’s on her knees.”
Tears stung his eyes, not from shame, but from the intensity of his need. He hated it. He loved it. He longed for more.
Now, every time he saw her, every time the mere thought of her crossed his mind, an uncontrollable need consumed him — a desperate, aching desire to suck, to suck hard, to suck long. The compulsion overwhelmed him, a constant whisper in his mind: “You’re a girl, a girl, a girl.”
The words echoed, mocking and undeniable, shaping his every thought, his every longing, until nothing else mattered.
he leaned in close, her presence overpowering, her lips curled into a mocking smirk.
“Vincent, you’re fat. How did you get so fat?” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. Her hand reached out, patting his rounded belly with a deliberate slap. The sound echoed in the silent room, amplifying his shame. “Look at this belly. It hangs over your skirts and — “ she paused, her smile widening as her eyes flicked down, “ — your dick. Do you even have a dick, Vincent?”
Her laugh was low and throaty, sending a shiver down his spine, half fear and half something he refused to name. He tried to look away, but her fingers caught his chin, forcing his gaze back to hers. The heat of her breath on his skin felt like fire, her mocking words a brand searing into his mind.
“Your dick barely gets hard anymore, doesn’t it? Old and useless, just like you,” she purred, her tone deceptively sweet. Her hand trailed down his belly, a cruel reminder of his softness. “But you don’t need it, do you, Vincent? Not when you’ve got this mouth. That’s all you’re good for now.”
“And you might find that, from now on, the simplest touch against your lips — a sip, a taste, even the thought of something delicious — brings back this warmth, this depth, this connection to pure, unfiltered pleasure. And isn’t it amazing how the simplest things can anchor us so deeply to what we truly desire?”
Doc
