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He watched her for months.

"Get on me," I ordered him. "Straddle my face. I want to lick your shaft, your balls..."

"Yeah?" he said, looking at me stupidly.

"Yeah," I stated. "I'll lie here. You get on me. Cock in my face."

He looked like he was out of his depth and muttered, "What about me wanking you?"

"That doesn't matter. Just straddle my face."

He climbed onto my bed and hunched over my chest, moving his throbbing cock and now free-hanging balls towards my face. As he did so, I got another whiff of that intoxicating odour from them and my own cock throbbed so hard it rose upwards from my stomach; I was more aroused that I had been in a very long time.

Again he directed his cock downwards into my mouth, and I gave him a minute or so of what seemed to be an enjoyable blowjob -- one male administering oral stimulation to another. I took as much of his length down into my throat as I could and lapped strenuously at his fattened cock-head with my tongue. The more I licked at the head, the harder it throbbed and the more copious the ooze of salty juices from its puckered slit as he thrust back and forth. He grunted contentedly and held my head, using my mouth as a substitute for the pussy he so desperately wanted.

But my interest was focussed on other things: I wanted to sniff his balls, his pubic hair, the wiry hair between his legs and... what else? My longings, I recognised, weren't those of a heterosexual man making do; I was fascinated at a basic, purely sexual level by this large excited man whose cock I was dutifully servicing with my mouth and I wanted to take in as much of his hairy, smelly maleness as I could.

I pulled off him and, catching my breath, said, "I want to suck your balls."

He muttered a bewildered, "Yeah...?" And I realised I was fully in control of this situation. He would do what I wanted him to.

He pushed his bollocks into my face, large and heavy like golf balls inside his furry, wrinkled scrotum and I pressed my face into them, inhaling their musky odour which was more powerful and intense than that of his cock. Again, I felt overcome with lust, all too aware that to me this was a novel and entirely homosexual form of desire but unable and unwilling to resist it.
I took his right ball into my mouth, rolling it around on my tongue, and pushed my nose into the mass of hair at the base of his cock. The taste of it was sharp and bitter: the sweat from a day of being confined inside his briefs and an occasional dribble of piss from his cock as he tucked it away after urinating. Guy started masturbating again, and his rhythm shook the bed we were on and made the headboard thud against the wall.

I relished the sensation of having his testicle in my mouth -- the seat of his maleness -- and of sniffing the sweaty, sexual odour at the base of his thick shaft. I released and it took his left into my mouth. It felt larger and, hanging lower in his scrotum than his right, I could take it further into me. It tasted more strongly of piss and I wondered if this was the testicle his cock-head was more liable to rest against when it was inside his underwear.

I spat it back out and pulled back from him, gasping. He stopped masturbating, and looked down at me through the gloom, as though waiting for me to deliver my next command.

I started licking at the base of his cock and he with withdrew his hand from himself completely, allowing my mouth to progress upwards along his shaft. I worked my way up the thick ridge which ran down the underside of his cock -- I'd never noticed anything so prominent on my own -- enjoying how he'd keep saying "Yeah!" to encourage me, no doubt hoping I would continue sucking him when I reached the top.

I was absurdly aroused -- one touch to my aching, throbbing cock and I was certain it would explode in orgasm -- but I wanted still more from him. But what?

I reached the top of his cock with my mouth and, pleaded by him to take it back into me, I sucked it again, feeling amused by how easy it was to excite him and how quickly he began grunti

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