I am a healthy European man who enjoys using fit submissive males. Along the way I enjoy helping submissive males and the men they serve better understand each other. Re-posted images deleted upon request.
He figured he’d probably already serviced every dude in the room at least once, but who knew how many were gonna want seconds - and even thirds. He really needed this break. He really needed this cigarette. His pussy was pretty sore already and it looked to be taking a real pounding before the night was over. Maybe he should reconsider these party gigs. The money was really good but his poor boycunt got the shit fucked out of it every time. His pussy was going to be sore for days after this and there was no way he was going to make it home without dropping at least one load of spent ball-scuzz onto to the seat of his shorts, considering how his fuck-hole was already leaking like a sieve. It always made him feel so gross when he soiled himself that way, so dirty. But he had an hour’s drive ahead of him once he left the party and he could already tell that there was no way he’d be able to keep from dumping at least one load of Man-crud into his shorts before he got home. It was disgusting but it was just part of the price he had to pay whenever he worked a really big party.
These party gigs always did a number on him, not only physically but psychologically, too. He always felt like such a whore after one of them, after entertaining a dozen or more guys with his boytwat all night long. But, then again, he was a whore and the money was good. Damn it, the money was REALLY good. And that’s what he needed to focus on - all the money he was making - and not on all the hard dicks that banged the crap out of his well-used boy-butt as the night wore on and on. Hell, there were a lot of dudes who got dicked every night and didn’t make a dime off of it. He was making a fucking fortune. That's what he had to focus on. That's what he had to keep telling himself. And, who knows, if he did it enough, he might even come to believe it.
He figured he’d probably already serviced every dude in the room at least once, but who knew how many were gonna want seconds - and even thirds. He really needed this break. He really needed this cigarette. His pussy was pretty sore already and it looked to be taking a real pounding before the night was over. Maybe he should reconsider these party gigs. The money was really good but his poor boycunt got the shit fucked out of it every time. His pussy was going to be sore for days after this and there was no way he was going to make it home without dropping at least one load of spent ball-scuzz onto to the seat of his shorts, considering how his fuck-hole was already leaking like a sieve. It always made him feel so gross when he soiled himself that way, so dirty. But he had an hour’s drive ahead of him once he left the party and he could already tell that there was no way he’d be able to keep from dumping at least one load of Man-crud into his shorts before he got home. It was disgusting but it was just part of the price he had to pay whenever he worked a really big party.
These party gigs always did a number on him, not only physically but psychologically, too. He always felt like such a whore after one of them, after entertaining a dozen or more guys with his boytwat all night long. But, then again, he was a whore and the money was good. Damn it, the money was REALLY good. And that’s what he needed to focus on - all the money he was making - and not on all the hard dicks that banged the crap out of his well-used boy-butt as the night wore on and on. Hell, there were a lot of dudes who got dicked every night and didn’t make a dime off of it. He was making a fucking fortune. That's what he had to focus on. That's what he had to keep telling himself. And, who knows, if he did it enough, he might even come to believe it.