Old & Young | Gang Bang | Teen Slut | My Sex Life
My Sadistic Friend Tested How Committed I Was to Worshipping Old Cocks and Balls (Part 2)
“You’re like a Mother Teresa for cocks.”
You can catch up with this private sex life report with part one here:
On the second day, at one point, I looked down at the six wrinkled old men in the living room staring up at me with lust-filled eyes as I walked into the room, swaying my hips and slowly turning to show them my naked body to the fullest. My long blonde hair fell over my shoulder, framing my face perfectly as I gave them all a smile filled with promises and lust. Then I stopped, leaning against the wall while I took them all in.
“Hello, Grandpa’s,” I purred, my voice like warm honey dripping slowly over their ears. “It’s time for me to serve you your dinner.” I let out a soft giggle and sauntered over to the chair in the corner of the room, the one with the tablet for ordering food. I sat down and opened it up to search for what they wanted, my finger sliding over the touchscreen sensually as I typed out their order into the device.
“Pizza… lots of it! Oh, and some chicken wings.”
I leaned back in the chair, spreading my legs slightly as I placed another hand on the small of my back and gave them a better view of my bald pussy. I watched as their eyes were glued to my crotch, drinking in the sight of my completely bare slit. “I hope you all brought your appetites,” I said with a smirk, looking at them through my lashes.
The sound of a knock at the door echoed through the house.
I stood up, swaying my hips slightly as I made my way to the door to let in the pizza delivery guy. He was younger, maybe in his twenties, and he blushed deeply as he saw my naked form. “Sorry,” he murmured, looking away quickly.
My nude breasts bounced enticingly as I accepted the boxes of food from him. I smiled up at him, taking in his nervousness — I love seeing people squirm under my influence.
“Thank you,” I said softly before closing the door and turning around to face the old men once more.
I set the boxes down on a nearby table and began pulling out the food, letting my fingers graze over each item sensually as I set them out. The cheese smelled terrific, and I couldn’t help but breathe deeply of its intoxicating scent mixed with all the other smells in the room. The pizza was warm and fragrant, making my mouth water uncontrollably. I didn’t care, though; I was here for something else entirely.
Over the weekend, the men got into a routine of ordering food deliveries, mainly pizza and chicken wings. But I was never allowed to eat because semen was my diet. Instead, I had to serve them in the nude and clean up after their meals. The humiliation kept my nipples hard, and my pussy throbbed with arousal as the six old men gawked at me, their eyes devouring every inch of my naked body.
“Hey, sweet thing, pass me another slice of that pepperoni pizza,” one of the men in his 80s grunted, his lewd gaze lingering on my perky breasts.
“Of course, Sir,” I replied, bending over to pick up the greasy slice from the box, making sure he got a good view of my bare, waxed pussy. I could feel the heat of his stare burning into me, and I reveled in the feeling of being objectified by these dirty old men.
Once all the food and drinks were served, I was instructed to stand on a chair, stark naked, in plain sight for them to admire my young female body. I could feel their eyes boring into me, stripping away any remaining shred of dignity I had left.
“Look at her, boys — ain’t she a pretty little thing?” one of the men said, licking his lips as he stared at my exposed form.
“Damn right,” another agreed, his hand absentmindedly stroking his crotch through his pants. “I can’t wait to get my hands all over that tight little body again.”
As they continued eating, my mind raced with anticipation. I was addicted to this feeling, the thrill of being displayed and desired by these lecherous old men. It was as if I were a living, breathing work of art, and I couldn’t get enough of the attention. I knew that soon, their filthy hands would be all over me again, using me to satiate their darkest desires, and the thought aroused me more than anything else ever could.
At one point, after I had finished worshipping the six old men’s smelly cocks hidden under big sweaty bellies once more, my jaw aching, my tongue coated in their foul taste, and my throat itchy with pubic hair, Amara commanded me to stand on a stool in the middle of the room. With each step up, I felt exposed, vulnerable, and yet somehow even more excited.
“Alright, gentlemen,” Amara said, her eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. “Let’s take a closer look at our little plaything here. Feel free to share your thoughts on every inch of her body.”
I shuddered, feeling their eyes roaming over me as if they were examining a piece of meat at the market. And speaking of meat… I was a tiny delicatessen next to these big beefs. I probably weighed about the same as the beer belly of each one of these sweaty, dirty grandpas!
My nipples hardened under their gazes, betraying my arousal despite my humiliation.
Amara always knows how to push my buttons!
“Look at those perky tits,” one of the old men grumbled, rubbing his crotch through his pants as he stared at my chest. “Just perfect for squeezing and slapping.”
“Damn right,” another chimed in, licking his lips. “Bet they’d bounce real nice while she’s riding me, huh?”
“Those nipples are just begging to be pinched and twisted,” a third man added, his voice thick with lust. “Maybe even clamped, eh, boys?”
The comments continued, each one more degrading than the last, and yet, I couldn’t help but feel a perverse satisfaction at being so thoroughly objectified. These men saw me not as a person but as a toy, a vessel for their pleasure — and I reveled in it.
Conversations are obviously recalled from memory, so they may not be entirely accurate, but you get the gist of it.
“Her breasts are so young and firm,” a fourth man mused. “Not like those saggy old bags on… you know…”
“It was so good to be burying my face between them,” the fifth man commented, his eyes glazing over with lust. “Smothering myself in soft, warm flesh.”
“I’ll wrap them around my cock and titty-fuck her until I explode all over her pretty face,” the sixth man promised, laughing as he mimed the action.
“Alright, gentlemen,” Amara eventually announced, her eyes gleaming with wicked intent. “Now that you’ve had your say about Delisha’s perky tits, let’s move on to her smooth, bald pussy, shall we?”
I felt a shiver of anticipation run through me as the six old men shifted in their seats, their lecherous gazes now focused squarely on my exposed and vulnerable sex. I knew what was coming, and despite the degradation inherent in their comments, I couldn’t help but feel exhilarated by the thought of being so thoroughly objectified.
“Look at that tight little snatch,” the first man drawled, licking his lips. “It’s like a perfectly waxed peach just waiting to be devoured.”
“Can you imagine how it’d feel to sink your old cock into that velvety softness?” mused the second man, his eyes glazing over with lust. “Nice and snug, gripping every inch of you like a vice. Are you sure her pussy is off-limits, Amara?”
“Or better yet,” said the third man, grinning wickedly, “imagine stretching that pretty little hole wide open with your fingers, then making her beg for you to fuck her senseless.”
The crude remarks continued, each more lewd than the last, but rather than repulsing me, they only served to stoke the fires of my own twisted desires. The knowledge that these old men saw me as nothing more than a sex toy — an object to be used, shared, and abused — sent a thrill of arousal racing through me. Over and over again. All weekend.
“Yes,” Amara eventually answered. “She’s only here to worship and suck dirty old cocks. Think of her mouth as a cock sleeve. Maybe I’ll let you abuse her pussy, too, another weekend.”
“Such a shame a young blonde slut like her is wasted on us old farts,” the fourth man lamented, chuckling darkly. “But hey, if she wants to please our cocks with that tight body of hers, who are we to complain?”
“Damn right,” agreed the fifth man, smirking as he looked me up and down. “She might be a cocktease, but I bet she gets off on it just as much as we do — maybe even more.”
“Ya,” the sixth man chimed in, grinning wickedly. “Just look at her — you can tell she loves being the center of attention, especially when it involves showing off that fucking tight young body of hers to a bunch of horny old men.”
As their words washed over me, I couldn’t help but feel a perverse satisfaction in knowing that my mere presence was enough to incite such raw, unbridled lust in these men. I was their plaything, their living fantasy, and the thought of fulfilling their darkest desires only served to fuel my own twisted cravings.
On Sunday morning, I had just finished sucking the sixth dirty cock when a wave of nausea hit me. My stomach churned from ingesting nothing but cum from these filthy, unwashed cocks all weekend long — or maybe it was the dirt and mud some of them had put on their rods. Either way, I desperately needed to go to the bathroom.
“Amara,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Here,” she said, handing me a bucket and giving me a wicked grin. “You can do it right here in front of everyone. Get on your knees, babe.”
Reluctantly, I sank to my knees in front of the six old men, who stared at me with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. As I bent over the bucket, Amara’s words echoing in my mind, I felt utterly degraded — yet that feeling only served to stoke the fire within me. Even my own sickness was nothing more than entertainment for them.
My stomach lurched, and I felt a rush of bile in my throat, convulsing with each wave of heaving. My breasts hung like pendulums, swaying to the rhythm of my anguish as the men around me snarled with cruel amusement. As I retched into the bucket, I could feel their eyes drilling through me like needles, piercing my skin until I had nothing left but raw humiliation.
“Look at her,” one of the men said, chuckling. “Can’t even handle a little load from us old bastards.”
As the weekend drew to a close, Amara approached me with a mischievous smile on her face. “Delisha, before these fine gentlemen depart, there’s one last thing I’d like you to do.” The emphasis she put on the word ‘gentlemen’ was funny!
“Anything,” I murmured, eager to please despite my recent ordeal.
“It’s a reward for being such a good slut all weekend! Each man will give you a gift. They will piss in your mouth, and you’re going to swallow it,” Amara instructed, her eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. “It’s not polite to refuse a gift.”
My heart pounded at the thought — swallowing their urine was the one thing I truly dreaded. Amara knew it was the one thing I didn’t like when being abused. Yet, if it would satisfy their twisted desires and prove my devotion to old cocks and Amara, I would do it.
“Open wide, Delisha,” the first man said, his aged penis hovering above my lips on the back patio.
I obeyed, and he began to pee directly into my mouth. The hot, bitter liquid filled my throat, and I struggled to suppress a gag reflex as I swallowed every drop. One by one, each man took his turn, and with each mouthful of piss, I reaffirmed my commitment to this perverse lifestyle.
I wasn’t Delisha. I was an object being owned and used by Amara and these men.
Finally, the last man finished, and I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, feeling both degraded and aroused in equal measure. As they left, the men offered parting words of appreciation, basking in the memory of the young woman who had willingly submitted to their most depraved fantasies.
“Good girl,” Amara whispered as she wrapped an arm around me. “You’ve proven yourself well, Delisha.”
And though I knew that what I had done was repulsive, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of twisted pride. I had been their sex toy, used and abused for their pleasure, and I reveled in the knowledge that I had satisfied their darkest desires.
With the departure of the six old men, Amara and I were finally alone in the small house. A strange mixture of relief and melancholy washed over me as I realized the weekend of debauchery had come to an end. My body was marked with remnants of their lust, but my filthy ordeal was now over.
“Delisha,” Amara cooed, her voice smooth like honey. “Now that those old farts are gone, it’s time for you to thank me for the weekend. Worship my pussy.”
Without hesitation, I lowered myself to my knees before her, eager to please. I knew that for Amara, this was a final act of submission, a way to reaffirm my role as her willing fuck toy.
“Such a good little slut,” she murmured, guiding my face between her delicious 19-year-old thighs. I inhaled the sweet scent of her arousal, intoxicating and pure in comparison to the pungent stench of the old men’s cocks and piss.
“Tell me what a dirty whore I am,” I begged, my tongue tracing the delicate folds of her pussy. “Make me taste how much better you are than those filthy old men.”
Amara obliged, her fingers tangling in my hair as she pushed my face deeper into her wetness. “You’re a disgusting cock-sucking slut who worships old, dirty cocks.” She moaned softly as my mouth enveloped her clit.
“More,” I gasped, my lips moving against her, desperate to hear her degradation. Every degrading word from Amara seemed to enhance the taste of her pussy, making it sweeter, more addictive.
“Your sole purpose is to be used by old men as their cum dumpster, Delisha. You are worthless without cocks using your body.” She continued, her hips grinding against my face.
“I love it,” I thought, my tongue eagerly lapping at her, tasting the rich essence of her youth and vitality. It was such a stark contrast to the bitter seed and stale urine I’d consumed all weekend.
“I’m gonna find old men to abuse you until you cry for mercy,” Amara panted, her climax approaching. “You exist only for cocks and my pussy.”
“Thank you, Amara,” I whispered, my mouth pressed against her clit as she shuddered under the weight of her orgasm. I drank in every drop, feeling both humiliated and elated by her words.
We collapsed into each other’s arms, our bodies entwined in a tangle of sweat-soaked limbs. As we lay there, recovering from the intensity of our passion, I couldn’t help but reflect on what had transpired over the weekend.
My body still tingled from the sensation of Amara’s orgasm as I held her close. Our naked bodies pressed against each other, our lips interlocked in a passionate kiss. My mind replayed the events of the weekend, remembering how my 25-year-old tiny body provided so much pleasure to those six old fat men, their filthy cocks and balls being the only sustenance I consumed.
“Delisha,” Amara murmured, breaking our kiss, “you were incredible this weekend. All those orgasms you gave those men, and now me… You didn’t have one yourself, did you?”
I shook my head, feeling a thrill at the thought of being used purely for the pleasure of others. “No, I didn’t. And that’s how it should be.”
“Good girl,” Amara purred, stroking my cheek with her thumb. The praise made me feel more aroused, knowing I had satisfied her sadistic desires by submitting to her whims.
“Amara,” I confessed, “some of those cocks and balls over the weekend were so gross and disgusting, but it made me feel like a true sex object. You know… if you wanted me to do it again, I would.”
Her eyes sparkled with delight at my admission. “You really are the perfect little plaything, aren’t you?” She traced her fingers down my spine, making me shiver with anticipation.
“Anything for you, Amara,” I replied, smiling up at her.
“But really… Delisha, why would you be willing to do all that again?” Amara asked, her fingers still gently caressing my body.
“Maybe it’s because you own me,” I replied with a smile. “But also… Did the men have a good time this weekend?”
“Of course they did,” Amara said, smirking. “Those six old, ugly men had the time of their lives with their cocks in your pretty little mouth over and over.”
“See? That’s a good enough reason for me,” I confessed. “Providing pleasure to men, especially older ones… it’s kind of an honor.”
“Ha! You’re like a Mother Teresa for cocks,” Amara laughed, clearly enjoying the comparison.
I chuckled at the nickname but then grew more serious. “You know, it’s true, though — many of these men have accumulated anger and frustrations that they’d never have a chance to let out if I weren’t offering them my naked body to use as a punching bag.”
“Like a release for them, huh?” Amara mused, nodding slowly.
“Or a therapy. It’s not just about the sex or my obsession with semen; it’s also about helping them find some relief from their past experiences with wives, pussies, clitoris, blondes, and cock-teasing girls.”
“You really are something else, Delisha,” Amara said, admiration in her eyes. “You take all their abuse willingly and without complaint, just so they can feel better.”
“Thank you, Amara,” I murmured, feeling a sense of pride in my role as a willing receptacle for these men’s frustrations and desires.
“Amara,” I quickly continued, wanting to clarify my position on the topic. “I just want you to know that I’m not encouraging men to be violent with women. I find all violence in life unacceptable.”
“Of course, Delisha,” Amara replied softly. “I understand that.”
“But at the same time,” I continued, “I can’t help but feel a sense of pride knowing that some men can vent their anger toward pussies, women, wives, clitoris, and sexy cock-tease girls by using my body. I think, in a way, I’m helping society because these men can go back to their everyday lives with a load off their chest after giving a beating to my young female body.”
Amara’s eyes sparkled as she listened to me. “You really are one of a kind, Delisha. You truly believe that what you do has a positive impact on those men’s lives, don’t you?”
“Maybe it’s just a small impact,” I admitted, “but yes, I do believe that. So it’s probably good for their wives, too. But don’t get me wrong! I love every minute of it, too.”
Amara leaned in and kissed me gently. “I love hearing you compare yourself to a punching bag for men to vent out past accumulated anger. It’s such a selfless and brave thing to say. And you know how I love watching it happen!”
“Thank you, Amara.” My cheeks flushed with warmth at her praise.
“Seriously, you’re like a social worker and sex therapist rolled into one sexy slut!” Amara laughed, her eyes dancing with amusement. “You offer up your tiny body like a piece of community-owned meat for the benefit of everyone around you.”
I couldn’t help but join in her laughter. “Well, when you put it like that, it sounds even more noble!”
“Maybe it is, Delisha,” Amara said, her voice sincere once more. “That’s something truly special.”
As we lay there, basking in the afterglow of our conversation and our intimate connection, I felt a renewed sense of purpose and determination. With Amara by my side, I knew I could continue on this journey of self-discovery and sexual exploration, using my body to bring joy and relief to men.
And, of course, there is also the fact that pain is thrilling for me. Nowadays, I go crazy if it’s been more than a week since cock-carrying beasts gave me a beating.
So, as long as I had Amara’s support and understanding, I knew I could continue to be the person I was meant to be: a sex object.
Thanks so much for supporting me as a writer and for your interest in my sex life. I often think of you when other men and women are using me. You are my motivation to try new things and push my limits!
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