My obsession grew out of one trip to a lonely field with a married man. He was in his forties and rich. I enjoyed the leather of his Jag's seats as much as the thought of making him cum. I was 19, fresh and young, bi-sexual and constantly horny. And I was into power. It was my obsession. He took me out to the field after I met him for lunch to discuss "my future" and "my goals." I was going to college at the time, he was a mucky-muck with the local frat (Elks or something, I don't know). He kept telling me how important it was to have a good body. "If you can stand in front of a mirror naked and admire yourself, and tell yourself you are beautiful, well then you can conquer the world," he told me. Then he took me out to that field.
We parked the car, the radio was turned down and I stared out the window, feeling his hand on my shoulder. I was nervous. Sure, I wanted him. I had played with my friend's cock when we were both drunk one night. I had suckled it while my friend passed out. But this? This was serious. I felt his other hand touch my thigh and I began to sweat. "You are beautiful," he said. He was whispering. "Thank you," I said. I looked at him. He was flushed, excited. He was an attractive man, sure, and tall. Maybe too thin, his nose too long, his shoulders too narrow. But I didn't care. I wanted his cock. He leaned in close and I could smell cigars and martinis on his breath before his tongue invaded my mouth like a mobile cock, amazingly stiff and yet pliable.
I pulled back and looked at him. I felt the power. I felt it. But I wanted more. I pushed his weaker body back against his seat. "Stay there," I whispered. I needed his cock badly, I wanted to feel it in my mouth. I hoped against hope that it was long, and thick. I wasn't disappointed. He was already bulging when I pulled down the zipper. His prick sprang free of his pants eagerly, pulsing and jumping with hot excitement. It was probably about 7 inches but incredibly, freakishly thick. The masculine scent rose to my nostrils and I breathed in, trying to forget the stench of his kiss. My hand wrapped around the shaft and it swelled to even thicker proportions, the head becoming a wide, powerful helmet. I kissed the damp skin, feeling the heat, and ran my tongue over the bottom of his erection. He gasped and thrust up with his hips.
"Suck it," he breathed. I felt his hand in my hair put I pinned him back again. I was a 19 year old, 6'3" and 195. He was no match for me. I sat back for a moment, long enough to unsheath my own healthy prick. He watched me with a sort of frightened fascination. I could see it in his eyes: "Is this young guy going to rape me?" No, I just wanted to make him cum. I wanted to make him beg. I bent down again and licked his shaft hard over the velvety head. It jumped and swelled again. I could barely stand it any longer. I needed him inside my mouth. I ran my tongue over the rod, lapping at the lip of his wide head, taisting the tangy dollops of pre-cum as they spilled from the tip. He was holding his hips up now, trying to get as close to my mouth as possible.
"Damn it, suck it!" "Ask nice," I whispered. He was silent for a bit and then I heard him say something real low. I knew what it was but I had to hear it aloud. "What?" "Please..." "Please?" "Please..." I pulled his cock up and pressed my closed lips against the tip. He moaned as the tip of my tongue darted out and rubbed the hard head. "Please..." I heard him beg. I opened my mouth slowly, letting the cock head in to my wetness. My head slid down its length until it was almost entirely in my mouth. "Ah," he sighed. "Please..." I pulled up til my mouth closed again on the tip and then slid down, burying my nose in the soft pillow of fur. His balls were already tightening, readying themselves for the explosion. I brought my mouth up a second time, scraping the head's edge slightly with my teeth. He caught his breath, moaned and then repeated his montra, my montra:"Please..." I pulled all the way out and tongued off the head and then back down I went. This time he thrust up hard and without ceremony his prick blew its top.
When he finally went limp I let his beautiful prick fall out of my mouth. It was the only beautiful thing about the man. My own cock was still hard and ready, but I suddenly didn't want to share it with him. I sat back and zipped my pants up and resumed staring out the window. For weeks he tried to get back with me. I ignored him. I was done with him, he was mine; I could have him anytime I wanted to, I knew, but I didn't want to. That began my obsession. The bigger the prick the more important the catch.