A Sordid & Shameful Slippering

It took me a while to realise that I had ultimately sprung from a causeless cause at the beginningless beginning of time, and, further, that my search for some deeper meaning in the apparently meaningless universe was futile.

I guess I was a slow learner.

Not the sharpest tool in the box.

A sandwich short of a picnic.

It also took me a while to conclude that I was a sordid and cheap individual.

A pervert.

A man who possessed little integrity.

A man who lived a lie.

Many lies.

A man who despised himself.

Yeah, took me a while.

But what could I do?

I was what I was.

My unnatural urges (to many) and testicles regularly aching and bursting with spunk drove me to do things that a part of me viewed as disgusting and depraved.

What would my mother have thought?

Lucky she was dead.

It could all come out one day.

[em]And be sure your sin will find you out.[/em]

Ostracized and spurned by my friends, my colleagues.

Shame.

Embarrassment.

But no police prosecution.

I wasn't [em] that depraved.[/em]

Time to go.

*

I swung open the front door and stepped out onto the street.

It was Sunday morning.

Just before eleven.

The agreed-upon time.

It was a sunny day.

A few fluffy white clouds in the sky.

Fresh.

Light breeze.

Cool.

But not cold.

I felt my testicles tingle.

Fear.

Excitement.

Arousal.

Not far.

A three-minute walk.

Past the terraced two-up two-downs.

It was a poor area.

Not middle class.

Not affluent.

Working class.

Manual workers.

Boat builders.

Fitters.

I turned right.

Across the road were the boatyards and repair shops.

Some were abandoned.

Some were still in business.

None were busy today.

A couple of squawking seagulls arced across the sky.

Then they were gone.

But I was there, at [em]his[/em] door.

A plain red door.

I knocked it gently with my knuckles, knuckles I suspected would soon be clenched in pain.

The door swung slowly out onto the street with a creak.

"Come in," he said. "I half expected you not to come."

I nodded.

I never felt like conversing with him.

Just the way he made me feel - we 'communicated' in other ways.

"Do you need the toilet?"

"I'm fine, thanks. I went just now."

"Good, follow me down into the basement."

He smiled and turned.

I followed.

He was a broad-shouldered middle-aged man with grey thinning hair a little taller than average, a little taller than me.

He was wearing a black sleeveless vest, which showed off his muscular, lightly tanned arms, and blue sports shorts.

Strangely, he was wearing carpet slippers.

I was a little scared of him.

The basement was windowless except for a frosted glass grate just under the pavement.

Even with the light on, nobody could see or hear what went on here at times.

But then again, he never touched on what else he got up to.

Maybe I was the only one.

But he was the only one for me.

For now.

The small basement was stark: peeling white paint and cold flagstones.

It smelt damp and musty.

Unwelcoming.

In the corner was a worn and plain old wooden chair.

On the seat was a large and tatty tennis shoe.

The red rubber sole was worn smooth.

The sight of it induced in me both fear and excitement simultaneously.

"Take all your clothes off and throw them in the corner."

I did as he said.

I was as hard as fuck.

I was also as scared as fuck.

He slipped his top off before picking up the tennis shoe.

He was a powerfully built man.

He then moved the chair into the middle of the room.

"Bend over and place the palms of your hands on the seat of the chair."

[em]Oh, my God... here we go...[/em]

The pain of the blow was a shock.

I felt for a second that I would be sick.

It took my breath away.

He waited a moment before he landed another extremely hard one on my bare left buttock, the loud sound of which briefly reverberated off the walls of the basement.

I cried out with the intense pain - I heard him chuckle.

He administered another seven or eight in similar fashion.

I was gasping and even sobbing at one point.

My left buttock felt smashed to pieces, but I managed to stay in position, albeit occasionally temporarily straightening up.

Yet I completely surrendered to him.

It was weird and I was kind of spaced out.

I don't know how many more times he whacked me.

"You're done, now get down on your knees."

I was in a trance or maybe a mild form of shock and just obeyed.

The stone floor was cold on my knees.

He placed the shoe back on the seat of the chair.

He pulled down his shorts.

His uncut cock was huge.

"You know what you have to do."

"Yes," I murmured.

I took the shaft of his cock in my right hand and cupped his shaven balls in my left before guiding his helmet into my mouth.

I felt his member twitch and heard him sigh.

I then slowly worked my right hand up and down the length of his member whilst gently squeezing his testicles all the while using my tongue and lips on the ridge.

He didn't last long before I felt his penis momentarily expand and shoot his hot spunk to the back of my throat.

I felt like gagging but swallowed as quickly as possible.

A weird vision of me gulping down an oyster briefly materialised in my mind.

I heard him breathe out hard and mutter gruffly: "I needed that."

There were no thanks.

He wasn't that kind of guy.

I stood up.

Naked, his long and thick cock now beginning to droop and drip, he bent down and retrieved a mobile phone out of his shorts' pocket lying on the floor.

"Get back on your knees and wank yourself off. I'm going to record it for insurance purposes."

I didn't believe that it was for 'insurance purposes' for a minute, but I did obey him.

My erection had flagged for a while during the harsh beating but had now refreshed itself as it were.

Kneeling on the cold floor again, I alternately rubbed my stiff nipples whilst I tugged my hard little cock with my right hand.

All the time he held the phone in his hands, filming me.

To be honest, it kind of added to the arousal.

I soon powerfully orgasmed with my sperm jetting out onto the floor whilst I re-ran the pain and humiliation of the brutal slippering in my head.

It was over.

[em]Fin.[/em]

Till the next time.

Twenty minutes.

That's all the time the squalid encounter had taken.

I dressed, walked upstairs and let myself out into the street.

I thought I might have heard him running a shower as I closed the door.

I would have a shower too when I got home to wash off all the fluids.

I'd also gargle thoroughly with the mouthwash too.

My bum was also really sore and still throbbed - he was a sadistic bastard.

But I guess I needed him.

I wandered back the way I came.

From one of the houses emanated the smell of a beef roast dinner cooking.

Mouth-watering.

I experienced a sense of sadness that I could never have a wife and roast dinner to return to.

It was the price one paid for being a sordid little pervert.

But it was the price I would continue paying for as long as I could because, quite frankly, there was little else in my ultimately meaningless life living for...