Here is Part 6 and the last part for now of my first time with a man. Here you can find the previous Part.

For a moment, I stayed there, still kneeling in front of him, waiting — expecting something. Now that he was satisfied, I thought he would return the favor, maybe touch me, give me a handjob, or even go down on me. After everything I had done for him, it felt natural to expect at least some attention in return.

Hesitantly, I asked if he intended to return the favor in some way.

He barely looked at me as he pulled his pants back up. "Oh… yeah, my flatmate is about to come home," he said casually, as if it were nothing. "I never mentioned that? If you want, you can stroke yourself, but you’ll have to hurry."

His words hit me like a slap. He hadn't even considered my pleasure — not once. It was like I was nothing more than a toy to him, just something to use and discard without a second thought. The idea of rushing through my own release while he got dressed, with the possibility of someone walking in — it was humiliating.

Deep inside, I felt furious, hurt, and bitterly disappointed. I felt like an object, a masturbator he had used without any consideration for me. He hadn’t even bothered to help me clean up afterward or atleast point me to the toiletts.

I got dressed as quickly as possible, not saying another word. Part of me blamed myself for expecting more — thinking that giving him what he wanted would make him care. But it was stupid to think that way — stupid to believe that being good enough would make him see me differently.

Without another word, I left.

As I made my way home, a strange emptiness settled over me. The taste of him still lingered in my mouth, an unwelcome reminder of what had just happened. I felt dirty and used. The excitement I had felt before meeting him had vanished completely, replaced by something much heavier.

Sitting on the bus, I kept my head down, convinced that everyone around me could somehow see it, that they knew what I had just done. My cheeks burned with shame, my stomach churned with regret. The dull ache between my legs made me shift uncomfortably, and the lingering slickness of lube between my cheeks only added to the feeling of being used and discarded.

I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to swallow the bitter taste that still clung to my tongue. I wanted to forget this night ever happened.

When I finally arrived home, I went straight to the bathroom and jumped in the shower.

Don't forget to check out the other parts:

First Part

Previous Part (Part 5)

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