u/ImmediateDatabase732

42 married dl here 5”10 190lbs 6.5 uncut really really curious and been trying to suck. If anyone around the Coral Springs area would love a bud that I could just give head to no reciprocation needed other uncut guys a big plus

42 Married DL man Coral Springs area! Can’t fight it no more really want to give a guy a blowjob I’m uncut and would love another uncut dude but not necessary. Can’t host but open to car play no reciprocation necessary 🙏

Married DL 42 Male here

42 Married DL here sucked my first dick in an Adult video Arcade Video booth while 2 other guys watching and have never been more turned on in my life! I think im addicted now 😬🙈

If the married dude that face fucked me in booth 1 bout 30 mins ago and said I suck dick better than his wife at AVW on here please hit me up would love to help you out again soon 🔥🔥🔥

The Louisiana heat hung heavy and thick, a wet blanket that smelled of swamp mud, drying hay, and horse shit. I stepped off the porch of my grandparents’ main house, adjusting the strap of my tank top. I felt out of place, a splash of Los Angeles neon in a world painted in sepia and dirt. At eighteen, I was slight, my frame narrow and wiry, my movements fluid and effeminate in a way that seemed to draw eyes like magnets. I was used to the stares, the whispers, but the ranch felt different—sharper.

As I walked toward the stables, a group of ranch hands clustered near a fence, taking a break from hauling feed. They fell silent as I approached, eyes raking over my slim legs and the careful arch of my eyebrows.

"Hey there, princess," one called out, spitting a stream of tobacco juice onto the dust. "You lost? Victoria Secret is that way." He pointed a calloused finger toward the highway.

Laughter rippled through the group, harsh and barking. I kept my head high, chin lifted, though my heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I brushed it off with a practiced flick of my wrist, pretending to check a notification on my phone, but I felt their gaze sticking to my skin like pine sap.

Then there was Levi.

Levi didn’t laugh with the others. He leaned against the rough bark of a live oak, arms crossed over a chest that was hard, defined, and glistening with sweat. He was six feet of rugged Cajun brute, blond hair shaved close on the sides, a dirty trucker cap pulled low over eyes the color of a stormy Gulf. He never wore a shirt, just faded jeans that hung low on his hips, the top button usually undone. A cigarette dangled from his lips, the smoke curling up into the humid air.

While the other men hooted and hollered, Levi just watched. His eyes didn’t slide over me dismissively; they dug in. They tracked the sway of my hips, the delicate curve of my neck. When I glanced back, catching the stare, Levi didn’t look away. He just took a slow drag, his expression unreadable beneath the brim of the cap, but the intensity of his gaze made my stomach flip-flop with a mixture of fear and a dark, curling heat.

This went on for days. Every time I ventured out, the heckling followed—comments about my "pretty mouth" and "tight ass"—but Levi’s lingering presence became a constant, silent shadow.

Needing to escape the suffocating tension of the main grounds, I decided to explore the perimeter of the property on the third day. I pushed through tall, scratchy grass and dodged low-hanging branches of cypress trees until the sounds of the ranch faded into the distance. I found it by accident—a secluded watering spot hidden behind a dense thicket of willows. The water was dark, but it looked inviting enough.

Checking to ensure I was truly alone, I stripped off my clothes, folding them neatly on a dry rock. I slipped into the water, the coolness a shock against my overheated skin. I floated for a while, letting the silence wash over me, but the isolation soon gave way to a restless itch.

I climbed out, water dripping off my pale, slender body, and sat on the grassy bank. The sun beat down on my wet skin. I grabbed my phone, unlocking the screen. The signal was weak, but the hookup app loaded. I swiped through faces, but the nearest grid was empty—miles of nothing but cows and swamp.

Frustrated and hornier than ever, I switched tabs, opening a gallery of videos. I watched a man on screen dominating a smaller guy, his hand wrapping around the back of the guy's neck, forcing him down. My breath hitched. My cock, already half-hard from the swim, thickened rapidly against my thigh.

I leaned back on my elbows, spreading my legs. I wrapped a hand around my shaft, stroking slowly as my eyes glued to the screen. I reached down, teasing the rim of my hole, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps. I was lost in the rhythm, the wet sounds from the video mixing with the hum of cicadas, completely oblivious to the world around me.

"Looks like the little fairy found a private spot."

The voice was deep, gravelly, and cut through the humid air like a machete. I froze, my heart seizing in my chest. I scrambled to sit up, knocking my phone into the dirt, and grabbed for my clothes.

Levi stepped out from the bushes. He looked exactly as he always did—shirtless, jeans unbuttoned, the dirty trucker cap casting a shadow over his face. But this time, he held a bottle of cheap domestic beer in one hand and a fresh cigarette in the other. He didn’t look amused. He looked predatory.

"Don't bother covering up on my account," Levi sneered, taking a swig of his beer. "I’ve seen you prancing around like a bitch in heat for days. You think I didn't know what you were looking for?"

My face burned. I clutched my shirt to my chest, trying to cover my nakedness, but my erection hadn't flagged. If anything, the adrenaline had made it harder.

"Leaving so soon?" Levi took a step forward, blocking my path back to the thicket. "I’ve heard pretty faggot mouths feel amazing. The girls around here don’t suck dick. They just lay there like dead fish."

The degradation was vile, coating my ears like slime, but my body betrayed me. My cock twitched visibly against my stomach. Levi’s eyes dropped to it, and a low, dark chuckle rumbled in his chest.

"Well Well Well , Look at that," Levi murmured, stepping closer. The smell of him was overwhelming—tobacco, stale beer, sweat, and musk. "If i did not know better is think you like being talked to like a whore, don't you?"

Levi reached out, grabbing a handful of my wet hair yanking my head back. I gasped, my neck exposed. Levi undid his jeans with his free hand, pushing them down just enough to free his cock. It was thick, angry, and already leaking precum.

"Get on your knees," Levi commanded.

My resistance crumbled. I sank to my knees, the grass prickling my skin. I opened my mouth, and Levi didn’t wait for invitation. He thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt in my throat.

I gagged, my eyes watering as the thick head hit the back of my throat. Levi groaned, his head falling back, the cigarette smoke curling around his face.

"Fuck yeah," Levi growled, gripping my hair tighter. "Take it all, you little slut."

He set a brutal pace, fucking my face with no regard for my comfort. Spit and drool leaked from the corners of my mouth, dripping down my chin and onto my chest. My hands scrambled at Levi’s thighs, not to push away, but to steady himself. I relaxed my throat, letting the man use me, my own dick throbbing painfully between my legs.

"FUCK!! Always wanted to cum in a pretty mouth," Levi grunted, his hips snapping forward. "You gonna let me cum in that pretty faggot mouth? Hmm?"

I moaned around the shaft, nodding frantically.

"Good boy."

Levi’s thrusts became erratic. He slammed in deep, holding My head pressed against his pubic bone. "Fuck! Here it comes!"

I felt the hot, salty spurts flooding my mouth. There was too much of it. I tried to swallow, but my throat convulsed. Cum overflowed my lips, spilling down my chin and neck. I sputtered and choked, gasping for air as Levi finally pulled out.

Levi shoved me backward. I fell onto the grass, sprawled on my back, naked and gasping. My face was a mess of cum, spit, and drool, but my cock stood straight up, harder than it had ever been.

Levi looked down at him, a devilish grin splitting his rugged face. He took a swig of his beer, then tilted the bottle. The cold, foamy liquid splashed over my chest and stomach, washing away some of the sweat but making me shiver.

"Jerk that fuck little fag clit," Levi ordered, squatting down on his haunches. "Do it now."

I didn’t hesitate. I wrapped my hand around my slick shaft and began to stroke, my hips bucking off the ground. Levi leaned forward, extending two fingers to scoop a stray glob of cum from my cheek. He gathered the mixture of spit and seed on his thumb, then smeared it onto the neck of the beer bottle.

"Open your legs," Levi commanded.

I spread them wide, my knees falling open. Levi pressed the cold, wet glass against my entrance, then pushed it in. I cried out, my back arching as the bottle stretched me open. Levi worked it in and out, twisting it, the glass slippery with beer and saliva.

"Yeah, such a good faggot! take that bottle," Levi spat, his eyes locked on my fist flying over my cock. "Stroke it faster. You gonna cum for me?"

The combination of the degradation, the cold glass filling my ass, and the rough, dirty voice pushing me over the edge. I cried out, my whole body seizing. My orgasm ripped through me, harder than anything he’d ever felt. Ropes of cum shot from my cock, painting my stomach and mixing with the spilled beer.

I collapsed back onto the grass, my chest heaving, my limbs trembling.

Levi stood up, tucking his softening cock back into his jeans. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lit one, and took a long drag, exhaling a plume of smoke toward the sky. He looked down at me ruined and spent on the bank and laughed.

"Oh I’m gonna have so much fun with you these next few days, pretty boy," Levi said, his voice rough with satisfaction. "No one has EVER sucked my dick like that !"

Cousin Sam - Part 3

The night air was cool against my skin as Sam's truck rumbled through streets I didn't recognize. It had been a few weeks since he had taken my virginity and since then he had taken every opportunity to push my boundaries of how much I was willing to do just for the opportunity to have him inside me. Neon signs flickered past—a pawn shop, a laundromat, then something with a blacked-out storefront and a single red door.
He killed the engine in an empty lot.
"Where are we?"
He didn't answer at first. Just sat there, fingers drumming the steering wheel, watching the red door through the windshield. The reflection of the sign painted his face in crimson.
"Place I used to come," he said. "Before you."
My stomach tightened.
"Adult video arcade." He said it like it was nothing, like he was telling me what he'd had for lunch. "Private booths. Guys go there when they want something quick. No names. No strings."
I swallowed. "You went there?"
"Sometimes." He turned to me, and his eyes were dark, unreadable. "When I needed a mouth and didn't want to wait for it."
The words landed in my chest, heavy and cold. I'd known he'd been with other people. I wasn't stupid. But hearing it—knowing he'd stood in a booth with strangers, let them kneel for him—
"Hey." His hand found my jaw, turning my face toward him. "That was before. Tonight's different. Tonight I'm taking you somewhere I used to go, and I'm going to show you off to them so everyone in there know exactly who I belong to now."
*Belong to.*
The phrase melted through me.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He leaned in, kissed me hard, quick. "Now come on."
The red door buzzed when he pushed it open. Inside was dim, lit by the glow of screens lining narrow hallways. The air smelled like bleach and stale sweat and something chemical. A few men stood in the shadows, backs to the wall, eyes tracking us as we passed.
Sam's hand found the small of my back. Guiding me.
He stopped at a booth near the end. The door was glass, frosted at the bottom, clear at the top. A stool sat inside. A screen on the wall flickered with static.
He pushed the door open. "In."
I stepped inside. The booth was small—barely enough room for two. Sam followed, pulled the door half-closed behind him. Not all the way. The gap was deliberate.
"Leave it," he said.
"But Someone might—"
"I know."
The screen flickered to life. A woman on her knees. A man's cock in her mouth. The sound was tinny through small speakers.
Sam undid his jeans. Pulled his cock out, already half-hard. He sat on the stool, legs spread, and patted his thigh.
"You know what to do."
I dropped to my knees. The floor was sticky. I didn't care.
I took him in my mouth, and he sighed, hand finding my hair. I worked him slow, teasing, the way I'd learned he liked. His hand tightened.
The door swung open.
I froze.
A man stood there. Fifties. Gray stubble. His eyes dropped to where my mouth was wrapped around Sam's cock.
"Don't stop," Sam said. “Show him who that cock belongs to”
I didn't stop.
The man watched. His hand drifted to his own jeans. I could feel his gaze like a weight, and beneath it, something twisted in my stomach—not disgust. Heat. Sam's cock thickened in my mouth.
Another shadow fell across the door. A second man. Then a third.
They gathered in the narrow hallway, faces half-lit by the screen's glow. Watching me. Watching Sam.
He pulled me off his cock, a wet sound that drew their eyes. Sam bent down and whispered in my ear
"Take your clothes off,"
My hands trembled as I pulled my shirt over my head. I stood to shove my jeans down. My boxers followed. I stood naked in the booth, and the men outside stared at my body, my cock hard and leaking.
Sam's hand found my hip. "Turn around. Face them show them what they will never get."
I did.
Their eyes crawled over my skin. My chest. My stomach. The way my cock curved up, desperate. One of them was already stroking himself through his pants.
Sam's voice came low behind me. "Hands on the doorframe."
I braced myself. His fingers found my hole, slick with spit, and he pressed in. One finger. Two. I gasped, and the sound drew them closer.
"Show them how much you like my cock," he breathed against my ear. "Show them what a good little slut you are for me."
He pulled his fingers out. The head of his cock pressed against me. I pushed back, and he slid in, a smooth, full stretch that made my vision blur.
"You see that?" He was talking to them now. "See how tight he is? How perfect?"
I moaned. The sound was shameless.
He fucked me slow, deep, each thrust a show. The men watched, hands moving faster. One of them licked his lips. Another stepped forward, hand reaching toward my face. “Let me try that mouth”
"Get back." Sam's voice was steel. "You watch. That's it."
The man stopped. His hand fell.
Sam's thrusts deepened. His breathing roughened. The screen flickered behind us, the porn forgotten. The only sounds were skin hitting skin, my whimpers, the wet rhythm of strangers jerking off.
"You want to see where he lets me come?" Sam's voice was mocking, cruel. "You want to watch me fill him up?"
One of them grunted. A yes.
Sam's hand spread my legs wider exposing me for all too see and the men leaned in, their breath fogging the glass. He drove into me hard, once, twice—then he stilled, buried deep, and I felt it: a pulse, a flood. Hot and thick, filling me in waves. He groaned, long and low, and I knew it was the most he’d ever given me. A few of them had their phones out, recording. The glow of their screens joined the neon.
Sam pulled out slowly, and I felt his cum drip down my thigh.
He looked at the men, still hard, still panting. “Hope you got a good look and enjoyed the show,” he said, voice low and rough. “Because this is the first and last time any of you will ever see him. He’s mine.”
He kicked the door shut. The latch clicked.
Then his hands were on my waist, turning me around. His mouth found mine—not rough, not demanding. *Soft.* Tender. He kissed me like I was something precious, his tongue sliding against mine, slow and sweet. His forehead pressed to mine. He smiled.
“You’re perfect,” he whispered. “So fucking perfect.”
I shook, still catching my breath.
He cupped my face, thumb tracing my cheek. “You really would do anything I ask you too to please me huh” I nodded “I can’t believe,” he said, voice breaking, “that my own cousin—that I get to have you like this. That you’re mine.”
The word hung between us. *Cousin.*
My heart stuttered. But his lips found mine again, and I didn’t care. I kissed him back, tasting myself on his tongue, feeling his cum warm between my legs.
He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes.
“I’ve wanted you for so fucking long,” he said. “I just didn’t know how to have you.”
I pulled him close, buried my face in his neck.
“You have me now.”

The night air was cool against my skin as Sam's truck rumbled through streets I didn't recognize. It had been a few weeks since he had taken my virginity and since then he had taken every opportunity to push my boundaries of how much I was willing to do just for the opportunity to have him inside me. Neon signs flickered past—a pawn shop, a laundromat, then something with a blacked-out storefront and a single red door.
He killed the engine in an empty lot.
"Where are we?"
He didn't answer at first. Just sat there, fingers drumming the steering wheel, watching the red door through the windshield. The reflection of the sign painted his face in crimson.
"Place I used to come," he said. "Before you."
My stomach tightened.
"Adult video arcade." He said it like it was nothing, like he was telling me what he'd had for lunch. "Private booths. Guys go there when they want something quick. No names. No strings."
I swallowed. "You went there?"
"Sometimes." He turned to me, and his eyes were dark, unreadable. "When I needed a mouth and didn't want to wait for it."
The words landed in my chest, heavy and cold. I'd known he'd been with other people. I wasn't stupid. But hearing it—knowing he'd stood in a booth with strangers, let them kneel for him—
"Hey." His hand found my jaw, turning my face toward him. "That was before. Tonight's different. Tonight I'm taking you somewhere I used to go, and I'm going to show you off to them so everyone in there know exactly who I belong to now."
Belong to.
The phrase melted through me.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He leaned in, kissed me hard, quick. "Now come on."
The red door buzzed when he pushed it open. Inside was dim, lit by the glow of screens lining narrow hallways. The air smelled like bleach and stale sweat and something chemical. A few men stood in the shadows, backs to the wall, eyes tracking us as we passed.
Sam's hand found the small of my back. Guiding me.
He stopped at a booth near the end. The door was glass, frosted at the bottom, clear at the top. A stool sat inside. A screen on the wall flickered with static.
He pushed the door open. "In."
I stepped inside. The booth was small—barely enough room for two. Sam followed, pulled the door half-closed behind him. Not all the way. The gap was deliberate.
"Leave it," he said.
"But Someone might—"
"I know."
The screen flickered to life. A woman on her knees. A man's cock in her mouth. The sound was tinny through small speakers.
Sam undid his jeans. Pulled his cock out, already half-hard. He sat on the stool, legs spread, and patted his thigh.
"You know what to do."
I dropped to my knees. The floor was sticky. I didn't care.
I took him in my mouth, and he sighed, hand finding my hair. I worked him slow, teasing, the way I'd learned he liked. His hand tightened.
The door swung open.
I froze.
A man stood there. Fifties. Gray stubble. His eyes dropped to where my mouth was wrapped around Sam's cock.
"Don't stop," Sam said. “Show him who that cock belongs to”
I didn't stop.
The man watched. His hand drifted to his own jeans. I could feel his gaze like a weight, and beneath it, something twisted in my stomach—not disgust. Heat. Sam's cock thickened in my mouth.
Another shadow fell across the door. A second man. Then a third.
They gathered in the narrow hallway, faces half-lit by the screen's glow. Watching me. Watching Sam.
He pulled me off his cock, a wet sound that drew their eyes. Sam bent down and whispered in my ear
"Take your clothes off,"
My hands trembled as I pulled my shirt over my head. I stood to shove my jeans down. My boxers followed. I stood naked in the booth, and the men outside stared at my body, my cock hard and leaking.
Sam's hand found my hip. "Turn around. Face them show them what they will never get."
I did.
Their eyes crawled over my skin. My chest. My stomach. The way my cock curved up, desperate. One of them was already stroking himself through his pants.
Sam's voice came low behind me. "Hands on the doorframe."
I braced myself. His fingers found my hole, slick with spit, and he pressed in. One finger. Two. I gasped, and the sound drew them closer.
"Show them how much you like my cock," he breathed against my ear. "Show them what a good little slut you are for me."
He pulled his fingers out. The head of his cock pressed against me. I pushed back, and he slid in, a smooth, full stretch that made my vision blur.
"You see that?" He was talking to them now. "See how tight he is? How perfect?"
I moaned. The sound was shameless.
He fucked me slow, deep, each thrust a show. The men watched, hands moving faster. One of them licked his lips. Another stepped forward, hand reaching toward my face. “Let me try that mouth”
"Get back." Sam's voice was steel. "You watch. That's it."
The man stopped. His hand fell.
Sam's thrusts deepened. His breathing roughened. The screen flickered behind us, the porn forgotten. The only sounds were skin hitting skin, my whimpers, the wet rhythm of strangers jerking off.
"You want to see where he lets me come?" Sam's voice was mocking, cruel. "You want to watch me fill him up?"
One of them grunted. A yes.
Sam's hand spread my legs wider exposing me for all too see and the men leaned in, their breath fogging the glass. He drove into me hard, once, twice—then he stilled, buried deep, and I felt it: a pulse, a flood. Hot and thick, filling me in waves. He groaned, long and low, and I knew it was the most he’d ever given me. A few of them had their phones out, recording. The glow of their screens joined the neon.
Sam pulled out slowly, and I felt his cum drip down my thigh.
He looked at the men, still hard, still panting. “Hope you got a good look and enjoyed the show,” he said, voice low and rough. “Because this is the first and last time any of you will ever see him. He’s mine.”
He kicked the door shut. The latch clicked.
Then his hands were on my waist, turning me around. His mouth found mine—not rough, not demanding. Soft. Tender. He kissed me like I was something precious, his tongue sliding against mine, slow and sweet. His forehead pressed to mine. He smiled.
“You’re perfect,” he whispered. “So fucking perfect.”
I shook, still catching my breath.
He cupped my face, thumb tracing my cheek. “You really would do anything I ask you too to please me huh” I nodded “I can’t believe,” he said, voice breaking, “that my own cousin—that I get to have you like this. That you’re mine.”
The word hung between us. Cousin.
My heart stuttered. But his lips found mine again, and I didn’t care. I kissed him back, tasting myself on his tongue, feeling his cum warm between my legs.
He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes.
“I’ve wanted you for so fucking long,” he said. “I just didn’t know how to have you.”
I pulled him close, buried my face in his neck.
“You have me now.”

Cousin Sam - Part 2

The weeks blurred into a rhythm I couldn't have stopped if I'd wanted to.

Behind the locked door of the bathroom while my aunt watched TV downstairs. In the garage, bent over the hood of his truck, my knees on concrete. In the back of his friend's car at a party, Sam's hand on the back of my neck, guiding me down into his lap while music thumped and people laughed ten feet away. I'd gotten good. I'd learned the exact pressure of his hand on my head, the way his thighs would tighten when he was close, the sound he made right before he came—a sharp exhale, almost a curse.

He'd pull me up after, wipe my chin with his thumb, and look at me like I was something he'd discovered.
"You really can't get enough of this, can you?"

I'd shake my head, face hot, and he'd laugh. That low, knowing laugh. It made my stomach flip every time.
He started calling me mid-shift. "Meet me at the job site. Back entrance." I'd slip through the plywood fence and find him in the unfinished house, drywall dust in his hair, jeans unbuttoned. He'd push me to my knees on subflooring and grip a handful of my hair and tell me exactly how he wanted it. And I'd give it to him. Every time.

The last time, he'd been quiet afterward. Staring at me while I wiped my mouth.

"Alex."

"Yeah?"

"Come over tomorrow night. My mom is out of town. We'll have the whole house."

I'd nodded, already hard again just from the look in his eyes.

The door clicked shut behind me, and Sam turned the deadbolt.

The house was silent. No TV, no footsteps upstairs. Just the hum of the fridge and the sound of my own breathing, too loud in my ears.

He didn't say anything at first. Just stood there in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. He was wearing gray sweatpants and a white tank top. His shoulders filled the fabric. The hollow of his throat caught the light.

"You look nervous," he said.

"I'm not."

"Liar."

He pushed off the counter and crossed to me. His hand found my jaw, tilting my face up. His thumb traced my bottom lip.

"I've been thinking," he said.

"Yeah?"

"About what I want to do to you."

My throat went dry.

"Not just your mouth this time." His voice dropped, softer. "I want to fuck you, Alex."

The word hung between us. I felt it in my chest, in the base of my spine.

"I want to take your virginity."

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Nodded.

"Words," he said.

"Yeah. Yes. I want that."

His smile was slow. "Good."

His bedroom smelled like him—laundry detergent and sweat and something clean. He sat me on the edge of the bed and knelt in front of me, pulling off my shoes, my socks. His hands moved up my calves, over my knees, pushing my thighs apart.

"Been dreaming about this," he murmured, more to himself than to me. "Watching you take my cock constantly. Wondering what it'd feel like to be inside you."

I couldn't breathe.

He leaned in and pressed his mouth to the inside of my thigh. Soft. A kiss. Then another, higher. My skin broke out in goosebumps.

"Tell me what you want," he said against my skin.

"I want you to fuck me."

"Say it again."

"I want your cock inside me, Sam."

He made a sound low in his throat and bit down gently on my thigh. A warning. A promise.

He laid me back on the bed and stripped me piece by piece. Shirt over my head. Jeans off my hips. Boxers last, pulling them down slowly, watching me squirm.

"Look at you," he said. "So fucking pretty."

He stood and pulled the tank top off in one motion. The sweatpants followed. His cock was already hard, curving against his stomach, and I reached for him without thinking. He caught my wrist.

"Not yet. Tonight's about you."

He climbed onto the bed, settling between my legs. His mouth found my neck, my collarbone, my chest. He took his time. Lips and tongue and the scrape of his stubble. I arched into him, hands fisting in the sheets.

Then his mouth moved lower. Past my stomach. Past my navel.

"When I say relax," he said, "you relax. Got it?"

I nodded.

His tongue touched the head of my cock, just the tip. A soft, wet circle. My hips jerked.

"Easy."

He took me in his mouth, and I forgot how to think. His tongue was perfect, wet and firm, and he knew exactly what he was doing. He brought me to the edge and backed off, again and again, until I was gasping, begging.

"Please, Sam—"

"Not yet."

His hands pushed my legs up, spreading me open. I felt the cool air, the exposure, and then his thumb pressed against my hole, circling slowly.

"You ever touched yourself here?"

"No."

"Good." His thumb pressed harder, and I felt the give, the stretch. "I want to be the first."

He worked me open with his thumb, slow and patient. Then he pulled away and I heard the click of a bottle. Lube. His fingers, slick and cold, returned.

"Breathe," he said.

One finger slid in. I gasped. It felt strange and full and not enough.

"More."

He added a second. My body clenched around him, and he held still, letting me adjust. The stretch burned, but beneath it was something else.

Something that made me push back against his hand
.
"Fuck, yeah. Like that."

His fingers moved, curling, and then they found it—a spot inside me that made my whole body jolt.

"There it is."

He pressed again, harder, and I moaned. Loud. I didn't care.

"You like that?"

"Yes. God, yes."

He added a third finger, and I was trembling,
stretched open, dripping with lube. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to my hole. His tongue touched the rim, circling, and I cried out. The sound was strangled, animal.

"Sam—"

"Taste good," he said, and went back in.

Rimming. The word had always seemed strange to me. But his tongue was inside me, wet and probing, and my vision was going fuzzy around the edges. I was going to come just from this. I could feel it building.

He pulled back. "Not yet."

"Please."

"On your hands and knees."

I turned over, face in the pillow, ass in the air. I heard him move behind me, felt the bed dip under his weight. The head of his cock pressed against me.

"One more time," he said. "Tell me you want this."

"I want it. I want you to fuck me, Sam. Please."

He pushed.

The pressure was intense. My body resisted, and he stopped, one hand on my hip.

"Breathe," he said. "Push back against me."
I did. He slid deeper, and the pain flared, bright and sharp. I bit the pillow.

"Almost there. You're doing so good."

He was halfway in, and I could feel every inch. The stretch was overwhelming, a fullness I'd never imagined. He held still, letting me adjust, his thumb stroking my hip.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." My voice was wrecked. "Don't stop."

He pushed the rest of the way in.

I felt him everywhere. In my lungs. In my teeth. He was buried inside me, and I could feel his pulse, his breath, his weight. He leaned over my back, his chest against my spine, his mouth at my ear.

"Look at that. You just took my whole cock."

"Move," I whispered. "Please move fuck me."

He pulled out slowly, then pushed back in. The friction was fire. The pain mixed with pleasure until I couldn't tell them apart. He found a rhythm, slow and deep, and each thrust hit that spot inside me.

"You feel incredible," he said. "So tight. So perfect."

I moaned into the pillow as he picked up speed. His hips slapped against my ass, and the sound filled the room, wet and obscene. He reached around and wrapped his hand around my cock, stroking in time with his thrusts.

"I want to hear you," he said. "Let go."

I did. I moaned his name, begged him, told him how good he felt. He spanked me—a sharp crack that made me gasp—and then did it again, his rhythm never faltering.

"You like that?"

"Yes."

"You like getting fucked and spanked?"

"Sam—"

He spanked me harder. Three quick slaps. I was lost.

He flipped me onto my back, pulled my legs over his shoulders, and drove into me. The new angle was deeper, and I couldn't form words. He was pounding into me now, his face twisted with effort, sweat dripping from his chest onto mine.

"I'm gonna come inside you," he said. "I'm gonna fill you up."

"Yes. Please. Breed me."

The word came out before I could stop it. His eyes went dark.

"Fuck. Say that again."

"Breed me, Sam. Please breed me."

He slammed into me, once, twice, and then he was coming. I felt it—hot and thick, pulse after pulse inside me. The feeling pushed me over the edge. I came without touching myself, my body arching off the bed, a sound tearing out of me that didn't sound human.
He collapsed on top of me, breathing hard, still inside me. His mouth found mine, and he kissed me. Soft. Tender. A kind of kiss he'd never given me before.

We lay there, tangled and slick, as the room went dark outside. He pulled out at some point, cleaned me up with a towel, and wrapped an arm around my waist. His breathing slowed. Deepened.

I lay awake.

His face was relaxed in sleep. Younger, somehow. The lines smoothed out. His arm was heavy around me, and I could feel his heartbeat, slow and sure, against my back.

I watched the rise and fall of his chest. The way his eyelashes rested on his cheeks. The slight curl of his fingers against my stomach.

I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to close my eyes and miss a second of this.

The thought came quietly, settling into my bones like it had always been there.

I was falling in love with him.

And I knew, with a certainty that should have terrified me, that I would do anything for him. Anything he asked. Anytime, anywhere.

I pressed my lips to his shoulder, soft enough not to wake him, and closed my eyes.

I was already addicted.

The weeks blurred into a rhythm I couldn't have stopped if I'd wanted to.

Behind the locked door of the bathroom while my aunt watched TV downstairs. In the garage, bent over the hood of his truck, my knees on concrete. In the back of his friend's car at a party, Sam's hand on the back of my neck, guiding me down into his lap while music thumped and people laughed ten feet away. I'd gotten good. I'd learned the exact pressure of his hand on my head, the way his thighs would tighten when he was close, the sound he made right before he came—a sharp exhale, almost a curse.

He'd pull me up after, wipe my chin with his thumb, and look at me like I was something he'd discovered.
"You really can't get enough of this, can you?"

I'd shake my head, face hot, and he'd laugh. That low, knowing laugh. It made my stomach flip every time.
He started calling me mid-shift. "Meet me at the job site. Back entrance." I'd slip through the plywood fence and find him in the unfinished house, drywall dust in his hair, jeans unbuttoned. He'd push me to my knees on subflooring and grip a handful of my hair and tell me exactly how he wanted it. And I'd give it to him. Every time.

The last time, he'd been quiet afterward. Staring at me while I wiped my mouth.

"Alex."

"Yeah?"

"Come over tomorrow night. My mom is out of town. We'll have the whole house."

I'd nodded, already hard again just from the look in his eyes.

---

The door clicked shut behind me, and Sam turned the deadbolt.

The house was silent. No TV, no footsteps upstairs. Just the hum of the fridge and the sound of my own breathing, too loud in my ears.

He didn't say anything at first. Just stood there in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. He was wearing gray sweatpants and a white tank top. His shoulders filled the fabric. The hollow of his throat caught the light.

"You look nervous," he said.

"I'm not."

"Liar."

He pushed off the counter and crossed to me. His hand found my jaw, tilting my face up. His thumb traced my bottom lip.

"I've been thinking," he said.

"Yeah?"

"About what I want to do to you."

My throat went dry.

"Not just your mouth this time." His voice dropped, softer. "I want to fuck you, Alex."

The word hung between us. I felt it in my chest, in the base of my spine.

"I want to take your virginity."

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Nodded.

"Words," he said.

"Yeah. Yes. I want that."

His smile was slow. "Good."
---
His bedroom smelled like him—laundry detergent and sweat and something clean. He sat me on the edge of the bed and knelt in front of me, pulling off my shoes, my socks. His hands moved up my calves, over my knees, pushing my thighs apart.

"Been dreaming about this," he murmured, more to himself than to me. "Watching you take my cock constantly. Wondering what it'd feel like to be inside you."

I couldn't breathe.

He leaned in and pressed his mouth to the inside of my thigh. Soft. A kiss. Then another, higher. My skin broke out in goosebumps.

"Tell me what you want," he said against my skin.

"I want you to fuck me."

"Say it again."

"I want your cock inside me, Sam."

He made a sound low in his throat and bit down gently on my thigh. A warning. A promise.

---

He laid me back on the bed and stripped me piece by piece. Shirt over my head. Jeans off my hips. Boxers last, pulling them down slowly, watching me squirm.

"Look at you," he said. "So fucking pretty."

He stood and pulled the tank top off in one motion. The sweatpants followed. His cock was already hard, curving against his stomach, and I reached for him without thinking. He caught my wrist.

"Not yet. Tonight's about you."

He climbed onto the bed, settling between my legs. His mouth found my neck, my collarbone, my chest. He took his time. Lips and tongue and the scrape of his stubble. I arched into him, hands fisting in the sheets.

Then his mouth moved lower. Past my stomach. Past my navel.

"When I say relax," he said, "you relax. Got it?"

I nodded.

His tongue touched the head of my cock, just the tip. A soft, wet circle. My hips jerked.

"Easy."

He took me in his mouth, and I forgot how to think. His tongue was perfect, wet and firm, and he knew exactly what he was doing. He brought me to the edge and backed off, again and again, until I was gasping, begging.

"Please, Sam—"

"Not yet."

His hands pushed my legs up, spreading me open. I felt the cool air, the exposure, and then his thumb pressed against my hole, circling slowly.

"You ever touched yourself here?"

"No."

"Good." His thumb pressed harder, and I felt the give, the stretch. "I want to be the first."

He worked me open with his thumb, slow and patient. Then he pulled away and I heard the click of a bottle. Lube. His fingers, slick and cold, returned.

"Breathe," he said.

One finger slid in. I gasped. It felt strange and full and not enough.

"More."

He added a second. My body clenched around him, and he held still, letting me adjust. The stretch burned, but beneath it was something else.

Something that made me push back against his hand
.
"Fuck, yeah. Like that."

His fingers moved, curling, and then they found it—a spot inside me that made my whole body jolt.

"There it is."

He pressed again, harder, and I moaned. Loud. I didn't care.

"You like that?"

"Yes. God, yes."

He added a third finger, and I was trembling,
stretched open, dripping with lube. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to my hole. His tongue touched the rim, circling, and I cried out. The sound was strangled, animal.

"Sam—"

"Taste good," he said, and went back in.

Rimming. The word had always seemed strange to me. But his tongue was inside me, wet and probing, and my vision was going fuzzy around the edges. I was going to come just from this. I could feel it building.

He pulled back. "Not yet."

"Please."

"On your hands and knees."

I turned over, face in the pillow, ass in the air. I heard him move behind me, felt the bed dip under his weight. The head of his cock pressed against me.

"One more time," he said. "Tell me you want this."

"I want it. I want you to fuck me, Sam. Please."

He pushed.

The pressure was intense. My body resisted, and he stopped, one hand on my hip.

"Breathe," he said. "Push back against me."
I did. He slid deeper, and the pain flared, bright and sharp. I bit the pillow.

"Almost there. You're doing so good."

He was halfway in, and I could feel every inch. The stretch was overwhelming, a fullness I'd never imagined. He held still, letting me adjust, his thumb stroking my hip.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." My voice was wrecked. "Don't stop."

He pushed the rest of the way in.

I felt him everywhere. In my lungs. In my teeth. He was buried inside me, and I could feel his pulse, his breath, his weight. He leaned over my back, his chest against my spine, his mouth at my ear.

"Look at that. You just took my whole cock."

"Move," I whispered. "Please move fuck me."

---

He pulled out slowly, then pushed back in. The friction was fire. The pain mixed with pleasure until I couldn't tell them apart. He found a rhythm, slow and deep, and each thrust hit that spot inside me.

"You feel incredible," he said. "So tight. So perfect."

I moaned into the pillow as he picked up speed. His hips slapped against my ass, and the sound filled the room, wet and obscene. He reached around and wrapped his hand around my cock, stroking in time with his thrusts.

"I want to hear you," he said. "Let go."

I did. I moaned his name, begged him, told him how good he felt. He spanked me—a sharp crack that made me gasp—and then did it again, his rhythm never faltering.

"You like that?"

"Yes."

"You like getting fucked and spanked?"

"Sam—"

He spanked me harder. Three quick slaps. I was lost.

---

He flipped me onto my back, pulled my legs over his shoulders, and drove into me. The new angle was deeper, and I couldn't form words. He was pounding into me now, his face twisted with effort, sweat dripping from his chest onto mine.

"I'm gonna come inside you," he said. "I'm gonna fill you up."

"Yes. Please. Breed me."

The word came out before I could stop it. His eyes went dark.

"Fuck. Say that again."

"Breed me, Sam. Please breed me."

He slammed into me, once, twice, and then he was coming. I felt it—hot and thick, pulse after pulse inside me. The feeling pushed me over the edge. I came without touching myself, my body arching off the bed, a sound tearing out of me that didn't sound human.
He collapsed on top of me, breathing hard, still inside me. His mouth found mine, and he kissed me. Soft. Tender. A kind of kiss he'd never given me before.

---

We lay there, tangled and slick, as the room went dark outside. He pulled out at some point, cleaned me up with a towel, and wrapped an arm around my waist. His breathing slowed. Deepened.

I lay awake.

His face was relaxed in sleep. Younger, somehow. The lines smoothed out. His arm was heavy around me, and I could feel his heartbeat, slow and sure, against my back.

I watched the rise and fall of his chest. The way his eyelashes rested on his cheeks. The slight curl of his fingers against my stomach.

I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to close my eyes and miss a second of this.

The thought came quietly, settling into my bones like it had always been there.

I was falling in love with him.

And I knew, with a certainty that should have terrified me, that I would do anything for him. Anything he asked. Anytime, anywhere.

I pressed my lips to his shoulder, soft enough not to wake him, and closed my eyes.

I was already addicted.

The hallway carpet was worn thin, a path I’d memorized over months. Three steps from my door, a sharp left past the bathroom, then I’d press my back against the cool plaster outside Sam’s room. My heart always started its stupid drumming right there, in that narrow gap between the wall and the heavy oak of his door.

The crack.

It was my secret architecture. The old wardrobe in his room stood angled against the far wall, and between its ornate wooden edge and the window frame was a two-inch sliver of space. From the hallway, if I curled my body just right and pressed my eye to the gap where the door hinge didn’t quite seal, I could see the corner of his bed. The footboard. The stretch of floor where he always stood to pull off his work shirt.

I’d been eighteen for three weeks.

Sam was twenty-three. He lifted at the gym every morning before his construction shift. I’d watched those shoulders broaden over the summer, watched the way his back tapered into a narrow waist, the dark hair that trailed from his navel down into his jeans. I told myself it was curiosity. Male curiosity. Just wondering what a real man’s body looked like.

The lie was thin, and I knew it.

That Tuesday afternoon, the house was empty. My aunt worked late. I heard the shower running, the old pipes groaning, and my feet carried me to my post before my brain could catch up. I tucked myself into the hallway corner, breath held, and found the crack.

Sam walked in with a towel slung low on his hips.

Water still beaded on his chest. His hair was dark and wet, pushed back, and the muscles of his abdomen caught the light as he moved. He didn’t head for his dresser. Instead, he crossed to the door and turned the lock. The click was loud in the silence.

My pulse stuttered.

He sat on the edge of his bed. The towel loosened, and he tugged it free, tossing it onto the floor. Naked. I’d seen glimpses before—the curve of his ass when he bent for socks, the side of his thigh—but never like this. Never full, unobstructed. He leaned back on his elbows, legs slightly apart, and picked up his phone.

I watched him scroll. His thumb moved lazily. Then his hand drifted down, wrapping around himself, and my throat went dry.

He was already half-hard. I watched him stroke himself slowly, the way his fingers gripped, the way his hips gave a small, instinctive lift. His jaw was slack. His eyes on the screen. He was jerking off right there, in the middle of the afternoon, like he owned the room and the light and every breath I was struggling to take.

I leaned forward. Just an inch. Just to see better.

The pillow hit me square in the face.

“What the \*fuck\*, Alex?”

I stumbled backward. My shoulder slammed the doorframe, and I was scrambling, trying to push myself upright, trying to hide the tent in my shorts. “I—nothing—I was just—I’m sorry—”

“Get back here.”

His voice was low. Not angry. Something else. Something that hooked under my ribs and pulled.

I stopped.

Sam was sitting up now, the phone still in his hand, no towel in reach. He looked at me like he was seeing something for the first time. His cock was still half-erect, and I couldn’t stop staring at it, at the way it rested against his thigh.

“How long have you been watching me?”

“I don’t—”

“Don’t lie.”

My face burned. “A few months.”

He let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. Then he leaned back, settling against the headboard, and patted the mattress beside him. “Come here.”

I couldn’t make my feet move.

“I said come here.” Not a demand. A suggestion wrapped in steel. “I want to show you something.”

My legs carried me forward. I sat on the edge of his bed, my hands gripping my knees, my whole body trembling. Sam held up the phone. A woman on her knees, mouth stretched around a man’s cock. The sounds were wet and rhythmic.

“You ever see anything like that before?”

I nodded. I’d watched porn. But never like this. Never with his shoulder warm next to mine, his voice right there.

He swiped the screen. A new video. Two men this time, and a woman. One man sat back while the woman worked the other, her mouth and hands moving together. The guy receiving leaned his head back, throat exposed, moaning.

“What do you think of that?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.” His voice was dry. “You sneak into my room every day to watch me change, and you don’t know.”

I couldn’t breathe.

He set the phone down and turned to face me fully. His hand landed on my thigh, heavy and warm. “Are you gay, Alex?”

The word hung in the air. I’d never said it out loud. Not to anyone.

“I think so.”

“You think so.” His thumb traced a slow circle on my leg. “Have you ever sucked a dick before?”

I shook my head.

“I’ll let you try.” He said it like he was offering me a beer. “If you want.”

I nodded. I was already nodding before I knew I’d made a decision.

“Good boy.”

He shifted, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, and I found myself on my knees on the floor between his thighs. The carpet was rough. His skin was warm. His cock was fully hard now, curving toward his stomach, and I couldn’t look away.

“Start with the tip,” he said. “Just lick it.”

I leaned in. My tongue touched the head, and I tasted salt. Clean skin. The faint bitterness of pre-cum. I licked again, more deliberately.

“That’s what my cum is going to taste like,” he said. “See? Not that bad.”

“It’s kind of salty.”

He laughed, a low rumble. “You’ll get used to it. Now put it in your mouth. Just the head.”

I opened my lips and took him in. The skin was velvet over steel. My mouth stretched, and I felt his hand land on the back of my head, not pushing, just resting there.

“That’s it. Move your mouth up and down. Use your tongue.”

I did. I found a rhythm, clumsy at first, then smoother. He tasted like salt and skin and something deeper, something I couldn’t name. His breathing changed, getting rougher, and his hips started to move, small thrusts that pushed him deeper into my throat.

“Fuck, Alex. You’re a natural.”

The praise flooded through me. I wanted to be good at this. I wanted him to keep that hand on my head, keep that edge in his voice.

“I’m close,” he said. “When I say go, swallow as fast as you can. Don’t stop.”

I nodded as best I could with my mouth full.

“Go. Now.”

He came. The first spurt hit my tongue, hot and thick, and I swallowed. The second followed, the same bitter-salt taste, and I got it down. The third, though—it was too much, too fast, and I gagged. I sputtered, pulling back, cum spilling from my lips onto his thigh.

“Fuck, sorry, I’m sorry—”

“Hey.” His hand was gentle, cupping my jaw. “It’s okay. You did good. First time’s always a mess.”

He grabbed the towel from the floor and wiped himself clean, then wiped my chin. I sat there, trembling, my mouth burning with the taste of him.

“Lay down.”

I didn’t argue. I stretched out on his bed, and he pulled off my shorts and boxers in one motion. The air hit my cock, hard and leaking. He reached into his nightstand and pulled something out—a cock ring. A vibrating one.

“You like that?” He spat into his palm and wrapped his hand around me.

The first stroke stole my voice. His grip was perfect, tight and slick, and he worked me fast. Then he pushed my legs up, exposing me completely, and I heard the buzz. The ring pressed against my hole, vibrating hard, and I almost screamed.

“Shh.” His laugh was soft. “Quiet.”

I bit my lip. Every nerve in my body was focused on that dual sensation—his hand on my cock, the vibration against that tight ring of muscle. I was gone in seconds. The orgasm ripped through me, so intense it felt like a break in reality, my vision going white, my voice catching in a choked gasp.

Sam didn’t stop until I was empty. Then he wiped his hand on the towel and looked down at me, sprawled and panting.

“Not bad for your first time.” He leaned in, his mouth close to my ear. “But I’m not done with you yet. I want to see if you can take more than just my cock in that mouth.”

The hallway carpet was worn thin, a path I’d memorized over months. Three steps from my door, a sharp left past the bathroom, then I’d press my back against the cool plaster outside Sam’s room. My heart always started its stupid drumming right there, in that narrow gap between the wall and the heavy oak of his door.

The crack.

It was my secret architecture. The old wardrobe in his room stood angled against the far wall, and between its ornate wooden edge and the window frame was a two-inch sliver of space. From the hallway, if I curled my body just right and pressed my eye to the gap where the door hinge didn’t quite seal, I could see the corner of his bed. The footboard. The stretch of floor where he always stood to pull off his work shirt.

I’d been eighteen for three weeks.

Sam was twenty-three. He lifted at the gym every morning before his construction shift. I’d watched those shoulders broaden over the summer, watched the way his back tapered into a narrow waist, the dark hair that trailed from his navel down into his jeans. I told myself it was curiosity. Male curiosity. Just wondering what a real man’s body looked like.

The lie was thin, and I knew it.

That Tuesday afternoon, the house was empty. My aunt worked late. I heard the shower running, the old pipes groaning, and my feet carried me to my post before my brain could catch up. I tucked myself into the hallway corner, breath held, and found the crack.

Sam walked in with a towel slung low on his hips.

Water still beaded on his chest. His hair was dark and wet, pushed back, and the muscles of his abdomen caught the light as he moved. He didn’t head for his dresser. Instead, he crossed to the door and turned the lock. The click was loud in the silence.

My pulse stuttered.

He sat on the edge of his bed. The towel loosened, and he tugged it free, tossing it onto the floor. Naked. I’d seen glimpses before—the curve of his ass when he bent for socks, the side of his thigh—but never like this. Never full, unobstructed. He leaned back on his elbows, legs slightly apart, and picked up his phone.

I watched him scroll. His thumb moved lazily. Then his hand drifted down, wrapping around himself, and my throat went dry.

He was already half-hard. I watched him stroke himself slowly, the way his fingers gripped, the way his hips gave a small, instinctive lift. His jaw was slack. His eyes on the screen. He was jerking off right there, in the middle of the afternoon, like he owned the room and the light and every breath I was struggling to take.

I leaned forward. Just an inch. Just to see better.

The pillow hit me square in the face.

“What the *fuck*, Alex?”

I stumbled backward. My shoulder slammed the doorframe, and I was scrambling, trying to push myself upright, trying to hide the tent in my shorts. “I—nothing—I was just—I’m sorry—”

“Get back here.”

His voice was low. Not angry. Something else. Something that hooked under my ribs and pulled.

I stopped.

Sam was sitting up now, the phone still in his hand, no towel in reach. He looked at me like he was seeing something for the first time. His cock was still half-erect, and I couldn’t stop staring at it, at the way it rested against his thigh.

“How long have you been watching me?”

“I don’t—”

“Don’t lie.”

My face burned. “A few months.”

He let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. Then he leaned back, settling against the headboard, and patted the mattress beside him. “Come here.”

I couldn’t make my feet move.

“I said come here.” Not a demand. A suggestion wrapped in steel. “I want to show you something.”

My legs carried me forward. I sat on the edge of his bed, my hands gripping my knees, my whole body trembling. Sam held up the phone. A woman on her knees, mouth stretched around a man’s cock. The sounds were wet and rhythmic.

“You ever see anything like that before?”

I nodded. I’d watched porn. But never like this. Never with his shoulder warm next to mine, his voice right there.

He swiped the screen. A new video. Two men this time, and a woman. One man sat back while the woman worked the other, her mouth and hands moving together. The guy receiving leaned his head back, throat exposed, moaning.

“What do you think of that?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.” His voice was dry. “You sneak into my room every day to watch me change, and you don’t know.”

I couldn’t breathe.

He set the phone down and turned to face me fully. His hand landed on my thigh, heavy and warm. “Are you gay, Alex?”

The word hung in the air. I’d never said it out loud. Not to anyone.

“I think so.”

“You think so.” His thumb traced a slow circle on my leg. “Have you ever sucked a dick before?”

I shook my head.

“I’ll let you try.” He said it like he was offering me a beer. “If you want.”

I nodded. I was already nodding before I knew I’d made a decision.

“Good boy.”

He shifted, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, and I found myself on my knees on the floor between his thighs. The carpet was rough. His skin was warm. His cock was fully hard now, curving toward his stomach, and I couldn’t look away.

“Start with the tip,” he said. “Just lick it.”

I leaned in. My tongue touched the head, and I tasted salt. Clean skin. The faint bitterness of pre-cum. I licked again, more deliberately.

“That’s what my cum is going to taste like,” he said. “See? Not that bad.”

“It’s kind of salty.”

He laughed, a low rumble. “You’ll get used to it. Now put it in your mouth. Just the head.”

I opened my lips and took him in. The skin was velvet over steel. My mouth stretched, and I felt his hand land on the back of my head, not pushing, just resting there.

“That’s it. Move your mouth up and down. Use your tongue.”

I did. I found a rhythm, clumsy at first, then smoother. He tasted like salt and skin and something deeper, something I couldn’t name. His breathing changed, getting rougher, and his hips started to move, small thrusts that pushed him deeper into my throat.

“Fuck, Alex. You’re a natural.”

The praise flooded through me. I wanted to be good at this. I wanted him to keep that hand on my head, keep that edge in his voice.

“I’m close,” he said. “When I say go, swallow as fast as you can. Don’t stop.”

I nodded as best I could with my mouth full.

“Go. Now.”

He came. The first spurt hit my tongue, hot and thick, and I swallowed. The second followed, the same bitter-salt taste, and I got it down. The third, though—it was too much, too fast, and I gagged. I sputtered, pulling back, cum spilling from my lips onto his thigh.

“Fuck, sorry, I’m sorry—”

“Hey.” His hand was gentle, cupping my jaw. “It’s okay. You did good. First time’s always a mess.”

He grabbed the towel from the floor and wiped himself clean, then wiped my chin. I sat there, trembling, my mouth burning with the taste of him.

“Lay down.”

I didn’t argue. I stretched out on his bed, and he pulled off my shorts and boxers in one motion. The air hit my cock, hard and leaking. He reached into his nightstand and pulled something out—a cock ring. A vibrating one.

“You like that?” He spat into his palm and wrapped his hand around me.

The first stroke stole my voice. His grip was perfect, tight and slick, and he worked me fast. Then he pushed my legs up, exposing me completely, and I heard the buzz. The ring pressed against my hole, vibrating hard, and I almost screamed.

“Shh.” His laugh was soft. “Quiet.”

I bit my lip. Every nerve in my body was focused on that dual sensation—his hand on my cock, the vibration against that tight ring of muscle. I was gone in seconds. The orgasm ripped through me, so intense it felt like a break in reality, my vision going white, my voice catching in a choked gasp.

Sam didn’t stop until I was empty. Then he wiped his hand on the towel and looked down at me, sprawled and panting.

“Not bad for your first time.” He leaned in, his mouth close to my ear. “But I’m not done with you yet. I want to see if you can take more than just my cock in that mouth.”

The hallway carpet was worn thin, a path I’d memorized over months. Three steps from my door, a sharp left past the bathroom, then I’d press my back against the cool plaster outside Sam’s room. My heart always started its stupid drumming right there, in that narrow gap between the wall and the heavy oak of his door.

The crack.

It was my secret architecture. The old wardrobe in his room stood angled against the far wall, and between its ornate wooden edge and the window frame was a two-inch sliver of space. From the hallway, if I curled my body just right and pressed my eye to the gap where the door hinge didn’t quite seal, I could see the corner of his bed. The footboard. The stretch of floor where he always stood to pull off his work shirt.

I’d been eighteen for three weeks.

Sam was twenty-three. He lifted at the gym every morning before his construction shift. I’d watched those shoulders broaden over the summer, watched the way his back tapered into a narrow waist, the dark hair that trailed from his navel down into his jeans. I told myself it was curiosity. Male curiosity. Just wondering what a real man’s body looked like.

The lie was thin, and I knew it.

That Tuesday afternoon, the house was empty. My aunt worked late. I heard the shower running, the old pipes groaning, and my feet carried me to my post before my brain could catch up. I tucked myself into the hallway corner, breath held, and found the crack.

Sam walked in with a towel slung low on his hips.

Water still beaded on his chest. His hair was dark and wet, pushed back, and the muscles of his abdomen caught the light as he moved. He didn’t head for his dresser. Instead, he crossed to the door and turned the lock. The click was loud in the silence.

My pulse stuttered.

He sat on the edge of his bed. The towel loosened, and he tugged it free, tossing it onto the floor. Naked. I’d seen glimpses before—the curve of his ass when he bent for socks, the side of his thigh—but never like this. Never full, unobstructed. He leaned back on his elbows, legs slightly apart, and picked up his phone.

I watched him scroll. His thumb moved lazily. Then his hand drifted down, wrapping around himself, and my throat went dry.

He was already half-hard. I watched him stroke himself slowly, the way his fingers gripped, the way his hips gave a small, instinctive lift. His jaw was slack. His eyes on the screen. He was jerking off right there, in the middle of the afternoon, like he owned the room and the light and every breath I was struggling to take.

I leaned forward. Just an inch. Just to see better.

The pillow hit me square in the face.

“What the *fuck*, Alex?”

I stumbled backward. My shoulder slammed the doorframe, and I was scrambling, trying to push myself upright, trying to hide the tent in my shorts. “I—nothing—I was just—I’m sorry—”

“Get back here.”

His voice was low. Not angry. Something else. Something that hooked under my ribs and pulled.

I stopped.

Sam was sitting up now, the phone still in his hand, no towel in reach. He looked at me like he was seeing something for the first time. His cock was still half-erect, and I couldn’t stop staring at it, at the way it rested against his thigh.

“How long have you been watching me?”

“I don’t—”

“Don’t lie.”

My face burned. “A few months.”

He let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. Then he leaned back, settling against the headboard, and patted the mattress beside him. “Come here.”

I couldn’t make my feet move.

“I said come here.” Not a demand. A suggestion wrapped in steel. “I want to show you something.”

My legs carried me forward. I sat on the edge of his bed, my hands gripping my knees, my whole body trembling. Sam held up the phone. A woman on her knees, mouth stretched around a man’s cock. The sounds were wet and rhythmic.

“You ever see anything like that before?”

I nodded. I’d watched porn. But never like this. Never with his shoulder warm next to mine, his voice right there.

He swiped the screen. A new video. Two men this time, and a woman. One man sat back while the woman worked the other, her mouth and hands moving together. The guy receiving leaned his head back, throat exposed, moaning.

“What do you think of that?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.” His voice was dry. “You sneak into my room every day to watch me change, and you don’t know.”

I couldn’t breathe.

He set the phone down and turned to face me fully. His hand landed on my thigh, heavy and warm. “Are you gay, Alex?”

The word hung in the air. I’d never said it out loud. Not to anyone.

“I think so.”

“You think so.” His thumb traced a slow circle on my leg. “Have you ever sucked a dick before?”

I shook my head.

“I’ll let you try.” He said it like he was offering me a beer. “If you want.”

I nodded. I was already nodding before I knew I’d made a decision.

He smiled deviously and shifted, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, and I found myself on my knees on the floor between his thighs. The carpet was rough. His skin was warm. His cock was fully hard now, curving toward his stomach, and I couldn’t look away.

“Start with the tip,” he said. “Just lick it.”

I leaned in. My tongue touched the head, and I tasted salt. Clean skin. The faint bitterness of pre-cum. I licked again, more deliberately.

“That’s what my cum is going to taste like,” he said. “See? Not that bad.”

“It’s kind of salty.”

He laughed, a low rumble. “You’ll get used to it. Now put it in your mouth. Just the head.”

I opened my lips and took him in. The skin was velvet over steel. My mouth stretched, and I felt his hand land on the back of my head, not pushing, just resting there.

“That’s it. Move your mouth up and down. Use your tongue.”

I did. I found a rhythm, clumsy at first, then smoother. He tasted like salt and skin and something deeper, something I couldn’t name. His breathing changed, getting rougher, and his hips started to move, small thrusts that pushed him deeper into my throat.

“Fuck, Alex. You’re a natural.”

The praise flooded through me. I wanted to be good at this. I wanted him to keep that hand on my head, keep that edge in his voice.

“I’m close,” he said. “When I say go, swallow as fast as you can. Don’t stop.”

I nodded as best I could with my mouth full.

“Go. Now.”

He came. The first spurt hit my tongue, hot and thick, and I swallowed. The second followed, the same bitter-salt taste, and I got it down. The third, though—it was too much, too fast, and I gagged. I sputtered, pulling back, cum spilling from my lips onto his thigh.

“Fuck, sorry, I’m sorry—”

“Hey.” His hand was gentle, cupping my jaw. “It’s okay. You did good. First time’s always a mess.”

He grabbed the towel from the floor and wiped himself clean, then wiped my chin. I sat there, trembling, my mouth burning with the taste of him.

“Lay down.”

I didn’t argue. I stretched out on his bed, and he pulled off my shorts and boxers in one motion. The air hit my cock, hard and leaking. He reached into his nightstand and pulled something out—a cock ring. A vibrating one.

“You like that?” He spat into his palm and wrapped his hand around me.

The first stroke stole my voice. His grip was perfect, tight and slick, and he worked me fast. Then he pushed my legs up, exposing me completely, and I heard the buzz. The ring pressed against my hole, vibrating hard, and I almost screamed.

“Shh.” His laugh was soft. “Quiet.”

I bit my lip. Every nerve in my body was focused on that dual sensation—his hand on my cock, the vibration against that tight ring of muscle. I was gone in seconds. The orgasm ripped through me, so intense it felt like a break in reality, my vision going white, my voice catching in a choked gasp.

Sam didn’t stop until I was empty. Then he wiped his hand on the towel and looked down at me, sprawled and panting.

“Not bad for your first time.” He leaned in, his mouth close to my ear. “But I’m not done with you yet. I want to see if you can take more than just my cock in that mouth.”

The hallway carpet was worn thin, a path I’d memorized over months. Three steps from my door, a sharp left past the bathroom, then I’d press my back against the cool plaster outside Sam’s room. My heart always started its stupid drumming right there, in that narrow gap between the wall and the heavy oak of his door.

The crack.

It was my secret architecture. The old wardrobe in his room stood angled against the far wall, and between its ornate wooden edge and the window frame was a two-inch sliver of space. From the hallway, if I curled my body just right and pressed my eye to the gap where the door hinge didn’t quite seal, I could see the corner of his bed. The footboard. The stretch of floor where he always stood to pull off his work shirt.

I’d been eighteen for three weeks.

Sam was twenty-three. He lifted at the gym every morning before his construction shift. I’d watched those shoulders broaden over the summer, watched the way his back tapered into a narrow waist, the dark hair that trailed from his navel down into his jeans. I told myself it was curiosity. Male curiosity. Just wondering what a real man’s body looked like.

The lie was thin, and I knew it.

That Tuesday afternoon, the house was empty. My aunt worked late. I heard the shower running, the old pipes groaning, and my feet carried me to my post before my brain could catch up. I tucked myself into the hallway corner, breath held, and found the crack.

Sam walked in with a towel slung low on his hips.

Water still beaded on his chest. His hair was dark and wet, pushed back, and the muscles of his abdomen caught the light as he moved. He didn’t head for his dresser. Instead, he crossed to the door and turned the lock. The click was loud in the silence.

My pulse stuttered.

He sat on the edge of his bed. The towel loosened, and he tugged it free, tossing it onto the floor. Naked. I’d seen glimpses before—the curve of his ass when he bent for socks, the side of his thigh—but never like this. Never full, unobstructed. He leaned back on his elbows, legs slightly apart, and picked up his phone.

I watched him scroll. His thumb moved lazily. Then his hand drifted down, wrapping around himself, and my throat went dry.

He was already half-hard. I watched him stroke himself slowly, the way his fingers gripped, the way his hips gave a small, instinctive lift. His jaw was slack. His eyes on the screen. He was jerking off right there, in the middle of the afternoon, like he owned the room and the light and every breath I was struggling to take.

I leaned forward. Just an inch. Just to see better.

The pillow hit me square in the face.

“What the *fuck*, Alex?”

I stumbled backward. My shoulder slammed the doorframe, and I was scrambling, trying to push myself upright, trying to hide the tent in my shorts. “I—nothing—I was just—I’m sorry—”

“Get back here.”

His voice was low. Not angry. Something else. Something that hooked under my ribs and pulled.

I stopped.

Sam was sitting up now, the phone still in his hand, no towel in reach. He looked at me like he was seeing something for the first time. His cock was still half-erect, and I couldn’t stop staring at it, at the way it rested against his thigh.

“How long have you been watching me?”

“I don’t—”

“Don’t lie.”

My face burned. “A few months.”

He let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. Then he leaned back, settling against the headboard, and patted the mattress beside him. “Come here.”

I couldn’t make my feet move.

“I said come here.” Not a demand. A suggestion wrapped in steel. “I want to show you something.”

My legs carried me forward. I sat on the edge of his bed, my hands gripping my knees, my whole body trembling. Sam held up the phone. A woman on her knees, mouth stretched around a man’s cock. The sounds were wet and rhythmic.

“You ever see anything like that before?”

I nodded. I’d watched porn. But never like this. Never with his shoulder warm next to mine, his voice right there.

He swiped the screen. A new video. Two men this time, and a woman. One man sat back while the woman worked the other, her mouth and hands moving together. The guy receiving leaned his head back, throat exposed, moaning.

“What do you think of that?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.” His voice was dry. “You sneak into my room every day to watch me change, and you don’t know.”

I couldn’t breathe.

He set the phone down and turned to face me fully. His hand landed on my thigh, heavy and warm. “Are you gay, Alex?”

The word hung in the air. I’d never said it out loud. Not to anyone.

“I think so.”

“You think so.” His thumb traced a slow circle on my leg. “Have you ever sucked a dick before?”

I shook my head.

“I’ll let you try.” He said it like he was offering me a beer. “If you want.”

I nodded. I was already nodding before I knew I’d made a decision.

“Good boy.”

He shifted, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, and I found myself on my knees on the floor between his thighs. The carpet was rough. His skin was warm. His cock was fully hard now, curving toward his stomach, and I couldn’t look away.

“Start with the tip,” he said. “Just lick it.”

I leaned in. My tongue touched the head, and I tasted salt. Clean skin. The faint bitterness of pre-cum. I licked again, more deliberately.

“That’s what my cum is going to taste like,” he said. “See? Not that bad.”

“It’s kind of salty.”

He laughed, a low rumble. “You’ll get used to it. Now put it in your mouth. Just the head.”

I opened my lips and took him in. The skin was velvet over steel. My mouth stretched, and I felt his hand land on the back of my head, not pushing, just resting there.

“That’s it. Move your mouth up and down. Use your tongue.”

I did. I found a rhythm, clumsy at first, then smoother. He tasted like salt and skin and something deeper, something I couldn’t name. His breathing changed, getting rougher, and his hips started to move, small thrusts that pushed him deeper into my throat.

“Fuck, Alex. You’re a natural.”

The praise flooded through me. I wanted to be good at this. I wanted him to keep that hand on my head, keep that edge in his voice.

“I’m close,” he said. “When I say go, swallow as fast as you can. Don’t stop.”

I nodded as best I could with my mouth full.

“Go. Now.”

He came. The first spurt hit my tongue, hot and thick, and I swallowed. The second followed, the same bitter-salt taste, and I got it down. The third, though—it was too much, too fast, and I gagged. I sputtered, pulling back, cum spilling from my lips onto his thigh.

“Fuck, sorry, I’m sorry—”

“Hey.” His hand was gentle, cupping my jaw. “It’s okay. You did good. First time’s always a mess.”

He grabbed the towel from the floor and wiped himself clean, then wiped my chin. I sat there, trembling, my mouth burning with the taste of him.

“Lay down.”

I didn’t argue. I stretched out on his bed, and he pulled off my shorts and boxers in one motion. The air hit my cock, hard and leaking. He reached into his nightstand and pulled something out—a cock ring. A vibrating one.

“You like that?” He spat into his palm and wrapped his hand around me.

The first stroke stole my voice. His grip was perfect, tight and slick, and he worked me fast. Then he pushed my legs up, exposing me completely, and I heard the buzz. The ring pressed against my hole, vibrating hard, and I almost screamed.

“Shh.” His laugh was soft. “Quiet.”

I bit my lip. Every nerve in my body was focused on that dual sensation—his hand on my cock, the vibration against that tight ring of muscle. I was gone in seconds. The orgasm ripped through me, so intense it felt like a break in reality, my vision going white, my voice catching in a choked gasp.

Sam didn’t stop until I was empty. Then he wiped his hand on the towel and looked down at me, sprawled and panting.

“Not bad for your first time.” He leaned in, his mouth close to my ear. “But I’m not done with you yet. I want to see if you can take more than just my cock in that mouth.”

The hallway carpet was worn thin, a path I’d memorized over months. Three steps from my door, a sharp left past the bathroom, then I’d press my back against the cool plaster outside Sam’s room. My heart always started its stupid drumming right there, in that narrow gap between the wall and the heavy oak of his door.

The crack.

It was my secret architecture. The old wardrobe in his room stood angled against the far wall, and between its ornate wooden edge and the window frame was a two-inch sliver of space. From the hallway, if I curled my body just right and pressed my eye to the gap where the door hinge didn’t quite seal, I could see the corner of his bed. The footboard. The stretch of floor where he always stood to pull off his work shirt.

I’d been eighteen for three weeks.

Sam was twenty-three. He lifted at the gym every morning before his construction shift. I’d watched those shoulders broaden over the summer, watched the way his back tapered into a narrow waist, the dark hair that trailed from his navel down into his jeans. I told myself it was curiosity. Male curiosity. Just wondering what a real man’s body looked like.

The lie was thin, and I knew it.

That Tuesday afternoon, the house was empty. My aunt worked late. I heard the shower running, the old pipes groaning, and my feet carried me to my post before my brain could catch up. I tucked myself into the hallway corner, breath held, and found the crack.

Sam walked in with a towel slung low on his hips.

Water still beaded on his chest. His hair was dark and wet, pushed back, and the muscles of his abdomen caught the light as he moved. He didn’t head for his dresser. Instead, he crossed to the door and turned the lock. The click was loud in the silence.

My pulse stuttered.

He sat on the edge of his bed. The towel loosened, and he tugged it free, tossing it onto the floor. Naked. I’d seen glimpses before—the curve of his ass when he bent for socks, the side of his thigh—but never like this. Never full, unobstructed. He leaned back on his elbows, legs slightly apart, and picked up his phone.

I watched him scroll. His thumb moved lazily. Then his hand drifted down, wrapping around himself, and my throat went dry.

He was already half-hard. I watched him stroke himself slowly, the way his fingers gripped, the way his hips gave a small, instinctive lift. His jaw was slack. His eyes on the screen. He was jerking off right there, in the middle of the afternoon, like he owned the room and the light and every breath I was struggling to take.

I leaned forward. Just an inch. Just to see better.

The pillow hit me square in the face.

“What the fuck, Alex?”

I stumbled backward. My shoulder slammed the doorframe, and I was scrambling, trying to push myself upright, trying to hide the tent in my shorts. “I—nothing—I was just—I’m sorry—”

“Get back here.”

His voice was low. Not angry. Something else. Something that hooked under my ribs and pulled.

I stopped.

Sam was sitting up now, the phone still in his hand, no towel in reach. He looked at me like he was seeing something for the first time. His cock was still half-erect, and I couldn’t stop staring at it, at the way it rested against his thigh.

“How long have you been watching me?”

“I don’t—”

“Don’t lie.”

My face burned. “A few months.”

He let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. Then he leaned back, settling against the headboard, and patted the mattress beside him. “Come here.”

I couldn’t make my feet move.

“I said come here.” Not a demand. A suggestion wrapped in steel. “I want to show you something.”

My legs carried me forward. I sat on the edge of his bed, my hands gripping my knees, my whole body trembling. Sam held up the phone. A woman on her knees, mouth stretched around a man’s cock. The sounds were wet and rhythmic.

“You ever see anything like that before?”

I nodded. I’d watched porn. But never like this. Never with his shoulder warm next to mine, his voice right there.

He swiped the screen. A new video. Two men this time, and a woman. One man sat back while the woman worked the other, her mouth and hands moving together. The guy receiving leaned his head back, throat exposed, moaning.

“What do you think of that?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.” His voice was dry. “You sneak into my room every day to watch me change, and you don’t know.”

I couldn’t breathe.

He set the phone down and turned to face me fully. His hand landed on my thigh, heavy and warm. “Are you gay, Alex?”

The word hung in the air. I’d never said it out loud. Not to anyone.

“I think so.”

“You think so.” His thumb traced a slow circle on my leg. “Have you ever sucked a dick before?”

I shook my head.

“I’ll let you try.” He said it like he was offering me a beer. “If you want.”

I nodded. I was already nodding before I knew I’d made a decision.

“Good boy.”

He shifted, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, and I found myself on my knees on the floor between his thighs. The carpet was rough. His skin was warm. His cock was fully hard now, curving toward his stomach, and I couldn’t look away.

“Start with the tip,” he said. “Just lick it.”

I leaned in. My tongue touched the head, and I tasted salt. Clean skin. The faint bitterness of pre-cum. I licked again, more deliberately.

“That’s what my cum is going to taste like,” he said. “See? Not that bad.”

“It’s kind of salty.”

He laughed, a low rumble. “You’ll get used to it. Now put it in your mouth. Just the head.”

I opened my lips and took him in. The skin was velvet over steel. My mouth stretched, and I felt his hand land on the back of my head, not pushing, just resting there.

“That’s it. Move your mouth up and down. Use your tongue.”

I did. I found a rhythm, clumsy at first, then smoother. He tasted like salt and skin and something deeper, something I couldn’t name. His breathing changed, getting rougher, and his hips started to move, small thrusts that pushed him deeper into my throat.

“Fuck, Alex. You’re a natural.”

The praise flooded through me. I wanted to be good at this. I wanted him to keep that hand on my head, keep that edge in his voice.

“I’m close,” he said. “When I say go, swallow as fast as you can. Don’t stop.”

I nodded as best I could with my mouth full.

“Go. Now.”

He came. The first spurt hit my tongue, hot and thick, and I swallowed. The second followed, the same bitter-salt taste, and I got it down. The third, though—it was too much, too fast, and I gagged. I sputtered, pulling back, cum spilling from my lips onto his thigh.

“Fuck, sorry, I’m sorry—”

“Hey.” His hand was gentle, cupping my jaw. “It’s okay. You did good. First time’s always a mess.”

He grabbed the towel from the floor and wiped himself clean, then wiped my chin. I sat there, trembling, my mouth burning with the taste of him.

“Lay down.”

I didn’t argue. I stretched out on his bed, and he pulled off my shorts and boxers in one motion. The air hit my cock, hard and leaking. He reached into his nightstand and pulled something out—a cock ring. A vibrating one.

“You like that?” He spat into his palm and wrapped his hand around me.

The first stroke stole my voice. His grip was perfect, tight and slick, and he worked me fast. Then he pushed my legs up, exposing me completely, and I heard the buzz. The ring pressed against my hole, vibrating hard, and I almost screamed.

“Shh.” His laugh was soft. “Quiet.”

I bit my lip. Every nerve in my body was focused on that dual sensation—his hand on my cock, the vibration against that tight ring of muscle. I was gone in seconds. The orgasm ripped through me, so intense it felt like a break in reality, my vision going white, my voice catching in a choked gasp.

Sam didn’t stop until I was empty. Then he wiped his hand on the towel and looked down at me, sprawled and panting.

“Not bad for your first time.” He leaned in, his mouth close to my ear. “But I’m not done with you yet. I want to see if you can take more than just my cock in that mouth.”

Anyone heading to Avw this week during the day looking for some booth fun

Since my first hotel hook up with that hot dad. I have become obsessed with finding hot straight dads staying at any hotels I’m vacationing at and give them some oral relief that the wife won’t but that this college boy is more than willing to do . Staying at the royal pacific at universal in Orlando fl for the next 3 days I have already helped out 2 hot as fuck dads! One in the lobby bathroom and one that snuck out to my room early this morning. Just service a 3rd while his wife was massaging him asking where he was 😈😈😈 god I love me some married straight cock