Warning: 18+ Only

My parents were already proud of me. I’d topped my class, chasing the doctorate I’d wanted since high school.

Then in my first year working as a research scientist in the university’s cybersecurity lab, some guys in a chopper kidnapped me.

Okay, maybe kidnapping isn’t exactly true, but the real story sounded kinda dull.

It was late spring, a little warm and maybe even sticky, and of course I was running late again. I grabbed a sandwich on my way, jogged across campus, and slid into my chair pretending I’d been there all along.

Professor Aldricht burst in, unkempt gray-streaked beard bristling, eyes wild, finger already pointed at me.

“Joshua Sunderland! Thank you for dropping by!”

The room froze except for a few muffled giggles. Probably more at him using my full name than his temper.

I sank lower in my seat, nodding like I cared while my brain scrambled for another half-believable excuse.

My inbox pinged. The others were already roasting him.

Then one message nearly killed me.

Attached image: Aldricht as Gandalf yelling YOU SHALL NOT CLOCK IN AFTER NINE!
Caption: Real-time footage from the lab.

I lost it. Tried to hide a grin, failed miserably.

“Amusing, is it? Do I amuse you?”

It was like being back in high school all over again. I looked down, wiped the smile, praying for an interruption.

The door slammed open at the perfect moment.

Four men in suits filled the doorway.

“Mr. Sunderland?”

My stomach dropped. FBI badges.

I simply stared.

Two older agents walked over, stone-faced and in intimidating gray suits. They told me to come with them while my work colleagues’ mouths gaped. Before I knew it, they were steering me through some hidden stairwell, two flights up, straight onto the roof.

Rotor noise hit first. A chopper waited there, with another agent standing by, looking impatient.

The one at the door leaned close so I could hear him over the blades.
“Mr. Sunderland, Special Agent Cotchin. You’ll be briefed at the destination.”

I already knew asking what that destination was would be a waste of my time.

And just like that, the craziest day of my life kicked off.

The ride to the location I wasn’t allowed to know about was in complete silence. I watched the men, all in their thirties or forties, expressionless and sour-faced. I got the impression I’d done something very wrong.

The week before, I’d published a paper that caused a bit of a stir. I’d even been interviewed by a large paper about the content. I tried to think what I could have done to get myself into this level of trouble as we flew through thick clouds toward an unknown destination, my heart pounding and my mind reeling, trying to recount every incident of my life that could have led me here.

We arrived at a secret facility that smelled suspiciously of new monitors and military-grade coffee. Turns out we’d landed in Virginia.

Inside, I met a woman who looked more like a librarian than a special agent, who introduced herself as Dr. Marian Keller, with Assistant Director Halvorsen at her side. I was still flanked by Cotchin.

“Mr. Sunderland,” Dr. Keller began. Her voice was softer than I expected, the kind that could calm a bear mid-rampage. She leaned forward slightly. “We brought you here because your paper just became a national headache.”

She slid a printout toward me. “Behavioral Fingerprinting of Autonomous Reconnaissance Networks Using Non-Deterministic Heuristics.” I’d written it to sound clever, not dangerous. But apparently I’d nailed both.

She explained that someone had used my research to mask an AI-driven breach hitting multiple federal agencies. Nobody could trace the source, but my model could predict how it moved. It was the only thing catching the patterns in real time.

That conversation blindsided me, and I went from prime suspect number one to the key witness in an investigation.

The sum of that insane day? I was being asked to apply to the FBI. And when I say “asked,” I mean told.

I was given a week to pack my things. The University of Maryland had already been notified. I said my farewells to family, friends, and colleagues. The girlfriend and I had split weeks earlier, so that was one problem conveniently solved.

A week later, I found myself at Quantico, Virginia, beginning training to become an FBI agent. My parents were prouder than I could have imagined, but I had never once, in my life considered this career path.

And that’s how I met Logan Everett, my roommate.

No sooner had I been shown my dorm, given a time for pick-up and a finger pointing down the corridor to the bathrooms, I found myself walking in and seeing this tall, blonde, muscular guy bent over, who looked as confused and rattled as I did.

“Hi,” I said, stepping into what felt like his space. He was bent over the bed unpacking his suitcase. My first view of Logan was his ass, and my first thought was, why the hell am I noticing his ass?

He turned when the door hit the wall, immediately friendly. Deep blue eyes that twinkled like he was always looking for trouble, tousled hair that was either naturally perfect or took effort to look that effortless.

“Hey. I’m Logan. You’re rooming here?”

I nodded. “I think so. Pretty much got given a clue and the rest is up for interpretation.”

He had a great smile, and was quick to laugh. “Yeah, same here. Got in about an hour ago. No clue where to get food, the bathroom, or any useful information.”

We shook hands. His grip was warm and firm, a grip that belonged to a guy comfortable in his own body.

“Someone’s coming at six,” I said. “That’s all they told me. Oh, and the bathroom’s down the hall.”

Both single beds were on opposite walls, each with a desk, a brand-new laptop, and neatly stacked supplies like pens, pads, and cups. I dropped my case on the bed, not in any rush to unpack, and watched Logan.

He faced the door. “We don’t even have a key. You think anyone around here locks up?”

I shrugged. “Pretty sure the locking isn’t our job.”

He smirked. “So if my stuff disappears, who do I complain to? The President?”

I looked past him to the window. “See that dome by the stairwell? Axis Q-series. Four-meg sensor, IR-cut filter, wide enough to catch the whole corridor. There’s another over the entrance with an L-mount. You can tell by the red reflection in the lens.”

He followed my gaze, eyes narrowing. “You clocked all that walking in?”

“Can’t help it,” I said. “I remember things.”

He nodded, reappraising me. “Then you already saw the Hikvision PTZ near the north corner. Covers both exits. 30x optical zoom.”

I hadn’t, actually. We’d come in from the opposite direction, and I’d been too focused on my reality shift for any thorough investigation. “Good to know.”

“Interesting,” he said, studying me with that same amused expression.

We appraised each other, two strangers dissecting a room like forensic twins, then he laughed softly and the tension broke.

“Come on, genius,” he said. “Let’s see what else is watching us.”

I’m not exactly a nerd, and I know I don’t look like one. I don’t usually make friends easily. Most of my friends came from sports or school, but I found myself instantly warming to Logan, fell in step alongside him like he’d always been there.

“So, I assume you’re cyber too?” I asked as we wandered the halls, noticing the way his shirt fit tight across his chest, the top buttons undone just enough to show a hint of hair.

He nodded. “Yeah. Military side of cyber. Transferred here, today’s my first day too. Doing special ops and recon, but they flew me in last week for the interview and gave me the whole ‘either join, or join’ speech.”

I laughed. “What is with that? I swear if I hadn’t accepted, I’d have found my career quietly erased.”

He laughed too. It was a good laugh, easy, like someone who laughed a lot. When he turned to me, there was that look again, the one people give when they’re trying to work out what a guy like me is doing behind a computer instead of on a field.

“Pretty much. Surprised they even gave me a week to quit my life and move. Kinda neat you’re here though. I was dreading this, but having a roomie like you makes it better,” he said.

Logan led the way down the corridor, and we turned a corner into what looked like a small cafeteria. It smelled like grilled food and floor polish, with steam rising from the bain-maries and the hum of vending and soda machines.

“This can’t be real,” I said, walking past trays of lasagna, salad, and food I couldn’t identify.

Beyond that, a games room with pool tables, foosball, table tennis, even consoles and couches.

A guy and a girl were locked in an Xbox battle while two others smacked a ping-pong ball like their lives depended on it.

I turned to say something to Logan, but he was already at the counter talking to a large man in a white hairnet.

“What can I get you?” the man said.

“Where are the prices?” Logan asked.

The man smiled, clearly used to that question. “You just arrived, huh? No prices here. Take what you want. You overeat, you’ll throw it up. That’s your only warning.”

Logan whistled, a sound that somehow matched him. I caught myself watching the way his lips curved as he did it.

He stared at the trays for a while, then asked, “What time do people usually eat?”

The man shrugged. “Whenever you want. Open from five a.m. to ten p.m.”

I scanned the food and finally decided on a stroganoff.

“I’ll have the lasagna and salad,” Logan said, grabbing a tray when the man pointed him to it. Logan handed me one and took another for himself.

“I never want to leave this place,” I said. “Man, they’ve got Xbox, PlayStation, board games, pool. Like, seriously?”

We ate too much, drank too much soda, and ended up slouched in the dining chairs staring at the games room like it was paradise.

“Where you from?” Logan asked between mouthfuls.

“Maryland,” I said, spearing a few fries. “You?”

“Portland.”

When Logan studied something, his eyes darkened and his brow dropped slightly. As I spoke, he appeared to be reading me.

“What do you do for fun?” he asked. “Girlfriend? Sports? Gamer?”

I chewed and nodded toward his plate. “You always eat that fast?”

He grinned and nodded again, mouth full.

I smiled. “Not anymore, she’s history. Gamer, I guess, yeah. RPGs, DnD, tennis when it’s warm.”

I was starting to get him. Logan was predictable, in a way that made him trustworthy.

“Me too,” he said, rattling off a bunch of games I’d either played or heard of.

“You’re super cool,” he said finally, grinning. “This’ll be a fun few months.”

I nodded, but there was that flicker in his eyes again. That extra second of looking before he glanced away.

At six sharp, we met Supervisory Special Agent Benning, a man built like someone who could crush concrete with a handshake.

Along with the four we’d seen in the games room, there were four others, making our team ten in total. Everyone looked mid to late twenties, sharp but clearly a little disoriented, like we’d all been drafted in a hurry.

Benning had the look of someone carved from order itself. Broad shoulders, sleeves rolled to the forearms, salt-and-pepper hair cropped with military precision. He carried himself like a man who’d never needed to shout to get obedience.

“Evening, everyone,” he said, calm but commanding. “You’ve all been cleared for the Special Agent Basic Training Program. You’ll spend the next twenty weeks learning how to be useful and not get yourselves or anyone else killed.”

He didn’t smile much, but then, nobody else did either.

We followed him through a long corridor lined with glass-walled classrooms. Inside, whiteboards were covered in scribbles, and projectors hummed quietly, ready for the next morning’s lectures.

“That’s your academic wing,” Benning said. “Law, ethics, interrogation, digital forensics, and paperwork. Lots of paperwork. You’ll start there at 0700.”

We crossed an open-air walkway that smelled faintly of pine and gun oil. Off to the right, a cluster of floodlit buildings caught my eye.

“That’s Hogan’s Alley,” he said. “Our fake town. You’ll learn evidence collection, tactical movement, and how to tell an innocent bystander from someone planning fuck you up.”

A few nervous laughs.

He pointed toward another block in the distance. “Firearms and tactical training center. You’ll qualify with sidearms before the end of next week. If you’ve never fired a weapon before, congratulations, you won’t leave until you’re a skilled marksman.”

We looped back toward the dorms. Benning stopped at a glass door with a keypad entry. “That’s your cyber operations wing. You two pretty boys,” he said, looking at Logan and me, “will spend time there once the basics are out of the way. It’s quieter, colder, and a lot more fun if you like puzzles that fight back.”

A few of them laughed, and I threw Logan a glance. I had a sinking feeling that we’d just been labeled and it would stick.

We got an introduction to a few other areas, some of which we’d already discovered. We also got the lowdown on the Mess and the same caution we’d received from the server. He checked his watch. “Curfew’s 2200. Lights out at 2230. Don’t make me regret being civil. Welcome to Quantico.”

And just like that, he was gone.

The ten of us stood in the corridor, blinking under fluorescent light, half in awe, half wondering if we’d just joined something we couldn’t quit.

We drifted back toward the games room, a little too wired to sleep.

That’s where I met Alanah Chan, sharp-faced, quietly intense, and the type of person who only said things once. She was tight-lipped about her specialty, which somehow made everyone more curious.

The others were all interesting in their own ways, and it didn’t take long before we realized most of us had been drafted within the same two-week window.

“What do you pretty boys do?” a rugged, slightly stocky guy by the name of Connor asked us.

Our introductions were off to a great start, with banter, sarcasm and conversation that could only come from a group of highly intellectual people.

Games started up. Pool table, foosball, table tennis. Someone turned on music. For a moment, it felt like college again, except we all knew this wasn’t going to be that kind of campus.

When an alarm sounded, everyone froze.

Except Alanah, who calmly pointed at the clock. “Curfew,” she said, standing, almost looking bored. “Good night.”

And with that, she walked off.

Within minutes, the rest of us followed.

“I really like her,” Logan said as we headed down the hall.

“Yeah, me too. She strikes me as the type who knows what’s going on, even when she doesn’t.”

Logan glanced at me, hand on the door, eyes squinting a little like he was trying to read between the lines.

“Nicely put,” he said, and pushed the door open.

I finally pulled out a few things from my case and shoved them into the cupboard, promising myself I’d sort it later. Logan was hanging everything with military precision, shirts lined up, jeans folded, shoes tucked neatly under the bed. Even his bathroom bag sat perfectly centered on the blanket.

“You coming to brush your teeth?” he asked behind me.

“Uh huh,” I said, finding my toiletries buried under a tangle of cables and socks.

The bathroom was bigger than I expected, with two sinks, two showers on opposite walls, and one toilet cubicle.

I ran a finger along the counter. “Why would anyone want to shower with someone else on the other side?”

Logan rinsed his mouth, then looked at me through the mirror. “I’m sure Alanah would say it’s efficient.”

We both laughed.

“I’m just glad there aren’t two toilets,” Logan said as we left the bathroom and went back to our room.

I found my sleeping shorts, a pair of gray sweats with cutoffs, and my Snoopy tee that had long since faded into a blur of color.

“That’s cute,” Logan said.

I turned and lifted my covers, then looked back to see what he had on, so I could tease him.

Logan was in briefs.

I spun to face away again. “Oh, you sleep in jocks.”

He chuckled, a little nervous. “I thought that was normal.”

I shrugged. “Might be. I’ve just never been a big fan of normal.”

“I can put something else on if it makes you uncomfortable?”

I turned and tried not to look at his bulge. “Nah, not at all. Was just surprised.”

As I slid into bed, I watched him pull his sheets back. It was hard not to notice how fit he was. The briefs clung perfectly, outlining a body that came from discipline and hours in the gym. His legs were strong, lightly hairy, and the muscles in his back moved like they knew exactly what they were doing.

The room light was off, but the floodlight outside poured through the blinds, just enough to see shape and movement. Logan bent forward, checking something on his ankle, and the fabric of his underwear tightened across him like it was painted on.

Then I saw it.

He was looking back at me from between his legs. Grinning.

I froze, eyes jumping to the ceiling.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Logan said quietly. “Kind of flattering.”

My face burned. I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears, and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t know what the hell to say.

“Night,” he said.

I heard him slip into bed, the mattress quietly adjusting to his body.

“Night.”

Thoughts raced through my head, about what had just happened. Why I was even noticing details about his body and his smile? Something that I would never have noticed before. There was also the excitement of becoming an FBI agent, so I simply couldn’t sleep for a while.

But eventually, as I heard the soft sound of Logan’s breathing, I did sleep, picturing him lying in his bed in his jocks.

Want more? Join the community on Substack. Part 2 is here.

All characters are 18+

I have a confession to make. I love to breed virgins more than anything else. I have had all kinds of men: experienced, older, big, small, you name it. But nothing compares to the transition from a reserved and anxious first-timer to a cock-hungry slut obeying your every command after mere minutes.

What gets me every single time is how tight those virgin holes are. That first push inside a never-fucked ass is like nothing else. It clamps down around your cock like a hot, trembling fist, fighting every thick inch at first before it starts to give. They gasp and shake and try to take it like good boys, and then something clicks. The resistance melts and that hole starts to open up and suck you in, learning what it was made for. By the time I’m balls-deep they are already pushing back, begging without words, turning into the kind of needy, obedient cumdump that only a real first-timer can become.

I live in a college town, which makes it ridiculously easy. The apps are full of them. Young guys away from home, curious, bicurious, or just finally ready to admit what they have been thinking about for years. I scroll through Tinder and Grindr most nights, looking for the ones who say they have never been with a guy, or never been fucked, or who answer my messages with nervous little replies like “I think I want to try.” I am upfront from the start. I tell them exactly what I want. I tell them I only breed virgins raw. I tell them I get tested regularly and I will show them the results. Most of them say they want a condom at first. They type it out carefully, like they are trying to be responsible. I never push. I just keep talking. I explain how much better it feels skin to skin for their first time. How I will go slow, stretch their tight holes open with my cock, and then breed them full of cum so they feel it deep in their guts. Most of them still hesitate over text. Then they show up anyway. Once they are in my house and they see me, once they feel how calm and sure I am, the condom talk disappears. They want it raw. They want to feel my cock stretching them open and filling them up. They always do.

My most recent one was last night. Twenty years old. Lean from playing intramural soccer, maybe five-ten, smooth pale skin that flushed easy, messy dark hair that fell into his eyes, and these wide, nervous brown eyes that kept flicking up to my face and then away again. He had that fresh, clean college-kid look. Soft lips. A shy smile when he first walked in. I could tell he had spent a long time getting ready, probably shaved everywhere, probably changed his outfit twice.

He took me in the way they all do. I had left the top two buttons of my shirt open on purpose. Salt-and-pepper beard trimmed neat, broad chest visible underneath, the kind of thick arms and solid dad bod that comes from years of lifting and not giving a fuck about being twenty anymore. I am six-one, heavier than I was at his age but still strong, hairy where it counts. He stood there in my living room trying not to stare at the bulge in my jeans while I poured him a drink.

“Whiskey,” I said, sliding the glass across the counter. “It will help.”

He took it with both hands like it might steady him. We talked for maybe ten minutes. He told me he had never done anything with a guy before, not even kissed one. His voice shook a little. I kept mine low and steady. Told him he did not have to do anything he did not want. Told him we could stop whenever. He kept sipping and nodding and looking at my mouth. By the time I set my own glass down and stepped in close, his breathing had changed.

We moved to the bedroom without saying much. I took his shirt off first. Ran my hands over that smooth chest and flat stomach. He shivered when I undid his jeans and pushed them down. No underwear. His cock was already hard, leaking a little at the tip. I stroked him slow while I kissed his neck and told him how good he was going to feel once I was inside him, once I was stretching that virgin hole and breeding him full.

I got him on his back on the bed, legs spread wide, knees pulled up toward his chest. He looked so fucking vulnerable like that, spread open on my sheets, his lean soccer-player body flushed pink from his chest all the way up to his cheeks. Those wide brown eyes were huge, darting nervously between my face and my cock, pupils blown wide. His chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. He kept licking his lips, then biting down on the bottom one like he was trying to stay quiet. His hands twisted in the sheets beside his hips. His cock was rock hard against his stomach, leaking steadily onto his skin. And between his spread thighs, that tight virgin hole kept twitching and clenching, already anticipating the cock that was about to ruin it.

I took my time just looking at him. There’s nothing quite like the anticipation and anxiousness written all over a nervous first-timer right before you take him.

I stood at the foot of the bed and stripped the rest of the way while he watched. I pulled my shirt off over my head and let it drop, giving him the full view of my broad, hairy chest and the solid thickness of my stomach. Dark hair ran down from my chest and spread across my belly before trailing lower. His eyes followed every bit of it. Then I shoved my jeans and underwear down in one push. My cock swung free, thick and heavy, already stiffening fast at the sight of him laid out and spread like that. It was longer and fatter than his, with a wide head and thick veins running along the shaft.

I kicked the clothes aside and stood there naked between his spread legs, letting him take it all in. The difference was obvious. Me standing over him, older, bigger, covered in hair, my cock growing thicker by the second. Him on his back with his knees pulled up, smooth and flushed and trembling. His wide brown eyes went even bigger as they locked onto my cock. He stared at it like he was trying to understand how something that size was supposed to fit inside him. His throat bobbed hard when he swallowed. His own cock twitched against his stomach and leaked another steady bead of precum. Between his spread thighs his hole clenched visibly, tightening and releasing in quick little pulses like it already knew it was about to get ruined. A shaky breath left him, almost a whimper. He was seeing everything now. My thick, older cock was about to push into his virgin hole, stretch it wide open, and breed him full of cum.

I climbed onto the bed between his legs, my cock hanging heavy right above him.

I reached for the lube on the nightstand and slicked up two fingers while he lay there watching me with those huge eyes. At the same time I wrapped my free hand around his hard, leaking cock and started stroking him slow and steady from root to tip. He sucked in a sharp breath and his hips gave a little twitch. "Focus on this," I told him, voice low and rough. "Let my hand on your cock distract you while I get you ready."

I pressed one slick finger to his tight pucker and pushed in slow. He gasped, body going rigid, hands clutching the sheets in tight fists. "Breathe," I said, keeping up the steady strokes on his cock. "Just breathe and let it happen. You're so fucking tight. That's it... good. Let my finger inside that virgin hole."

He was burning hot inside and gripping me like a fist. I worked the finger deeper, then curled it gently against his inner walls. A broken, shaky sound tore out of him, and his cock pulsed hard in my hand, leaking steadily over my fingers. His hole clenched and fluttered around the intrusion, fighting the stretch at first.

"I'm adding a second one now," I warned him, not stopping the slow jerking of his cock. "Relax for me. Let that hole open up. You're doing so good. Your cock is dripping while I'm stretching your ass... you feel that?"

I pushed the second finger in beside the first, slow and deliberate. He moaned, a desperate little sound, his back arching slightly off the bed as his thighs trembled. I kept stroking him the whole time, thumb circling the slick head of his cock to keep him distracted and needy. Inside he was so tight and hot it made my own cock throb. I twisted and scissored my fingers gently, working him open, every little movement pulling more of those broken gasps and whimpers out of him. They went straight to my dick.

I fingered him like that for a minute, slow and thorough, stretching him with two fingers while I jerked him off until his hole started to soften and yield around them. Then I pulled my fingers out, leaving him empty and twitching.

He looked up at me with those wide, nervous eyes. “I don’t know if I can take it,” he whispered. “You’re so big.”

I leaned down over him and kissed him deep and slow, my tongue sliding into his mouth while I shifted my hips forward. The thick head of my cock pressed hot against his hole as I kissed him. Then I pulled back just enough to speak against his lips.

When I finally pulled my hand away and lined up, pressing the thick head of my cock right against his hole, he went completely still. Eyes wide. Mouth open. “Fuck,” he whispered. “It’s big.”

I didn’t push yet. I just held the pressure there, letting him feel the blunt heat of it stretching him the smallest amount.

“Breathe for me,” I told him, voice low and steady. “Deep breaths. You’re okay. We’re going slow.”

He nodded, but his body stayed locked up tight, his hole clenching hard around the head of my cock, fighting the intrusion.

I stayed perfectly still.

“Look at me,” I said. His scared brown eyes found mine. “You’re doing perfect. Just relax around my cock. Let your body open up for it. You can take it. I’ve got you.”

I gave him a few more seconds, then started to push again, slow, steady pressure. The head began to sink in, that tight ring burning hot as it stretched wide around me. He made a choked, overwhelmed sound, his hands grabbing at my forearms.

“Wait. It’s too much. Fuck.”

I stopped immediately, holding completely still with just the head starting to breach him.

“Shhh. You can take this cock. Your virgin hole is clenching so tight around the head but it’s going to open up for me. Breathe. I’m going to breed you deep, but it’ll feel so much better when you give in and let me stretch you open.”

I didn’t move. Just stayed there, partway inside, letting him adjust. I could feel every desperate flutter and clench of his virgin hole around the head of my cock. His thighs were shaking. His breathing was ragged. But then I felt it, the exact moment the fight started to leave him. The tight ring softened, yielding, starting to pull me in instead of pushing me out.

“That’s it,” I groaned. “Good. Just like that. Let it open for me.”

I pushed forward again, slow and controlled. Inch by inch I watched my thick cock disappear into him, the fat head then the veiny shaft sinking deeper into that hot, trembling hole. He was shaking under me, eyes glassy, mouth slack as he panted through the stretch, but he wasn’t fighting anymore. His body was starting to accept it, starting to welcome the fullness.

When I finally bottomed out, balls pressed tight against his ass, I stayed there with a low groan, buried to the hilt in virgin ass for the first time, letting him adjust to being so completely full.

Then I started to move.

Slow, deep strokes at first. “That’s it. Take my cock. Your virgin hole is gripping me so fucking tight.” Pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in. “Feel every inch stretching you open.” His body opened up around me inch by inch until he was taking every thrust. The sounds he made changed. From shaky breaths to low moans to these desperate little whines every time I bottomed out. I picked up the pace. Got my hands under his knees and pushed them back toward his chest so I could fuck him deeper. “Yeah. That’s better. Now you’re really taking it.” The bed creaked. Skin slapped. His cock bounced against his stomach, leaking steadily.

He stopped being nervous. Stopped being careful. He started begging. “Harder,” he said, voice hoarse. “Please. Fuck me harder.”

I slammed into him harder. “You want it harder? Beg for it properly. Tell me how bad you want this cock breeding your tight little hole.”

His hands grabbed at my hips, trying to pull me in deeper. “You're so huge. It barely fits.”

“Good boy. Now take it.” His eyes were glassy, mouth slack. Cock-hungry already. Exactly like they all get.

I gave him what he asked for. Pounded into that tight hole, long and hard and relentless, until the only sounds in the room were his moans and the wet slap of my balls against his ass. “I’m gonna fill this virgin hole with my cum until it’s leaking out of you.” He nodded frantically, eyes locked on mine, repeating “yes” and “please” like he had forgotten every other word.

When I came I stayed buried deep and pumped every drop inside him. “Take it. Take my fucking load deep in your guts.” Thick pulses that made him gasp and clench around me. I kept grinding through it, pushing my cum deeper, breeding him the way I had promised. He came right after, untouched, cock twitching and spilling across his own stomach while his hole milked the last of my load out of me.

We stayed like that for a while. My cock still inside him, softening slowly. His breathing gradually evened out. I kissed his forehead and told him he did perfect. He smiled, shy again for a second, then nuzzled into my neck like he already wanted more.

He will text me again in a few days. They always do. He will want another round, maybe two. I will probably give it to him once or twice more because the hole is still good and he is eager to learn. But it is a pity. He is not a virgin anymore. That first-time tightness, that wide-eyed nervousness turning into a desperate, cock-hungry hole begging to be bred, that is what I crave. Once they have been bred they are changed. Still fun, but not the same.

After he left I poured myself another drink, sat on the edge of the bed, and opened the app again. Scrolled through the new messages. Plenty of curious college boys looking for their first time. Plenty of tight virgin holes waiting to get stretched open and bred raw.

Everyone in this story is over the age of 18

“Keep going,” Liam hissed, “I’m getting close!”  I was on my knees behind a shed at the back of the parking lot where I worked, doing my level best to get Liam’s nut without getting caught. I was using  one hand to stroke his shaft and the other to beat my own meat. He grabbed my head with both hands and started fucking my mouth like it was a sex toy.  It was an effort not to gag.  My lips were already bruised, but I was determined to get what I craved so badly. I felt tears spring from my eyes and run down my face.  Still he pounded me, breathing fast and eyes closed.  I pulled on my own dick furiously.  When he came, I knew I would bust too.  Suddenly his pounding slowed and he pulled his cock out of his mouth and jerked himself to his climax.   “Fuuuuuuuuuck,” he growled while semen erupted from his angry red cockhead and onto my face, into my hair, and into my mouth.  He rasped “oh shit, oh shit,” as the last of his orgasm coursed through him, then stood there panting.  As soon as he took his hand off his cock, I leaned forward and put the slimy, sticky thing back in my mouth.  That’s all I needed and I came all over the ground in front of me.  It was not as prodigious as Liam’s load, but still it was a large one for me.  I released his cock, beginning to soften, and he slapped it on my face a couple of times, then used it to smear the cum around.  “You’re a mess, you little shit.”  Then, “Clean yourself up and get back out there.”  With that he pulled his pants up from his ankles, zipped up and walked away, whistling and without a backward glance at me.

I snuck off to the bathroom without encountering anyone else along the way, luckily, and used paper towels and water to wash the cum from my face and hair.  I was almost finished when I noticed there was a big glob on my shirt, which I wiped up with my finger.  “What the hell,” I thought and put it in my mouth.   Liam’s cum always tasted sweet and I wondered if he ate a lot of pineapple.  I’ve heard that it changes how your cum tastes, but I’m not sure if that is true or just some stupid internet nonsense.

When I was satisfied that I didn’t look or smell like a used whore, I trotted back out front.  “There you are,” growled Liam, just as a long, black sedan pulled into the parking lot.  I’m a car jockey on the weekends.  A valet parker.  Liam’s my boss.  He’s 25 and I’m 19 but he thinks he owns me. A few weeks after I’d started the job, he caught me looking at gay porn on my phone and said I could suck his dick if I wanted to.  That’s how it started.   He’s a total horndog and talks about sex all the time, commenting on each female that we park and telling me what he’d do to them if he got them in bed.  If a particularly hot girl happens by, Liam will get worked up.  That’s when he’ll give me a nod that means “meet me behind the shed.”  I love to suck dick and Liam’s is a perfect specimen, thick and meaty and crowned with a mushroom head, so I consider it a fringe benefit of the job.

I tucked my shirt back in my pants and walked up to meet the sedan.  Another snotty rich couple headed to the exclusive restaurant across the street.  Things got busier as the evening progressed and I was in constant motion, parking one car then fetching another in an endless game of tag.  Towards the end of the evening, Mr. Lewis walked up the valet stand and said, “Hello, Nathan, How are things this evening?”   Mr. Lewis was a regular at the restaurant. He was about 40, with wide shoulders and a killer smile.  His hair was sandy brown and a little on the long side.  His eyes were green.  Just my type.

However, Mr. Lewis always had a gorgeous woman on his arm each time he came, but never the same girl twice.  “I bet he fucks them, then kicks them to the curb,” I thought. Tonight his companion was a curvy brunette wearing a low cut dress with a big emerald necklace. He obviously had money.  The tailored clothes, the Rolex, and the big Mercedes he drove made that conclusion a no-brainer. 

“Hi Mr. Lewis,” I said, looking at his handsome face, a little envious of the girl.  “I’ll be right back,” I said as I grabbed his key ring from the hook and took off for the garage.  I made it snappy because Mr. Lewis was a good tipper in addition to being sexy as hell, so I wanted to stay on his good side.  When I pulled the car around, he smoothly opened the passenger door and helped the girl in.  I stepped out as he came around the front of the vehicle and he slid a bill into my hand.  “Thanks, Nathan,” he said, his hand brushing mine as I took the tip.   When I looked up, we made eye contact and I felt a bolt of electricity run down my spine.  “S…sure,” I stammered and looked away.  He stepped in, shut the door, and drove away.

Liam appeared behind me grousing.  “I was gonna bring the Merc around for him,” he whined, knowing that the tip would have been a fat one.  When I opened the folded bill, I saw it was a hundred.  “Damn,” Liam cursed. “He never tips me that much.” “You snooze, you lose,” I taunted as he walked away, muttering.  I looked at the bill in my hand and noticed it had something written on it. It said,  Text me, Nathan, followed by a cell number.  I felt my face get hot and my palms a little sweaty.  I tried to think of a reason why he could possibly want me to text him.  We’d only spoken a few times and briefly at that.  Another car pulled in, so I tucked the bill in my pocket and got back to work.

A little about me.  I’m 19 and a sophomore in college.  I’m on scholarship because I’m on the tennis team, but I work weekends for pocket money.  I’m 5 ft 10 and 140 pounds.  I’m a redhead, my skin is white as milk, and I’m peppered with freckles on my cheeks and shoulders.  I’m leanly muscled from tennis, but don’t work out otherwise.  I figured out I was gay when I was fifteen and I haven't looked back.

 The last car pulled out of the lot at about 10:30 and Liam and I clocked out.  “See ya tomorrow, fag boy,” Liam growled.  “Whatever, loser,”  I tossed back.  Walking toward my own car, I pulled Mr. Lewis’ bill out of my pocket and looked at the note again.  It was late, but with a mix of anxiety and curiosity, I decided to text.  Hi Mr. Lewis  I wrote, Thanks for the awesome tip.  I didn’t expect an immediate answer, but right away he texted back.  You’re welcome, Nathan.  I was wondering if you might be available to do some odd jobs for me during the week.  Doing odd jobs for a handsome, wealthy man was a no brainer.  Sure, I texted back. What did you have in mind?   He didn’t answer for a few minutes, then simply, Here’s my address.  Can you come by Wednesday at 5?   OK, I agreed. 

The next two days passed uneventfully, but I wondered a lot about what odd jobs Mr. Lewis needed done.  When I arrived at his address, I was a bit surprised.  The place was fairly modest, not exactly what I was expecting.  I rang the bell and Mr. Lewis opened the door.  He looked as good as ever and smelled of expensive aftershave lotion.   He wore shorts and old t-shirt, not his usual dapper evening outfits.  It made him look younger and less intimidating.  He smiled and invited me in.  His home was cozy and furnished in a masculine way.  Leather couch, big fireplace, lots of blues and browns.  By the looks of the place, I doubted a woman lived here too.

“So what do you need me to do,” I asked.  “Some odds and ends,” he replied.  We’ll start in the garage. I noticed he used “we,” so I guessed I’d be working alongside him, not just for him.  The garage held two cars:  his big black Mercedes and a smaller, sporty convertible.  One by one he backed them out onto the driveway.  “Let’s start in here,” he said when he came back.  He showed me a huge wall of boxes that he wanted moved to the basement.  I made short work of that.   He had me powerwash a patio that had become encrusted with moss and mold.  That was easy too.  He then handed me a pair of hedge clippers and pointed me at a row of bushes along the back of the house.  “These need a haircut,” he said, and he showed me how much he wanted pruned back. “This should keep you busy for a while he said.  “I’ll check back with you in a bit.”   “No problem,” I said, and began contentedly clipping the shrubs.  I made my way down the line slowly.  About halfway along the back were some large windows  above the hedge.  When I looked in I saw Mr. Lewis in a home gym, exercising.  He was dressed only in some gym shorts, his t-shirt nowhere to be seen.  His back was to me.  He was doing bicep curls and the muscles in his broad shoulders tensed and relaxed.  It was a fine back to look at.  It was only then that I noticed that the wall he was facing was covered by one big mirror, which meant he could see the windows behind him in its reflection.  I looked at the reflection of his chest, his pecs finely chiseled slabs of muscle, his stomach taut with a treasure trail of dark hair.  When I looked up, I realized he was looking at me in the mirror’s reflection.  My face burned and I quickly looked away.  I put my head down and returned to working on the hedge, only occasionally sneaking peeks at the object of my admiration.  When I finished and cleaned up the cuttings, I went back to house, opened the side door to the kitchen and called, “Mr. Lewis? “  He came around the corner only in those shorts and a sleeveless tee.  His arms and his face gleamed with sweat.  “Just finished my cardio,” he said, and for god’s sake, call me “Bryce.  Did you finish the hedge?”   I nodded, but the mere mention of the hedge made my cheeks burn again.  He pretended not to notice but I saw the corners of his mouth turn upward a little.  He brushed by me to go out to the garage and his sweaty man scent filled my nostrils.

“Let’s wash the cars next,” he said.  They were already in the driveway.  We quickly assembled buckets, hoses, soap and some old towels.  I worked on the sports car while he tackled the Mercedes.  We talked about a lot of things as we worked in parallel;  cars, vacations, music, you name it. He asked about my school, my major, and if I had a girlfriend. I found it easy to talk with him and make jokes which he seemed to enjoy.  He was rinsing down the Mercedes when he accidentally sprayed some water on me.  “Hey!” I cried out of surprise and shock.  “Sorry,” he said, then paused a second, before very intentionally pointing the nozzle at me and giving me a good soaking.  I tried to avoid the spray, but there was nowhere to hide.  I did the next best thing I could think of and pointed my hose at him and sprayed him back.  It was an epic battle that lasted maybe thirty seconds, with the end result of us dripping wet and laughing. The thin t-shirt he was wearing clung to his chest.  He pulled his dripping shirt over his head and attempted to wring it out.  I did the same, so we were both just in soaked shorts and shirtless.  He looked absolutely magnificent.  Just the type of older guy I was into and I felt an erection begin to tent my shorts.  We were both breathing a bit heavily from our play fight and looked at each other, not saying anything.  We made eye contact and held it.  It was electric. He dropped his shirt on the ground and took a few slow steps toward me, his eyes never leaving mine.  When we were face to face he started, “Nathan, I….I didn’t ask you here for something to happen, but I’d be lying if….   I didn’t let him finish.  I closed the gap between us and put my face right up to his and kissed him. It lasted for seconds, but it seemed like forever.  We pulled back and looked once again at each other, then he kissed me again, much more hungrily.  His tongue sought mine and they lashed each other urgently.  He pulled my body against his and I loved the hardness of his muscles.  We kissed again and again and his hips began to grind against mine.  He reached down and grabbed my ass with both hands, pulling me harder against him and I moaned into his mouth.  He released me and said, “Let’s go inside before the neighbors see us.”  He took my hand and led into the house, down a hallway and into a big bedroom.  There he kissed me again and I ran my hands over his chest and shoulders.  “You’re such a beautiful boy,” he said to me and once again, my face reddened.  “And that….blushing….is the sexiest thing about you,” he laughed.  Then he kissed me again, wrapped his big arms around me, picked me up, and carried me to the bed.  I fell backward onto the mattress and he fell on top of me, kissing my chest, my neck, and my nipples.  My hands massaged his shoulders and I ran my fingers through his hair.  I was in heaven.  This handsome, sexy, urbane man was touching me in such wonderful ways.  I arched my back when he softly bit one of my nipples and heard him murmur, “So ripe.”  If by ripe he meant insanely horny, then he was right.  His hand slipped under the waistband of my shorts and touched my raging boner.  The anticipation of what was to come was excruciating.  I wanted to rip my shorts off, but I let him stay in charge instead.  I did, however, slide my hand into his shorts and grasped his cock.  It was hot and felt thick in my hand.  I stroked it and he groaned appreciatively.

He pulled back and stood up slowly.  His erection was distending his shorts and so was mine.  He grasped the waistband of my shorts and slowly pulled them down until my cock and then my balls popped out.  I shave my balls but don’t touch my bush, so I have a thick patch of red hair at the base of my cock.  “Oh God,” he said when all of me was on full view.  “I’ve never been with a redhead before and……” he trailed off without finishing, but his eyes were glued to me.   He then hooked his thumbs into his own waistband and peeled down his own soggy shorts.  I was amazed at what I saw.  His cock was probably 6.5 inches in length, but it was the girthiest penis I had ever seen.  I think they call dicks like his “beer can dicks.”   Unlike me, he was shaved smooth everywhere, which made his junk seem that much larger.  It jutted out proudly from his abdomen and I was in total cock lust.  I wanted to taste it so badly.  I scrambled off the bed and onto my knees in front of him.  I’m not that experienced, but one thing I’ve learned about sex is that it’s important to start slow.  I didn’t immediately swallow his cock, but knelt and just admired it for a few seconds.  I let my fingers trace the edge of his head and down the shaft.  I cradled his balls and then licked the underside of his head at the point where the shaft is the most sensitive.  I stuck my tongue out and licked his piss slit, hoping for some pre-cum.  Nothing yet.  I wrapped my hand around his shaft and gave it a few slow pulls and then a squeeze.  A pearl appeared on his head and I licked it up, a long thread extending from his head to my mouth when I pulled back.  Only then did I put my mouth on his cock, opening wide enough to wrap my lips around his bulbous head.  I used my tongue to wash and caress his cock head, then slowly took more and more of him into my mouth.  It was a struggle to open wide enough to accommodate his thickness, but I was eventually able to sink my nose down to meet his stomach, swallowing him all.  He groaned and began to thrust slowly into my mouth.  His hands grasped the back of my head, holding me in place, and he began to fuck my mouth like it was a fleshlight.  I closed eyes and relaxed my throat as best I could and enjoyed the feeling of that fat cock pummeling me.  I tasted more precum being released into my mouth.  I was his boy toy and I couldn’t have been happier.

After a few moments of intense thrusting he released me.  I realized he was breathing hard and his face had reddened.  “You’re good,” he said.  “You almost made me cum.   Stand up.”  I obeyed and when I did I caught sight of the two of us in a mirror.  It was a sketch in contrasts.  His body was thick and muscled.  Mine was lean.  He was dark and hairy and I was fair and hairless.  His cock was short and thick and mine was longer and thinner.  Above all, my red hair and pubes stood out and I was, for the first time in my life, pleased to be a redhead.

He pushed me back onto the bed and attacked me with his tongue.  He licked my neck, my ears, my nipples and belly button.  He licked and smelled my pits, which drove me crazy.  He put his nose into my red pubes and sniffed hungrily, then took one of my balls, and then the other into his mouth, rolling them around and tugging gently.  Finally, he made love to my cock with his mouth.  If I was a good cocksucker, he was a master.  Within 60 seconds I felt myself getting close to orgasm and I pushed him off.  He gave me a few seconds to cool down, then attacked me again.  He brought me close to the edge five or six times, each time stopping before I shot.  Finally, he released me and I lay panting on the bed.  Looking at me in eyes, he slowly lifted my legs and pressed my knees to my chest.  My hole was in full view and he seemed mesmerized by it.  I grabbed my knees to hold myself open to him and he leaned in and kissed it.  My hole is pink, not brown, and I keep it shaved clean.  His tongue touched my hole and began to explore it. I moaned and this encouraged him to attack it more aggressively.  He lashed at me and made guttural noises deep in his throat as he worshipped my hole, clearly enjoying the banquet.  I didn’t dare touch myself because I knew if I did I would cum.  Instead I put my hands on his head and pushed his face into me.  He probed me even more deeply and I was delirious with pleasure.  When he pulled back, his face was wet, his hair was wild, and he was breathing heavily.

Time for the final act, I thought.  I reached down and pulled my ass checks apart and winked my hole at him.  “You gonna fuck me or what,” I growled, surprised at my own raunchiness.  “Oh yes,” he said with a lustful look in his eyes.”  He knelt on the bed, retrieved a tube of lube from his nightstand, and smeared it on his cock, stroking it a few times so that it became even harder.  Shiny with lube, it was even hotter to look at.  I felt a hunger/lust for it and wanted it desperately to be inside me.  He grabbed my waist and pulled me toward him, then put his fat cock head up against my pucker and pushed. I gasped when I felt the head slip in, but it made me crazy with lust.  I wanted it all and grabbed at him and tried to pull him in further.  He complied and soon he was all the way in me, stretching my hole so pleasurably.   He leaned down and kissed me and I grabbed the back of his head and sucked hungrily on his tongue.  I wrapped my legs around this torso  and his hips began to move, slowly at first, but then faster.  I whimpered every time his cock punched my joy spot.  His cock was so thick, I was sure I had never been stretched that wide open before.  He straightened up and pounded me upright for a few moments, then he put his hands under my upright knees, put all his weight on them, so they were pressed to my chest, and went for home.  Faster and harder he pumped into me and I was stretched like a pretzel under his weight.  He was an animal, needing release, and I reveled in pleasing him.  I needed his cum inside me and I did everything I could to get it. I squeezed his cock with my sphincter, I growled obscenities at him, I pinched his nipples and then openly begged him to breed me.  I stared up at him as he railed me and he had a crazy look on his face.  I whimpered like a school girl and begged him, “Please daddy.  Fill me up!”   He threw his head back and roared and his climax overtook him. I felt his cock spasm as he shot into me and I instantly orgasmed myself hands free, my warm cum spraying on my chest, neck and face.  He slammed himself into me a few more times, then pulled back, so I could see his cummy cock, then he jammed it back into me and pumped a few more times. We lay there panting, entwined together with him still inside me for a few minutes until his cock softened and slid out of me.  I felt totally blissful, wrapped in his big arms

“That was incredible,” he said quietly.  I nodded mutely, so totally spent I could not yet speak.  I softly stroked his sweaty back, then leaned down and licked his shoulder.  It was salty and I savored the taste.

Suddenly I remembered all those beautiful women he took to dinner and wondered if he was down low or bi.  “Bryce,” I said, “Can I ask you something?”  “Shoot,” he replied.  “What about all those babes you take to the restaurant?  Are you dating them?”   He chuckled and said, “I run a modeling agency.  Those women work for me.  Every so often I’ll take one out after she does a successful shoot.  I’m gay.”   I felt a wave of relief come over me and then Bryce got a mischievous look in his eyes.  “You know, I’m really hungry.  How would you like to go to the restaurant tonight with me?”  “Do you mean it?” I asked, and realizing how stupid that question sounded, I blushed again. 

 

My original gay story first published on Literotica. I look forward to any comments or feedback. — TwistedSocks

Mike the Mechanic — Chapter 2
Lost In The Woods

My pager vibrated for a second time in as many minutes. “Hold your fucking horses” I growled through gritted teeth as I tucked my enraged pecker back into my coveralls and carefully zipped them up.

I started the day commando, wearing nothing under my coveralls. My adventure with Mike had sparked a bit of a fetish. Captivated by the spacious caressing of my naked skin, I went about my work, spending the hours daydreaming about Mike and this weekend. I looked for tasks that took me away from the shop, intending to avoid knowing smirks from coworkers at my telltale bulge. It strained against my coveralls, leaving a growing wet spot. Rubbing up against a greasy workbench, I was finally able to conceal it. That worked for the spot, but after a few hours of a near-constant boner, my balls were starting to ache.

There were a few places around the shop where my dried jizz could be found if you knew where to look. A couple of them had been marked by others as well. Those were my favorites, the thought of shooting my cum on top of someone else’s brought a sense of communion and intensified my arousal.

Summer thunderstorms had rolled through the night before, taming the previous day’s swelter. I chose the shipping container we used as a storage shed. I sat down on an old diamond-plate toolbox behind a shelf near the back. I unzipped my coveralls and pulled my swollen dick out, then slowly started stroking.

The musky smell of my groin, a mix of sweat and stale pre-cum, filled the air. With my left hand on my chest, I leaned back and began thrusting, fucking my fist. Losing myself in the moment, space, and time faded. The only thing left was my absolute pleasure.

The moment was shattered with the buzzing of my pager, snapping me back to the present. “What the fuck?” cursing, I continued to stroke, intending to come before answering the page; it buzzed again, destroying my focus.

“What’s the emergency,” I asked gruffly, walking into the office. Jacob, the shop foreman, raising an eyebrow, handed me a purchase order.

“I need this differential picked up, it’ll take a couple of hours to get there, and you need to get it before they close. The tractor is being towed in, and the nightshift needs it as soon as possible.”

“On my way,” I said, softening my tone.

Mike, along with Sergio, one of the other mechanics, had been out on a service call all day. They rolled in as I was heading out. Mike and I exchanged a meaningful smile as I drove past them. This was going to be a long shift. My day normally ended at four o’clock, and it was going to be after eight when I finally got back.

I continued to daydream and rub my dick as I drove. Veering over the rumble strip a third time, I finally snapped out of it.

“You’re going to crash, knock that shit off,” I said, cursing at myself.

I arrived at the supplier with ten minutes to spare. A pallet with the new differential was lifted into the bed of my truck as my pager buzzed again, the displayed number unfamiliar.

“Who’s paging me?,” I said aloud.

“Could you tell me where the nearest pay phone is?” I asked the forklift driver after he parked and shut it down. He pointed across the interstate.

“There are a few at the truck-stop. The restaurant has decent burgers, and the hotel is cheap if you need a bed.”

“I have to head back, thanks for the help.”

He gave a grateful nod as we secured the cargo. I jumped into my truck, driving onto the street as he closed the steel gate behind me.

Pulling into the truck-stop, I took a few seconds to admire a new ninety-five Corvette in the parking lot, not even a dream on my meager paycheck.

Inside was a hallway lined with doors marked “Men”, “Women”, “Showers”, “Lounge”, and “Employees only.” I walked past them to a pay phone near the rear entrance. Dropping change in the slot, I dialed the mystery number.

“Hello?” My heart skipped a beat, the voice was Mike’s.

“I got your page.”

“When you get done tonight, come to my place.” My mind started racing. We live nearly two hours from each other; the shop, located between.

“I smell like shit, should probably shower and grab some clean clothes.” As the words left my mouth, I knew his response.

“Fuck that, my dick’s been hard all day, and I’m not waiting for you to get purdied-up.”

“Guess I need to get my ass in gear,” laughing as I hung up the phone; hearing him say something about “erections” just before it disconnected.

I took a quick piss in the men’s room, paying little attention to the beefy trucker in a Peterbilt cap, hungrily eying my dick. Another time perhaps, but tonight I was focused. I had a sexy fucker waiting for me, and I wasn’t about to disappoint him.

I finished, shook the last drops free, and tucked back into my coveralls. A defeated look crossed the trucker’s face as I walked out, not even taking time to wash. Buying a sandwich and soda, I fueled up and hit the road.

A brilliant orange sunset filled the sky as I pulled into the shop ninety minutes later, having made the trip in record time. Frankly, I was lucky to avoid a speeding ticket. A couple of them and I’d be looking for another job. My dick convinced me Mike was worth the risk.

I pulled into an empty bay. The evening mechanics were standing outside taking a break and waiting for me. With my arrival, they extinguished their smokes and got to work.

I left things in their capable hands, filing the paperwork, and stowing my pager. I clocked out and grabbed my clothes, not bothering to change, I ran out the door.

I jumped into my old silver Nova, tossed my things onto the back seat, cranked the engine, and turned on the lights. I was a few miles down the highway when…

“Shit!” Swearing loudly, I realized I had no clue where Mike lived. I had memorized the address he’d given, but I hadn’t looked at a map. I now regretted my sudden end to our call. I should have asked him for directions.

Laughter burst from my gut as I understood his last words. He said “directions”, not “erections”. It took me a few minutes to compose myself, wiping the tears from my eyes.

“I’ll figure it out” I said aloud, as the engine roared, tires sang, and the wind rushed past my open window.

On the outskirts of town, I stopped at a lonely gas station, an oasis of harsh fluorescent light on the dark rural highway.

“Could you tell me where I can find Clear creek road,” I asked the attendant as he filled my tank?

“Sorry man, I can’t; only been here a few months,” he replied. “We sell maps inside if you think it’ll help.”

Shuffling through the rack and finding the right one, I paid the attendant and returned to my car. Locating the road on the map was easy, getting there was not. It was miles from town, a winding valley road snaking up into the mountains.

I missed the turn-off, driving for several miles before realizing my mistake, turning around beneath a large sign reading “Schafer Resort and Hot Springs, 12 miles.”

I nearly missed it a second time; a small, battered sign, faded and difficult to read in the dark. I could barely make out the words: “Clear Creek Rd.” Turning down it, the surface abruptly changed to gravel. Passing a sign that read “No Outlet,” I drove onward for several more miles.

Towering pines cast long shadows as they emerged from the darkness, lit only by my passing headlights. Dim, distant specs of light appear and vanish, shrouded by passing trees. I looked at my watch, the glowing hands showing a quarter to eleven.

Slowing down, a mailbox with the name “Phillips” had an address one number from Mike’s. Further down, I rounded the corner and there it was, a box with “M. Hughes” written above the correct number. I turned down the driveway and stopped.

In my beams he stood, drinking a long-neck, and leaning against a closed gate. He wore a dirty tank, oval belt buckle, and blue jeans. His left leg was bent, pressed up against the gate, resting on the toe of brown shit-kickers.

“Took your fuck’n time” he said with a grin. He walked over to my open window, bent down and kissed me. I smiled, and my cock twitched as his mustache tickled my lips.

“Waiting long?”

“No, I could see your headlights for miles. Rode out a few minutes ago,” he said, tilting his head towards the ATV behind the gate. “I’ll let you in, follow me up.”

Mike opened the gate, waited while I drove in, closed it, click the lock, and tugged for good measure. Jumping on his ATV and starting it with one kick, he drove down the narrow lane. It was crowded by trees, curving and switching back on itself as it descended into the valley.

We crossed a cattle-guard as the forest opened into a clearing. The road forked to the right, a small grove of trees shrouded in darkness. We followed the left, rumbling over a second cattle-guard. Crossing a small bridge, we started to climb. The trees closed back in as we ascended more switchbacks. Further up, a building emerged, with two large bay doors beneath dimly lit windows. Slowing to a stop, Mike killed his engine. Taking his cue, I did the same.

Mike walked over and opened my door. Reaching in and taking my hands, he pulled me from my seat and closed it behind me. He pinned my body to my car with his own, pressing his lips to mine.

I wrapped my arms around his waist; we held tight, caressing each other’s neck with our lips and warm breath. He rolled his hips, grinding against me, our dicks rubbing, engorged beneath our clothes. Mike lowered a hand and groped me, squeezing my cock firmly in his strong hand.

“Free-balling, huh,” he asked with that familiar grin. “I wonder what gave you that idea.”

He slid both hands beneath my ass, lifting and moving me up onto the fender. He tugged on my zipper, pulling it all the way down; burying his face in my chest as I buttressed my hands on the hood. Reaching down into my coveralls, he held my dick in his hand, massaging and gently tugging.

Lost in his touch, my senses were alive; his rugged hands, the heat of his breath, the tickle of his mustache and his lips on my nipples. He kissed his way down, over my stomach, then between my legs. Guiding the head of my cock to his lips, he tasted me. Without warning, he devoured my dick, swallowing it whole. I let out a loud growl that pierced the silence.

“Holy Fuck,” I exclaimed as he pressed hard, shoving all the way down. He buried my dick in his throat and his lips in my groin. He held it there as I convulsed, the sensation sending shockwaves throughout my body. My staccato gasps and broken whimpers were all that remain as he backed off.

He took a deep breath, devouring my expression with pure joy as he drove back in. I roared again, visceral, primal, completely involuntary. I was shaking, my senses in overload. I have never come so close so quickly. His mouth, subjecting me to exquisite torture until he pulled back for another breath.

I gasped, then covered my mouth, bracing for another. He reached up and pulled my hand down.

“No” he said, grinning.

He held my ass tightly in his vice-like hands. Then, filling his lungs with the cool night air, he thrust back down, shoving me in with incredible force. I let out a roar that shattered the night, echoing through the darkness. My body shook and my toes curled. Out of control, my dick exploded down Mike’s throat. My cock throbbed, shooting cum into his mouth as he pulled back.

He swallowed, standing up, pulling me tight against him; tenderly, he kissed my trembling lips. I could taste my cum in his mouth, mingled with fermented hops. I was coming down from the most intense orgasm I’ve ever experienced. My emotions, no longer under control; I teared up. Mike held my face in his hands, wiping the tears from my eyes. His smile soothing, slowly bringing me back to my senses.

“You’ve done that before,” I said with certainty.

“A couple of times,” he answered, as his grin widened from ear-to-ear.

Mike opened my car door and collected my clothes. He rolled up the windows and pulled my keys from the ignition, placing them in my pocket.

“Come on,” he said, closing the door and walking toward the building. My dick, chilled by the night air and Mike’s saliva, withdrew into my coveralls. Opening the door, Mike flipped on a switch. Florescent bulbs flickered to life; blinding light spilled into the darkness as I followed him in.

Mike’s old Dodge pickup was parked in a bay behind the furthest door, the closest bay was empty. His shop was simple and well cared for. Much of the hardware looked scavenged or made from things designed for a different purpose.

I closed the door behind me as we walked to the back. The old stereo sitting on a red toolbox made me smile. I’d bet almost everything I own that classic rock would blast from the speakers if I turned it on. Opposite the door we entered was another, leading to a room in the back. Mike turned on the lights while killing those behind us.

We’d entered a laundry room. There was a door on the back wall to the right, the dark outside beyond its naked window. Facing it, an open doorway and staircase, leading up, the top cloaked in shadow.

Mike placed my clothes on the dryer and turned. Reaching into my pockets, he emptied them, placing everything into an old serving tray, on a shelf above the sink. Holding my left arm with his right hand, he slipped my watch off, adding it to the tray.

Crouching down, he loosened my bootlaces as I steadied myself, clinging to his strong shoulders. He slid my boots off, placing them on the floor next to some others. He pulled off my socks and dropped them in the washer. Lifting my arms, he freed them from my coveralls. They dropped to the floor, and I stepped out. He knelt, picked them up, and tossed them in.

Checking the pockets of my clothes, he added what he found to the tray then placed them, one-by-one, into the washer. Setting my sneakers with my boots, he straitened and stood still; taking in my naked body and grinning like a fool.

I stepped close and slid my fingers beneath the hem of his tank. Pulling it up over his head, I tossed it into the machine. I caressed his chest, running my fingertips through the black fur.

Kneeling before him, I slid his boots off, placing them beside mine. Pulling his socks from his feet, I stood, and dropped them in.

Sliding my hand down his left arm, stopping at his wristwatch. Unbuckling the leather strap, I placed it in the tray. I unhooked his belt, pulled it from the loops and set it on the dryer.

Wrapping my arms around him, I kissed his lips as my hands probed his back pockets. His hard dick twitched against mine; aroused, mine began to stiffen. I pulled his wallet from the left and found nothing in the right. Dropping his wallet in the tray, I gently turned him around.

With my hard dick against his ass, I fingered his front pockets, the cloth inside wet. Teasing him from within, I caressed his hard shaft with my fingertips. Mike tilted his head back and growled softly. Kissing his neck, I fished his keys from the right and a pocketknife from the left, placing them in the tray.

Holding my right hand against his chest, my left unbuttoned his fly. I slowly lowered his zipper, teasing his hard dick with my palm. He let out a soft moan, his body melting back into mine. Drawing my hands to his waist, his body convulsed beneath my fingertips. I slid his jeans down, holding them as he freed each muscular leg; I tossed them in.

I inched the back of his briefs down, allowing my hard dick to wedge between his furry cheeks. Reaching around to massage his hard prick, pre-cum oozed from the fabric, coating my hand as I tugged and squeezed it.

Moving to the waistband, I slowly pulled on his briefs, running my fingers down, feeling the fire beneath his skin. He sighed deeply as his hard dick sprung free. I continued down his muscular thighs; gently biting his ass. He gasped in surprise, then chuckled softly.

Stepping out of his briefs, he turned around. I buried my face in the wet fabric, inhaling deeply. He watched, his hungry cock drooling, until I flung them in the machine.

Our bodies laid bare, Mike took my hand, guiding me around the corner and up the stairs. Reaching the top, he led me across the room, navigating in near darkness.

A solitary light in the opposite corner cast a warm glow, illuminating the table below and the bed to its right. Leading me to the bed, he climbed on. Resting his back against the pillows and headboard, he slapped his naked thighs. Understanding, I climbed and straddled his lap.

I caressed his furry chest, tracing his scar and his muscular ridges. He pulled my face to his, looking at me with pure lust, he growled, “My turn.”

A wild grin crossed his lips as he held my hips and his steely cock pressed hard against my ass. He began thrusting up against me, smearing pre-cum between my cheeks. His eyes, now hungry and intense; he was working towards a frenzy, and I was his next meal.

I was willing, and way beyond ready. I twisted his hard nipples and rubbed my cock against his stomach, then pressed my ass against his dick, begging him to fuck me.

He growled as he shifted his grip, angling my ass to meet his hard cock. It first missed the mark, but the second struck home. He pressed in, just past his tip, then paused. Mike searched my face, waiting for my consent. Relaxing my sphincter, I took a deep breath, then nodded.

With that, he pushed all the way in and slowly started to fuck me. The pain was intense, I howled until it subsided; his dribble easing its passage as it slid in and out. Pushing back to meet each thrust, I now wanted every inch of him inside, and I growled to let him know it.

Encouraged, he began yanking my hips down with his powerful arms, slamming his dick in. With each thrust, our grunting grew louder, morphing into growls, then further into guttural roars as sweat now covered our writhing bodies. I locked eyes with Mike, his look now intense, and primal. He was snarling, teeth bared, looking more like a beast than a man.

Moving, catlike, he pulled me off and tossed me onto my back at his side. In an instant, his mass was looming above, imposing and menacing. Pulling my legs up to his shoulders, he yanked my hips down to his raging prick. I grabbed the headboard as he plunged in. The brief quiet, shattered as our raucous fucking resumed. Reaching up and placing his strong hands over mine, he straightened his knees and began pounding my ass with his full weight. A wet “slap!” rang out with every deep stroke.

“Oh Fuck!” I yelled as he drove each thrust home, striking my prostate and sending my brain spinning. My dick, slobbering like a rabid dog, flicked threads of spittle all over our bodies. My climax approached swiftly with each powerful thrust.

Mike’s expression shifted; throwing his head back, he drove me over the edge. I howled as my cock exploded, firing wildly as each impact erratically altered the aim. Jizz flew onto our fingers, still clasped to the headboard, hit my face and pillow. It slung over my chest and splattered the bedding.

An earth-shaking roar erupted from deep within him, destroying Mike’s rhythm as his muscles convulsed. Buried deep inside me, his dick unloaded, interrupting his roar with each brutal surge. Trembling, Mike’s knees gave out as his strength failed, collapsing against me.

His breathing heavy, supporting a low rumble in his throat as sweat dripped from his brow onto my chest. Lowering his arms, he wrapped them around my legs, caressing my inner thighs with his gooey fingertips.

I studied his face as his breathing calmed. His forehead beaded with sweat, glistening in the lamplight. A satiated expression filling his features as we gazed into each other’s eyes. His lips curved up into a smile.

Placing my hand to the sides of his face, I traced his mustache with my thumbs, from beneath his nose, outward to the edge of his upper lip, curving down to his rugged jaw line. Pulling my left thumb into his mouth, he sucked on it, tasting my cum and licking it clean, then licking his fingers before lowering my legs to the bed.

He lay down on me, cleaning jizz from my face and sharing it with me as we kissed. Placing our chins on each other’s shoulder, he rested his full weight against me. Our breathing synchronized and slowed.

He reached for the lamp and switched it off, then laying his body against mine, he kissed my lips and fondled my soft dick as we drifted off to sleep.

Missed Chapter 1? It's here.

All characters are over 18. None of the characters depicted resemble anyone I've seen cruising. Not even that blonde guy that one time.

After I Railed a Straight Guy in the Park

Streetlights blinked on along the road just as the sun disappeared. Darkness settled over the town, and with no sound anywhere around us, the cold feeling creeping up and down my back intensified.

“Kent,” he said, his voice a lot less confident than it had been.

I turned to him and looked further down the road. Lights glowed in houses and shopfronts all along it, but there wasn't a single person anywhere.

“Huh?” I said, turning back to him. “That where you’re from?”

He smiled, a very likeable smile given the circumstances. “No, my name’s Kent.”

“Oh, shit, sorry!” I said, my palm immediately going to my forehead. “Gregory.”

Our hands met like I hadn't spent a few minutes with my cock inside him less than half an hour earlier.

“Fancy checking out down there?” I asked Kent, pointing down the road.

Every building looked deserted. We walked along the footpath like two men treading actual eggshells. Like any step might go through and we’d find ourselves plummeting directly to hell.

The betting shop, the cafe, the Indian restaurant, the sandwich shop, the vape store. All looked like they should be open, but were closed.

“What the bleeding hell is going on?” Kent said, the words coming from him as strange as the circumstances we found ourselves in.

I shrugged, walking alongside him, looking to the houses on the left, and then to the businesses to our right.

Kent turned to me, his eyes wide, then he stepped toward the restaurant. From the sidewalk I could see lights on inside. I followed Kent to the door and I watched as he tried to open it.

The door opened. He shot me another look, like every step of his decisions needed my approval.

I followed him inside, the door clanging behind me, echoing loudly.

I sniffed. “Why doesn’t it smell like an Indian?”

Kent shook his head. I could almost see the hairs on his neck stand up.

We walked through to the back.

Lights were on, an extractor fan above the hotplates was on, fresh food was on all the counters, fish, vegetables, meat.

Kent leaned back against the large refrigerator, staring at the empty kitchen.

“Gregory?”

I looked around the kitchen for a while, even stepping to the center, before turning back to Kent.

I simply shrugged. I didn’t trust my voice.

As though he had a plan and hadn’t decided to share it with me yet, he pushed away from the fridge, grabbed my shoulder in a friendly way, then moved back out of the kitchen. We also realized plates were set on many tables, napkins, cutlery.

They’d certainly prepared to open.

The betting shop doors were open, and inside, we found poker machines still on, lights behind counters lit, but not a single person.

All of the doors we tried were unlocked, and inside, we found life in inanimate objects, but no people.

Then we saw the police station. I felt that spark in my chest as Kent picked up speed. We walked to it much faster, both breathing a little heavier when we reached it.

At the door, Kent paused, watched me, his eyes betraying any confidence I thought I’d witnessed, then he exhaled, and opened the door.

This was a typical station, perfect for a town of this size, small.

There was nobody inside the station.

We walked backward. Outside the station, we stood under a streetlamp.

“You were in Brighton, you said. What time did you leave there?”

I tried to think.

“I don’t remember,” I said, thinking back. “I went to Brighton, I had a meeting, and then I left.”

“What details do you remember?” Kent asked me.

I shook my head again. “Just that I got the train, and there was nobody on it.”

I followed him as we crossed the road, walked directly down the path of one of the houses.

Kent opened the door, and strode straight in like he owned the place.

“Hello? Hello!” he yelled.

I moved past him into the kitchen, noticing lights were on, places were set for dinner. Someone had been in the middle of making stew.

Kent moved quickly, racing up the stairs, stomping around, calling out. I didn’t bother to follow him, having an inkling that he’d find what we’d found downstairs.

He didn’t say anything when he walked down the stairs, but his eyes did. As we headed toward the front door, I saw a family picture. A man in a shirt and tie, a woman in a light-blue dress, two kids, a boy and a girl, all smiling at the camera.

There was something wrong with that picture, but I couldn’t really see what it was until I walked away from it.

Their smiles were identical.

I brushed it off.

Outside, we walked toward the station again, at a loss of options.

“I have an idea,” I said, eyeing the cars out front. I walked back into the house, straight to the living room, scouting around, feeling Kent’s eyes on me as I searched it.

I found what I wanted in the kitchen. Keys.

Outside, I clicked the unlock button, and a Kia Sportage blinked. We both ran to it.

I got in, feeling sudden relief, with Kent jumping in next to me. Even as he pulled his seatbelt on, I had a dreaded feeling. When I put the keys in the ignition, my fears were confirmed.

Not even a sound. No ignition trying to start. The car was completely dead.

I got out, leaving Kent sitting in the passenger seat looking confused.

In the house next door the keys were on the coffee table.

That was a Ford Fiesta.

The ignition also didn’t turn.

“Fuck!” I said, slamming the car door, leaving the keys in the ignition.

Kent had gotten out of the Kia and stood between the two cars, a rising panic on his face.

For nearly an hour, Kent tried two cars, and I tried one more, we went into nearly all the houses and stores along that road, and encountered exactly the same thing in all of them.

Back toward the station, shoulders down, both of us kicking the tarmac as we walked along the road, I tried to suppress that darkness that began to rise from the base of my neck.

On the corner, I moved away from Kent and opened the pub doors. It smelled like a pub, spilled beer, stale something, but it was devoid of people.

I went to the kitchen and wasn’t surprised to discover the same thing. Someone had been preparing food, but nothing had actually been cooked yet.

I went behind the bar, grabbed a pint glass, and exhaled, then tried to pour myself a Guinness.

My eyes lit up when the Guinness flowed. I didn’t bother to let it sit, I immediately took a sip.

I threw my head back, and exhaled.

“What?” I heard Kent ask me from the other side of the counter.

I turned to him, putting the pint glass back under the tap, and resuming the pour.

“Sir, we are fully open. All drinks are on the house. What will you have?”

Kent grinned as far as he could given the circumstances, scanning the various labels on each of the taps.

“I'll have a Peroni thanks sir,” he said, both hands on the table, looking around at the empty bar.

Moments later, they sat opposite one another at a booth by the door, looking around, drinking faster than normal.

“This is fucking crazy. Is someone having a laugh?” I said.

Kent didn’t say anything, he kept his eyes on the pint glass, fingers occasionally tracing lines through the condensation.

“Kent, where exactly was your viewing?”

Kent looked up finally, like he’d been deep in thought.

“What?”

“The viewing. You went to look at a house. Where was that?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, his eyes narrowing. He watched me, eyes widening. “Why can’t I remember?”

He looked at his pint, then back at me, then to the window, then down again.

“I… I don’t… how can I not remember?”

I stared. “You don’t remember where the viewing was?”

He rubbed his forehead, then turned to the window.

Even now, with an entire town apparently missing, I found myself watching him. The pub lighting was kinder than the streetlights outside. It softened everything. The lines around his eyes, the stubble along his jaw, and even the frown sitting permanently on his face tonight.

If I'd passed him in a supermarket I'd have looked twice.

Then probably a third time.

The strange thing was that I could picture his face perfectly, yet I couldn't remember a single detail about the meeting I'd supposedly attended in Brighton.

“How long have you been married?” I asked, scanning the pub again, the empty tables, the quiet games area, nobody behind the bar making occasional, distracting sounds putting glasses away.

Kent didn’t answer, so I turned back to him.

He stared.

“I don’t know. I can’t remember!” he said, though I knew the aggression wasn’t aimed at me.

I did it the only way I know how. “Do you even have a wife?” I joked, raising my pint and laughing.

But that didn’t calm him. He leaned back, watching me, jaw slack, eyes still very wide.

“I remember having one, I just can’t remember her.”

Those words stuck with me for a few minutes.

We finished our drinks a lot quicker than we would have had we paid for them, but I felt no better. In fact, as Kent’s anxiety continued to bubble up, I found it increasingly more difficult to calm myself.

Kent pushed the empty pint glass away, linked his fingers together, then started twisting them against each other.

I watched him, then reached out and grabbed his hands, forcing him to stop.

“Kent,” I said, keeping my voice low. Just the sound of my own even voice calmed me.

He kept his gaze down at his hands, tried to fight my hand and keep doing it.

I squeezed my hand, brought my other one over and kept his hands down. My voice was a little firmer this time. “Kent.”

He froze, then his hands went flat on the table. I kept mine on top.

“Kent, we can’t unravel, alright? I need you pragmatic. Listen, what do you do for a living?”

Kent paused, and for a minute I thought he was going to tell me he couldn’t remember.

“Operations Manager for a construction company.”

“Good, that’s a start. And you said you work in London.”

“Yeah. London.”

I nodded, almost feeling a sense of normality returning.

“What about you?”

I did have to think for a moment. “Trainer. HR systems,” I said, scratching the back of my neck for no reason.

“Partnered?” he asked me, touching his empty pint.

I shook my head. “Nah, recently separated.” And still getting therapy over it.

I got up. “My round again,” I said, taking the empty glasses for reasons I didn’t understand, and heading to the bar.

“Maybe we should remain clear-headed,” I heard him say, but I was already moving around the bar to pour us both another round of drinks.

I watched Kent play with his phone while I waited for the Guinness to settle. I pulled my phone out, which still had the SOS at the top.

When I brought the drinks back, I sat opposite him again, then pushed his Peroni to him.

“Anything?” I asked him, picking up my Guinness, and tapping his glass.

He didn’t respond, but looked out of the window.

“This makes no fucking sense. Where the fuck is everyone?”

I took a big drink of my Guinness, starting to feel the calming effects.

“Bet you’re missing your wife. I’m sure she’s okay,” I said, studying him again.

Kent stared at his phone as if he was reading something, but he didn’t say anything for a long time, nor did he touch his pint.

Eventually, he looked up, finally grabbing his drink and sipping it.

When he spoke, it was in a low voice, almost a whisper, like he was making a revelation.

“I’m not. I’m trying to think about my wife, picture her, feel something… but I’m not.”

I stared, a cold tingle dropping down my spine.

We drank that second pint mostly in silence, occasionally one of us would repeat the obvious, our frustration, the same question, or simply just to hear each other speak.

Kent drained the rest of his second Peroni fast, then got up and went to the bathroom.

He came back, a look on his face that worried me even more.

“What?”

He simply shook his head. “I need to be outside. I don’t know why.”

I drained the rest of mine, then went out with him, the pub doors closing behind us echoing on the street.

“Can you hear that?”

I strained to listen, but I heard nothing.

I shook my head.

“That’s the problem. Nothing at all. No birds, no wind, no anything.”

I had that sound in my ears like after I’d been in a loud club all night. Afterward, when everything is quiet compared to the loud music.

We walked to the middle of the road, looking around us, where we’d started earlier.

“Let’s go back to the park and fuck again,” I said, partly joking, but also because at least in the park we weren’t acutely aware of how fucked up this whole situation was.

He laughed. “Why? We could just fuck here.”

I laughed, and nodded, looking around.

I unbuckled, dropped my pants and my briefs, turning in a circle. “Hello!” I yelled, my voice echoing off buildings. “Public indecency over here, got my cock out!”

Kent’s face screwed up, like he was concerned, but his eyes were drawn to my cock.

I felt my cock harden, even while my whole body screamed for me to put my clothes back on, like suddenly people would reappear, and I’d be caught with my pants down.

Kent stood with his hands on his hips, looking past me, then back to my cock, then to the pub where we’d just sat, then back to my cock, then back across the footbridge to the park, then back to my cock.

If I’d seen this in a photograph, I would call it perfect. Everything was exactly right, lights on in houses, cars parked neatly outside houses on streets, businesses looked open, and the streetlights had all come on right when they should.

“You’re right. We could just do it right here. Keep fucking until someone comes along,” I said, not even sure if I was joking anymore.

“You’re standing in the middle of the road with your dick out, and nobody’s come running out,” he said, unbuckling.

As he unbuckled, his gaze drifted to the pub we'd just left. Warm lights glowed behind the windows. Empty.

I followed his gaze, hearing him unzip, looking toward the sandwich shop, the betting shop, the police station, the houses we’d entered without permission, and the useless cars still parked where we’d left them.

A dog should have barked, someone should be shouting, a curtain should have twitched.

The only thing twitching was my cock when the suited man next to me dropped his pants, and I saw his cock, and his ass as he continued turning in a circle.

He turned to me, looking ridiculous with his pants around his ankles, eyes flicking past me one more time, as if expecting something to change at any moment.

“You know what?”

I shook my head. “What?”

"If nobody's appeared by now," he said, shaking his head, "I don't think they're about to."

We both laughed, and I realized it was because the alternative would have driven us back to the pub, except this time we wouldn’t stop at two pints.

I shuffled forward a step toward Kent, and he shuffled toward me, his cock hardening as I reached him.

I dropped to a crouch, grabbing his cock, enjoying the feel of something real in my hand.

It throbbed, leaked precum, and was hot to touch.

It was even hotter when I put it in my mouth.

I waited, but there were no shouts, no sudden alarms from anywhere as I sucked Kent’s cock in the middle of the street.

On the corner, past his waist, I saw a stop sign.

No, I thought, I won’t stop.

Even that stop sign felt wrong somehow. But I couldn’t work out what exactly.

His cock tasted great, a bit of precum, clean, like he’d just come out of a shower. It throbbed as I sucked it to the base, feeling his balls on my chin, his hands going to my head and fingers gently massaging my scalp as if he wanted me to know he was enjoying it.

Then his hands gently pushed my head away, then pulled me up.

I came up, thinking he was going to turn around, or drop to suck me, but instead, his face moved to mine, and our eyes locked.

Then Kent kissed me. His lips were so soft, warm, fleshy, pressing into mine tentatively, as if waiting for permission.

My arms reached around him, and I kissed him harder, my tongue pushing through his lips to find his, which was eager for mine.

The kiss became passionate, like all of our fears were in it, transformed into need, and the other might hold the answers. His body pushed into mine, the heat of our cocks pressing into the other’s hips, arms moving around each other to grip, massage, make sure there were no gaps between us.

Even while we kissed, I was still aware of the wrongness of it all, not of us half-naked in the street, but the lack of sound.

Kent pulled away, but his eyes stayed on me, studying my face, then he turned, spitting into his fingers.

I spat in mine, put it on my cock, and rested a hand on his lower back, ready to guide myself into him.

He was still a little relaxed from our fuck in the park, so pushing it in wasn’t the issue. But balance was.

Standing in the street without something to lean on was the issue.

As I drove my cock into him, he nearly stumbled forward, we both shuffled, a laugh escaped him, then we stabilized and resumed.

“He’s fucking me over here!” Kent shouted.

I laughed, but still looked around, waiting for someone to shout or something.

Given we’d already gotten far more intimate with the kiss, I leaned into his neck and licked, then sucked the side of his neck. He threw his head back, his hand reaching to grab my head and hold it there, while my hips pushed my cock into him repeatedly.

Both of us breathing loudly, fucking, the sound of skin slapping on skin echoing even louder than our breath.

We fucked for a while, listening out for sounds. Slowly at first, then I built momentum, my fingers reaching up his chest and playing with his chest hairs, tweaking his nipples, then moving down to grab a handful of flesh from his stomach.

He moaned, groaned, exhaled, and did that whispering thing again which I didn’t catch.

Then he blew his load without warning.

I heard it hit the tarmac. I moved my hand to his cock, my hand going over his as he continued to jerk himself off, feeling the stickiness coming off him.

I let myself go, suddenly feeling it explode into him.

He whispered something again, and I kept going, kept sliding my cock into him, enjoying how much more relaxed his ass muscles were by the end.

We weren’t in a hurry, so we stayed on the street, my hands moving up to hug him, as if I was afraid he might run off and leave me alone with my pants down.

“We should find some food,” he said.

I laughed. “Typical man, shoot, then start talking about food.”

He laughed. “Yeah, sorry.”

I pulled out, laughing. “Don’t be. I was thinking the same thing as I blew my load into you, gee, I could do with a burger right about now.”

We pulled our pants up laughing, still looking around us like we expected something to change.

“You’re quite the character,” he said, shaking his head.

“Yeah, ex-wife calls me a barrel of laughs. So, I hear this pub does a pint and a burger tonight for under a tenner.”

We entered the pub laughing, then walked around the bar to head out back to the kitchen.

Kent went to the large refrigerator, while I scouted the counter, and the shelving, to evaluate our options.

I thought about sizzling burgers and my stomach rumbled.

A large lettuce was on the counter, along with some tomatoes, and some pickles. Kent handed me some buns from the cabinet, so I grabbed some as he went off to find burgers.

I held the burger buns in my hands, something about them felt wrong. They were a bit heavy, and the texture was all wrong. I studied them, digging my finger in, but I couldn’t.

“What the fuck?” I said, lifting up the bun to my nose.

No smell.

“What?”

I licked one of the buns.

No taste.

“What’s wrong?”

I turned to him, holding out the burger bun. “Try that, tell me I’m going crazy.”

Kent took it from me, and I picked up the lettuce.

The lettuce was too heavy. I took a sniff, then put it on the chopping board and grabbed the knife.

“What the fuck is this?” I heard Kent say, just as I put the knife on the lettuce, and began to cut into it.

Let me just say it was more like I had to saw through it.

Bits of what looked like lettuce came off it as I sawed through it, like I was going through wood.

I picked up the bits, and played with them between my fingers.

This was plastic.

“Okay, we’ve officially gone batshit crazy. Either all this food is plastic, or we’re fucking crazy,” I said, dropping the knife and stepping away from the counter, moving my back to the shelving.

Whatever pretense we’d had that this would be okay, that we would get through it, all vanished the minute he confirmed what I’d just discovered.

Kent held the burger bun out, his face looking horrified.

“This is fucking plastic.”

Join my Substack for updates to this story and many others like it. If this gets 10 restacks, I'll write the next chapter. Your support makes all this possible. Fox.

My original gay story first published on Literotica. I look forward to any comments or feedback. — TwistedSocks

Mike the Mechanic — Chapter 1

At twenty-four, I worked as a parts-runner for a truck shop that serviced rigs for a nearby lumber mill. I spent most of my time fetching parts, sweeping the shop, and doing miscellaneous tasks. The shop, with three pull-through bays and some office space, was relatively small and filled with the usual clutter of tools, work benches and 50-gallon drums.

Classic rock bellowed from an old stereo; resting on top of Mike’s beat up toolbox. Mike, one of the day-shift mechanics, was a medium framed man in his early forties with short black hair and intense hazel eyes. A well-trimmed mustache covered his upper lip and extended down the sides of his mouth to a chiseled jaw. His smile never failed to brighten my mood and fuel an inferno of lustful thoughts. I assumed he was straight; suppressing my impulses to protect our working relationship.

Summer months in the shop were stifling. On this day, all six bay doors were open in a vain attempt to channel a nonexistent breeze. The useless ceiling fans pushed the hot air around, providing little relief.

During the hottest days, Mike would often open the zipper on his coveralls to let some air in. He always wore a white tank beneath, hiding what I imagined was a muscular chest adorned with hair the same color as that remarkable mustache.

I returned to the shop after fetching parts Mike needed to complete his current repair. He was working behind the open hood of a Kenworth tractor, wedged in between the out-turned tire and frame. A storm of obscenities echoed through the shop as Mike’s wrench slipped, bashing his knuckles into hard steel. His wrench clattered, bouncing across the concrete as I rounded the open hood. His shirtless back, glistening with sweat, halted me in my tracks.

He had lowered the top of his coveralls to his waist and tied the empty arms around to hold them up. His white tank was torn and tossed over the rig’s steering shaft. His skin, covered with sweat and grease, highlighted well-defined muscles as he bent to retrieve his tool. I watched him, mouth open, until he realized I was there and turned to accept the parts. His chest was covered with black hair, drenched in sweat, beautiful and intoxicating. He had an old scar above his left peck and a thin trail of hair leading all the way down, disappearing below his belt buckle.

I handed him the parts but continued looking at his naked torso for just a moment too long. When I finally met his eyes, he peered right back with a wide, shit-eating grin. I shifted awkwardly, moving to walk away when he grabbed his torn tank and tossed it to me.

"Here, get rid of this for me,” he said.

I snatched it out of the air and hurried to the shop's locker room. I knew I’d been caught. He knew he’d caught me, but he wasn't disgusted or pissed-off. He looked amused, if not pleased. I pushed the door open and sat on the bench below my locker. Taking a breath, I looked down at the tank in my right hand. It was soaked with sweat and stained with grease from whatever had torn it.

This piece of cloth had been where I longed to be; wrapped around that sexy man, basking in his body heat, and soaking up his scent. I pressed the cloth into my face and inhaled deeply. “Fuck!” I was so turned on.

"I have to stop. Can't do this here," I thought.

Opening my locker, I threw the tank in and closed it again. Composing myself with a splash of cold water, I returned to the shop.

Cleaning, I stole glances when Mike wasn't looking. I wanted to burn his image into my memory; not knowing if I would have this chance again. A few hours passed and Mike finished his work on the tractor. He signed the work order, reviewed a second, and entered the locker room.

Minutes later, the door opened, and he stepped out again. He looked as if he'd soaked his hair under the tap and wiped his face. His coveralls were pulled back up over his shoulders, but the zipper was still down, just above his navel and showing hints of hair but hiding his belt and jeans. He looked up and met my gaze, giving me another broad smile. Horrified, a thought suddenly occurred to me.

"Did he know I kept his tank? I didn't throw it away; the empty trashcan would attest to it.”

Sensing my fear, his face softened as he picked up some keys and walked back to the truck. Climbing into the cab, he gestured for me to take the other seat as the Cummins engine thundered to life. After a brief hesitation, I ran to the passenger door, pulled on the handle, and opened it up. Hoisting myself in and quickly slamming it shut as Mike blasted the horn and reversed out of the bay.

“I need to park this one and grab another. Since you were just gawking, you clearly have time to help me out,” he said with that grin.

“Thought I was being subtle.”

“Like a whore in church,” he replied, laughing. Embarrassed, I turned a little pink.

“Don’t worry about it” he said, as he pulled the truck into its spot and killed the engine.

We got out and locked it up. The second truck was at the far end of the main yard. It was a long-haul rig with an extended frame and sleeper. These were used to pull fifty-three-foot cargo vans and flatbeds across the country.

As we walked together, passing one empty trailer after another. Something about him was different, it took me mere seconds to realize what it was. The zipper of his coveralls had been lowered. Where his belt buckle should have been, there was more dark fuzz. No jeans, no briefs, just the hair above what was obviously now his freely swinging dick; hidden by the last couple inches of closed zipper. I swear I could see it moving back and forth, caressing the fabric of is coveralls.

Knowing that he was entirely naked under them sent blood rushing to my groin, making my shorts, instantly, too tight. I reached down to adjust and make a little space.

“Easy man, we have work to do,” he said, glancing down at the bulge in my hand.

We arrived at the truck, its trailer detached and set-back a few feet. I walked around to get in as Mike climbed into the driver’s seat and rolled down his window. I did the same, venting the unbearable heat.

His zipper was now bottomed out. The fine hairy trail expanded and then stopped abruptly as it met the base of his large dick, its business end still hidden. I was completely aroused and wanted so badly to reach over, pull it out and stroke it. But the look in his eyes, and straight lips beneath his mustache, made it clear that “we have work to do”. The sadistic fucker was toying with me. I was hard as stone and wanted him more than I could say, and he knew it.

He started the engine, and we sat for a few seconds, waiting for the tanks to fill with air. The pressure normalized with a loud hiss; Mike released the parking brake and pulled us onto the main road.

For five minutes we drove. He was silent, spending the first half of the drive listening, accelerating, braking, and listening some more.

I just watched him, wind rushing through his window, billowing the cloth around his exposed chest, and blowing his fur in frenetic waves. I shuddered as I daydreamed about pulling those coveralls off and entangling my naked body with his, writhing and fucking into complete exhaustion. Then falling asleep in his arms; our body hair matted with cum and dripping with sweat.

Mike, having finally come to some conclusion about the needed repairs, turned us around and headed back toward the shop. On the way back, his smile returned as he studied me with hungry eyes. I took this as a good sign, lowering the zipper on my coveralls. Reaching down, I began to rub my hard dick through my jeans.

His smile widened, and his cock twitched and pressed against his coveralls. Holding the wheel with his left, his right hand entered the gap at his chest and caressed the hair. He pinched his left nipple before continuing down, over his abdominals and stomach, then to his groin. Reaching below the zipper, he grabbed his cock and tugged on it gently.

Enthralled, I watched, willing him to pull it out. As if reading my mind, his hand pulled back, freeing his large prick from confinement. This sexy man was gifted. It was easily eight inches, cut and beautifully formed.

A small drop of clear fluid emerged from the end. Dabbing it with his middle finger, he reached over and offered it to me. Without hesitation, I wrapped my lips around and licked it clean. His hand carried the musky scent of his sweaty groin. I inhaled, savoring it until he pulled away and returned his hand to the wheel.

The truck slowed and Mike turned us into the overflow lot. The lot, full of parked trailers, was as far from the shop as possible, yet still on the grounds. He drove to the back row of trailers and reversed in, out of sight, between two empty vans. My heart was racing as he set the brake.

“Take those off,” he said, gesturing to my clothes with a nod and that shit-eating grin on his lips.

I stood up in front of the sleeper and quickly removed my coveralls, work boots, and socks as Mike killed the engine. I dropped my jeans, turned, and sat in the sleeper. Mike stood and pulled the privacy curtains over the front window, leaving the side windows uncovered for air.

He turned toward me as I began to take my shirt off. Reaching out, he grasped my hands, stopping me. He leaned in and kissed me, holding my head with his left hand and pressing his lips firmly against mine. I became lost at that moment, oblivious to everything but his kiss, until he pulled back, lifting my shirt over my head.

He rubbed my erection through my shorts, damp with sweat and my own natural lube. I could no longer resist; I reached out and held his beautiful cock. Beginning to stroke, I smeared pre-cum down the long shaft. I savored the hefty feel; watching the bliss written in his face as I gently slid my fist back and forth along its full length.

With a quick motion, he grabbed my hand and pulled away. I could tell by the sudden change in his expression that I had brought him to the edge.

He reached down with both hands and placed them on my waist. I shuddered as his hands touched my naked skin. In that same motion, he slipped his strong fingers beneath the waistband and slid my shorts off. My dick was free for the first time, he watched with those intense eyes as it snapped back, slapping my stomach.

I moved back into the sleeper to give him room. He loosened his boots, kicked them off and removed his socks. Pulling his well-muscled arms from the top of his coveralls, he let them drop to the cluttered floor. For the first time, I could fully appreciate Mike’s rugged physique.

Completely naked, he crawled in, straddled me, and lowered his body against mine. Gazing into my eyes and reaching down between our bodies, he stroked our dicks together, lubricating them with our pre-cum and sweat.

I placed my hands on his firm ass, pulling close, and grinding our bodies together. The sensation of my hard dick sliding against his and engulfed in his strong fist sent my brain spinning. I wanted this feeling to go on forever. Leaning down and kissing the side of my face, he whispered into my ear.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Sweat glistened on his skin and rolled down his torso as he sat back up, still grinding gently. The shit-eating grin was now mine as I imagined granting his request.

“OK, stay on top, you’ll be able to control how fast and deep; you can pull off if it's too painful” I said.

He gave me a brief look of indignation as he shifted, moving my dick behind, letting it rest against his tight ass. He spit in his hand for a little more lubrication. Rubbing it on his middle three fingers, he pushed them into his asshole. He jockeyed them around inside for several seconds, lubricating and loosening it up. Pulling them out, he grabbed my dick and lubed it up with more spit.

Lifting himself up, he centered over my dick and settled gently against it. At first, his tight ass refused to let me in. He paused, took a deep breath, and relaxed his sphincter. Trying again, with a quick “pop,” my cock slid in.

He stopped for a second to relax a little more, then carefully settled slowly down onto me. A low, intense growl came from his throat as a mix of pleasure and pain assaulted his senses. I took time to appreciate the sensation of being deep inside him. We were one; hot, sweaty, indulging our most primal instincts.

He began to move up and down slowly as the pain in his face transformed into pleasure. He increased his pace, and I began thrusting back up to meet him. His rigid dick bounced against my stomach, oozing shiny threads linking our writhing bodies. Grabbing it, I spread the slick clear liquid down his shaft. I stroked it slowly as Mike’s face contorted in waves of ecstasy; his breathing turning ragged and heavy.

Sitting up, I held his muscular torso and rolled us over, keeping myself planted firmly inside him. I lifted his left leg up on to my shoulder and began pounding his ass with deep, powerful strokes. He began growling loudly with each thrust, locking eyes with mine and urging me on. I was in utter ecstasy as the tension in my body built.

I felt myself getting close as I tugged his dick in rhythm with my thrusts. His breathing intensified sharply, and his pelvis bucked. Increasing pace, my thrusts sent him over the edge. His balls contracted, and hot cum began to fire out of his pulsing cock.

His body spasmed violently as a guttural roar accompanied each shot. The first ones went long, landing in his gaping mouth and adorning his mustache. The next few on his furry chest, and the last onto his glistening abdominals and stomach.

As he shot, I pushed back to add my own, but he gripped my ass firmly, pulling me back in. Locking eyes, I thrust harder. Holding my orgasm back with every ounce of will, the pressure intensified.

“Fuck!” I yelled as my rhythm gave way to involuntary spasms. My dick, buried in Mikes incredible ass, unloaded. Pulse after pulse, I shot into him, filling him up until I was completely spent. The sound of our ragged breathing and the smell of sweat and sex filled the cab. Staying inside him, I leaned down and kissed his lips, tasting his semen and cleaning it from his mustache. My dick softened and slowly slipped out. I lie down on his chest, smearing his jizz and feeling the rise and fall of his steadying breaths. We remained there for a few minutes, savoring the unusual intimacy.

Mike stirred, saying, “We have to get back to the shop.” I started collecting my clothes as he grabbed my shorts; wiping the cum and sweat from our bodies. I watched him for a moment as he got into his coveralls and placed my shorts in his pocket.

“Mike, I’m going to need those,” I said. He slid his hand into another pocket and pulled out his torn tank, handing it to me.

“Consider it a trade,” he said with that familiar grin. I held the tank up to my face and inhaled.

Pulling it away, I replied, “fair enough,” then stuffed it into my coveralls.

He opened the curtains and settled into the driver’s seat as I finished dressing. He started the engine, released the brake, and pulled out.

Our workday was ending as we drove into the center bay. Getting out, Mike briefed a night-shift mechanic about the truck repairs. I went to the locker room to clean up. I was in there for a few minutes when Mike walked in. Looking around to be certain we were alone, he kissed me.

“I have never felt anything like that,” adding, “We can’t fuck around at work anymore, I can’t afford to lose this job.” He handed me a piece of paper with his address on it. “Come by this weekend,” he said as he sat down and took off his work boots and socks. He removed his coveralls, revealing his naked body once more, before grabbing a towel and walking back to the shower. Turning with a smile, he closed the door and vanished.

I changed into my street clothes and headed for my car. I have never showered at work but knowing Mike was there now made me want to start. Heeding his words, I dismissed the thought and climbed into my car. It was Thursday, the weekend now seemed so far away. Reliving the past hour and grinning from ear-to-ear, I drove home.