It was a warm afternoon, with nothing better to do, I decided to go cruising in the woods next to my house.
I still remember the heat. It must have been late spring. The air was thick and the light had that golden edge that makes everything look a little dirtier than it already is. I walked the usual paths. By the time I reached the abandoned building I had already sucked three guys in the trees. My jaw was loose. My throat was warm. I was hungry for more.
This spot has an old two-story building that used to be a restaurant. Now it’s just graffiti, broken glass, used condoms, and the permanent smell of cum and piss. Men move through the rooms like ghosts. Some lean against walls stroking themselves. Others wait in the darker corners for a mouth or an ass to show up.
And I was there to serve them , blond, smooth, no beard. The kind of boy who doesn’t have to work hard to get attention in a place like that. I went upstairs.
On the second floor a few men were drifting between the empty rooms. In one of them stood a tall guy in his late thirties or early forties. Glasses. Salt-and-pepper hair. A short, neat beard. Daddy as fuck. White shirt open at the collar, jeans sitting low on his hips. He was already stroking a thick, veiny cock, the head fully exposed and shiny.
He looked at me and didn’t say anything. Just kept stroking and tilted his hips slightly in invitation.
I walked straight over and dropped to my knees on the dirty floor.
His cock smelled nice. I took him into my mouth in one slow movement, letting the head push against the back of my throat before I pulled back and started sucking properly. Spit ran down the shaft almost immediately. I worked him deep, the way I always do, wet, focused, no teasing. His hand settled on the back of my head, not pushing yet, just resting there while I took every inch.
After a couple of minutes I pulled off, looked up, and asked if he wanted to fuck me.
He answered in French. I didn’t understand a word, I totally forgot everything from my French lessons.
I stood up and shoved my Adidas shorts down. I wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Just smooth skin and a hole that’s soft and inviting. I squeezed lube onto my fingers, pushed two of them inside myself, and braced both hands against the graffiti-covered wall.
The French daddy stepped in behind me and pressed the thick head of his cock against my hole. He pushed in slow at first, forcing me open inch by inch until his hips were flush against my ass. The stretch made me moan loud enough that it echoed in the empty room.
“Yes… fuck me…”
He started thrusting. Hard. Deep. Steady. The wet sound of his cock slamming into me filled the space. I didn’t try to stay quiet. I moaned and cried out on purpose, high and filthy, the way that always draws attention in places like this. It worked fast. Within a minute I heard footsteps. Four or five men stepped into the doorway and stopped to watch.
I looked over my shoulder at them while the French guy kept fucking me, then reached for the closest one — a muscular guy in a baseball cap and tracksuit. He stepped forward without hesitation and shoved his cock into my mouth. I sucked him while the daddy kept pounding my ass, spit running down my chin, moans vibrating around the shaft in my throat.
More men came in. Some just stroked themselves and watched. Others moved closer. I took turns sucking whoever stepped in front of me, never stopping the loud, broken sounds that kept the whole room focused on what was happening to me. Someone muttered:
“Fuck the slut harder.”
“Give it to him.”
“Ruin that hole.”
I gave them exactly the kind of show they wanted. I pushed my ass back to meet every thrust, moaning like a whore, the hood of my jacket pulled up in case anyone decided to film. The French daddy’s hands were locked on my hips. His breathing had turned rough. After a few more hard minutes he slammed in deep, groaned low, and came inside me with short, powerful pulses. He pulled out, still breathing hard, and stepped aside.
I stayed bent over the wall, hole open and shiny, and looked at the men still watching.
I ask with a hungry voice. “Who wants to fuck me next?”
The muscular guy in the cap didn’t need to be asked twice. He stepped behind me, and pushed in with one long thrust. No warm-up. Just the French’s guy as lub. He started fucking me hard and fast immediately, the slap of his hips against my ass loud in the room. I moaned for him the same way I had for the French guy: open, shameless, encouraging.
“Yes… like that… harder!”
More men finished on the floor while they watched. I sucked whoever came close enough, stroked a couple of others, kept my mouth available. At one point there must have been five or six guys in the room. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and cum.
The muscular guy didn’t last long. He buried himself deep, grunted, and came. The second he pulled out another guy took his place: younger, backpack still on, hair tied in a short ponytail. He fucked me with quick, eager strokes while I moaned for him too. He warned me he was close, then finished with a sharp thrust and a low curse. I already had tree loads inside.
By the time he stepped away only two men were left watching. Both of them stroked themselves through the last of it and came on the dirty floor near my feet.
I stayed bent over for a few more seconds, catching my breath, feeling how open and used I was. Then I pulled my shorts back up, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and walked out of the room without looking at anyone.
The French daddy was already gone. I went back downstairs and continued walking the paths for another hour, hole still soft and full with cum and the memory of being passed around in that graffiti-covered room.
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