I’m a 24-year-old Indian guy, freshly back in the country after six years in Paris. Out there, I lived freely—hookups were easy, the men were wild, and kink was just another layer of pleasure. Back home, I knew things wouldn’t be the same. Still, I was restless. I needed a man. Or maybe more.
So, one humid evening, I fired up Grindr. It took almost two hours of sifting through blank profiles and small talk before I got a message that cut straight through the noise:
“You a bottom?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“I’ve got a place. Come now.”
No face pic. No details. But I was aching. I hesitated for a second, then booked an Uber. Five minutes later, I arrived at a local hostel. It wasn’t exactly what I’d expected—but desire has a way of dulling caution.
I called the guy. He told me to head up to the 6th floor, all the way to the rooftop. My heart pounded with each step. When I got to the top, I wasn’t alone. Three guys were sitting around, shirt collars damp with sweat, chest hair peeking out. Two were hot—young, rugged, with that unmistakable stare of men who’ve seen things and want more.
Before I could say a word, a man stepped out from a nearby room. He was older, maybe 40, not bad-looking, short but solid. He waved me in.
Inside, we sat on the bed, and I tried to break the tension.
“Do you do this often?” I asked.
He smiled. “Wife and kids are in the village. I work here… with the boys.”
His voice was calm, but his eyes were hungry.
I placed my hand on his thigh, slowly working up to his crotch. I could feel him stiffen beneath my fingers.
“Can I suck it?”
He nodded.
He stood, pulled down his pants, and his cock—short but thick—sprang out. I didn’t waste time. I took him in, sucking greedily, tasting salt and sweat. It didn’t take long. With a deep groan, he spilled into my mouth. I swallowed every drop.
Then, without a word, he stepped out.
Seconds later, the door creaked open. The three guys from the rooftop entered, silent, eyes locked on me. One of them grabbed my face—not too rough, but firm—and pushed me back onto the bed. My breath caught. Was I nervous? Sure. But the anticipation… it was electric.
They stripped. One guy, tall and lean, slid between my legs and hoisted them onto his shoulders. I felt the pressure as he pushed inside. Deep, thick. I gasped.
Another stepped up and fed me his cock, filling my mouth as I was pounded below. I was helpless. Used. Worshipped. Their sweat dripped onto my skin. My moans were muffled by cock, but they didn’t need words to know I was theirs.
The first one came inside me, warm and deep. He pulled out, and the next guy took his place, using the leftover cum as lube. He fucked me hard, slapping my ass as I clutched at the sheets. I reached up, played with his hairy chest, pinched his nipples—and that sent him wild. He growled, pulled out, and painted my face with cum, then smeared it into my lips with his fingers. I licked them clean.
They laughed and called me a filthy little slut. I didn’t disagree.
And when they asked if I wanted more—if I’d keep coming back—I didn’t hesitate.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Use me.”
But that… that was only the beginning.
