I wasn’t planning to go out. It was one of those nights I’d promised myself I’d stay in—grab a few beers, maybe some takeout, and unwind. But first, I needed to hit the store.
I threw on a cardigan, mostly for comfort, but caught myself in the mirror on the way out. Not bad. The light knit hugged my chest just right, softening my hard edges. The jeans—tight enough to show I still worked out. My moustache was on point, too—the deliberate retro look I’d been perfecting. “Aging millennial,” I thought, smirking. “Still got it.”
It was early evening, just cool enough for the walk. The grocery store was only a couple of blocks away, but the route always took me past my favorite gay bar. The neon sign was already glowing, bass thumping low into the street. I hesitated, not because I needed a drink, but because I knew if I went in, my sharp looks, retro moustache, confident swagger, usually guaranteed I would head home with some eager twink, looking to forefill his daddy fantasy. A smirk tugged at my lips. I could have walked in, worked my charm, and had my way without even trying. But tonight? Tonight, I was being good.
But that's when I saw him.
His tall muscular frame leaning against a black Indian motorcycle, parked just outside the bar. Boots planted, legs crossed at ankles. One hand in his pocket, cigar in the other. The smoke curled around his face, catching the last light of dusk. The kind of man who looked like he was trouble. He did not look like my usual but there was something about him
He wore tight black leather pants, boots polished and heavy, a plain black tee that clung to his pecs. A thick silver chain hung low around his neck. His jacket was draped over the seat beside him. Mid-forties, maybe older—tan skin, dark brown hair with a little grey at the temples, a short beard that framed a jaw cut sharp as a knife.
My steps slowed without me attending them to. I tried to be casual, projecting that I was just someone who was passing by, but my eyes lingered. Our eyes locked. I could feel my heart rate increase; the pounding in my chest felt intense. He was the kind of man who made you forget what you were doing.
As I walked closer, I breathed him in, I found the smell of his cigar was warm, earthy, intoxicating. This surprised me as I normally avoided smokers, but this felt different. I tried to play it cool, eyes straight ahead, pretending I hadn’t noticed him. But I could feel his gaze on me. Just as I passed, I risked one quick look.
And that’s when he whistled.
“Keep walking, pretty boy,” he said, voice low and rough. The words hit like a jolt of electricity—both flattering and humiliating at once. ‘Pretty’ wasn’t a label anyone ever dared pin on me. I managed a small, controlled smile and kept walking, pretending it hadn’t affected me. But it had. By the time I reached the store, my pulse was hammering in my throat.
I went through the motions, tossing a few things into my basket, trying to focus on what I wanted when I got back home. But my mind was still on him—on that voice, that smirk, the way he filled out that leather. Self-care night, huh? Yeah, right.
Five minutes later, I was putting everything back. Screw it. I wasn’t going home to jerk off and pretend I didn’t want to find out more about that man.
I was going back to the bar.
The walk back felt shorter. My heartbeat was already up, not from the pace but from the thought of him.
When I turned the corner, the bike was still there—polished black metal, gleaming under the streetlight. He was gone. likely inside.
I hesitated at the door. I’d been to this bar more times than I could count; the bartenders knew my order, my name, my usual type. But for the first time in a while, I felt that flicker of nerves in my gut.
The low hum of conversation wrapped around me as I walked in. It was still early—just a few regulars, soft light, the faint smell of beer. Then I saw him.
He was at the far end of the bar, beer in hand, the same black tee stretched across his chest, muscles pressing against the fabric when he lifted his arm. He looked up, saw me, and that slow, knowing smile spread across his face. Like he’d been waiting.
I went for the opposite end, pretending not to notice, but my chest was tight with awareness. My buddy behind the bar gave me a nod.
“The usual?”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound casual.
The first sip of beer barely hit my lips before I felt his gaze again. I didn’t need to look to know he was watching. The air between us was heavy, coiled tight. I was used to stares but this felt different. I told myself to ignore it, to play it cool, but curiosity—or maybe hunger—won.
I glanced over. He didn’t look away.
After a moment, he stood up, grabbed his beer, and started toward me. Each step was slow, measured. The sound of boots on the floor sounded loud and commanding. He had the kind of walk that made space around him. People just moved out of the way without even realizing.
He stopped beside me, leaned against the counter, his arm brushing close enough that I caught the faint scent of leather and smoke.
“So,” he said, voice deep, smooth as gravel, “you came back.”
I smiled, more nervous than I wanted to admit. “This is my regular hangout.”
He grinned. “Good to know. Now I know where I can find you.”
My mouth went dry. He said it like a challenge, like he was testing how I’d react. I met his eyes. “If I want to be found.”
That earned me a chuckle—low, rich, dangerous.
“Name’s Dave,” he said. “Just passing through. But, I miight stick around if I find a reason.”
“What kind of reason?” I asked.
He turned slightly on his stool, knees spread, legs planted wide. His jeans creaked softly as he shifted, one big hand resting on his thigh.
“Something worth my time,” he said.
My eyes betrayed me—I glanced down, caught the outline of his huge cock pressing against the tight leather. He noticed. Of course he did.
He smirked. “See something you like?”
I lifted my beer to hide the heat in my face, pretending to stay cool. “Maybe.”
“Maybe, huh?” He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my ear. The smell of leather and smoke filled my nose. “You up for playing with fire.” I looked at him, holding his gaze this time. “Maybe, I just need to know what I’m getting into.”
He liked that. His lips curved, slow and approving.
He replied, “Knowing the potential for danger, and doing it anyway. That is what I like to hear.”
Without waiting for permission, he took my wrist, guided my hand down to his groin. It was warm through the leather, muscles solid. I froze for half a second—but then I pressed harder, tracing the shape of his cock beneath his pants. He didn’t flinch.
“Go on,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on mine. “Get a feel of what you're signing up for”. I felt the full girth and length of his member. It was as intimidating as he was.
My throat went dry. My body was already answering before my brain caught up.
We didn’t need to say much after that. The silence between us said everything—thick, charged, waiting to break.
He drained the rest of his beer, set it down, and gave me that look—the kind that makes your stomach drop and your pulse race at the same time.
“You live close?” he asked.
“A couple of streets down.”
He stood, slow and deliberate, leather creaking as he moved. “Then let’s go.” With that said, he threw on his jacket and headed for the door
The way he said it wasn’t a question. It wasn’t rough, either—it was steady, calm, sure. Like he already knew I’d follow.
I did.
Outside, the night had cooled, the streetlamps glowing softly against the chrome of his Indian. He swung a leg over the bike and looked back at me. “Hop on.”
I hesitated for half a breath, then slid behind him. The seat was warm from his body, the smell of leather and smoke heavy in the air.
“Hold on,” he said.
When I wrapped my arms around him, he reached down, pulled them higher—up over his abs, across his chest—my palms rested over his pecs. Solid muscle, moving under my hands as he gripped the bars.
“That’s better,” he said, glancing back with a small grin. Then the engine roared to life.
The vibration hit me first, low and deep between my thighs. The sound filled the quiet street, echoing against the buildings as we pulled away. I pressed closer, chest to his back, the heat of his body seeping into mine.
The ride was short. The wind bit at my face, but all I could feel was him—his strength, the smell of cigar smoke clinging to his jacket, the rhythm of the bike beneath us.
When we turned onto my street, part of me wanted to tell him to keep going. Just ride. Never stop.
But he slowed, easing into my driveway. The engine cut, leaving a heavy silence in its place.
He swung off the bike first, then reached back to help me down. His hand lingered at my waist, thumb brushing against my side before he stepped back. “Nice place,” he said, eyes flicking up to mine.
We headed to the door. The heat of his breathing down my neck made me fumble my keys as I tried to unlock the door. His hand slid down my side, reaching my arse. I felt his hand caress my it. I said nothing.
We walked in.
“Want a beer?” I asked, voice rougher than I meant.
He smirked. “Thought you’d never ask.”
Inside, the air felt thicker. I grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge. I walked back to the living room and handed him one. He didn’t open it right away. Instead, he leaned back on my leather sofa, pulling a cigar from his pocket.
“Mind if I smoke?” he asked, not waiting for an answer.
I should’ve said no, but watching him light it, the way the flame flickered across his jaw, the slow pull of his lips around the cigar… I caved.
“Go ahead,” I said.
He already had a flame on the tip of the gar before I replied. He smiled, lit up, and exhaled slowly. The smoke curled between us, drifting across the dim light of the kitchen. He watched me through it, steady, calm, like he was seeing right through me.
“You seem nervous,” he said. “Do I intimidate you?”
I took a long pull from my beer, trying to ground myself. “Little,” I admitted.
He liked my response. “If I were you, I'd be a little nervous too.” He smirked, eyes piercing, gar hanging from his mouth, smoke drifting from his lips. He had gravity. Every move he made drew me closer.
I leaned against the counter for a moment, pretending to be busy with something, but I couldn’t look away. He was effortless and commanding. Every drag he took, every exhale of smoke, made my pulse climb. I felt heat crawling up my neck, down my chest, a familiar ache I hadn’t expected..
The silence stretched. Not awkward, but heavy, thick, loaded with intent. I sipped my beer, but it barely touched my lips. My eyes were fixed on him, tracing the curve of his jaw, the muscles in his forearms, the way his fingers curled lazily around the cigar. He sat in silence, his posture relaxed but imposing. I should have looked away. I wanted to. But I couldn’t.
Every instinct I had—every bit of my usual confidence—was being drowned out by him. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. The quiet, the smoke, the heat radiating off him… it spoke louder than any words.
I could take it no more. I caved.
Without thought, without any permission, I walked up to him, my knees hitting the floor, right between his legs. The world narrowed to him—the scent of leather and cigar, the weight of his gaze, the impossible power in the slow curve of his smile. I felt exposed and eager all at once, hands moving up to his thighs, tracing the line of his legs through the leather.
He leaned back, relaxed, he knew he achieved his goal.I had wanted control, wanted to stay composed, but every second I watched him, the more the pull became irresistible. My hands moved to his thighs. They moved on their own, following the shape of him, feeling the warmth, the strength, the dominance that radiated from every inch of him.
He didn’t say a word. The silence hung between us, heavy and electric. He just watched, enjoying the sight, the control, the way I had surrendered to him entirely. And I wanted to be undone by him, I wanted to prove how badly he had me under the spell, the biker, the alpha.
The smoke curled between us, slow and heavy, mixing with the scent of leather and sweat. He sat back in his chair, legs spread wide, the glow of his cigar cutting through the dim light.
I knelt there, hands trembling slightly as they traced up his thighs—the cool, worn leather rough beneath my palms. His eyes stayed on me, steady and unreadable, a smirk ghosting across his face under the haze of smoke.
He didn’t need to speak. The silence said enough. The command was in the way he looked down at me—in the weight of his presence, the quiet authority that made me want to obey before he even asked.
I ran my hand along his crotch, feeling his large, engorged cock. He leaned his hips forward, giving me better access. I lovingly stroked his member, up and down, feeling him grow harder under my touch. The leather stretched over his shaft, getting tighter with every pulse. He didn’t move—just let me do my thing.
Hastily, I grabbed his belt, unlatching it and pulling it open. My hand then went to the button of his pants, before pulling down his zipper.
He wore a jockstrap, the frabric stretched tight, barely hiding his engorged cock. I pulled the elastic band aside, freeing him from its restraint. I paused to admire his cock. Gripping it by base, feeling it rise fully to attention. The veins ran along the thick shaft, the large, red head glistening with pre-cum, drops hanging from the tip.
Without hesitation, I brought my lips to him, cleaning the tip with my tongue, tasting the salty sticky precum. I sucked him slowly, savouring every inch as I worked my way down to the hilt. Taking him fully in, I paused, breathing in the scent of sweat, leather, and smoke, feeling the pubic hair tickle my nose.
He liked what was happening. I went back up and down again, working every inch with deliberate care. Taking the cigar from his lips, holding it between his fingers, he pressed both hands against my head, pushing me down. Guiding me, feeding me, getting more aggressive each time. He started bucking his hips with his motion, forcing himself deeper. I felt the raw force, the power, and I loved it—the intensity, the dominance, every inch of him driving me harder.
My lips stretched trying to accommodate his long, thick cock. His control over me was absolute. I could feel the weight of his presence, the heat of him pressing me down, the quiet command in every movement. He got even more aggressive. I was barely able to get a breath, my nose buried deep in his groin, inhaling his sweat and odours, which only made me more intoxicated. Each time as I caught my breath, he’d draw me right back under—his grip firm, deliberate, claiming. When he paused to take a slow drag from his cigar, I caught his gaze through the haze, that look that said I was his to command. Then he guided me again, rougher this time, until I stopped thinking altogether. I wanted nothing but to surrender, to let him decide what came next.
He was training me to need him completely. Aggressive, forceful, intimidating, even violating, yet I was intoxicated. I wanted him badly. I let him take me, use me as he saw fit. I was under his spell.
I was shocked from my daze when I heard him say, “You fucking slut, you love my big cock, don't you? You little fucking whore.” His tone changed — rougher now, the kind of voice that cut right through pretence. The words hit like a slap, sharp enough to make me freeze. He was articulating the previously unspoken.
For a moment, I didn’t know whether to pull back or lean in. But the way he looked at me — that mix of authority and hunger — burned away at me. I knew he was right . I wanted it. I wanted him.
I knew he was testing me. I tried to show no reaction. I looked up at him, our eyes locked, grimace on his face. Then I smiled and replied, “Yes sir”. His smirk turned into a grin as he realized he had my permission. He continued, “I've met many cunts like you. All you want is a bad boy to take control. Use yours holes as their own. I knew as soon as I set eyes on you that you were nothing more than just a pathetic faggot that needs someone to take control.”
I met his eyes, breathing hard. “Yes, sir.”
The corners of his mouth lifted, the roughness in him settling into something darker — approval. His gaze lingered, assessing, as though he’d just confirmed what he already suspected.
“Good,” he said quietly. “Then you know exactly what you need next”
Intimidated, I didn't know what to expect next. I felt helpless but eager at the same time. He then grabbed my hair and pulled me back off his cock. I sat there staring, head pulled back, as he stood up. He formed a large ball of spit and dropped it into my mouth. He then pulled me up by my armpits and threw me on the couch. I landed with arse in the air, face down. He placed his hand on my head, forcing it down into the cushion. Making it clear that I was to stay in place.
He ripped my pants down, and used his thumb to expand my exposed hole. Grabbing me like a bowling ball. Swapping out his thumb with his finger, he slowly massaged my hole, pushing deep. Then he added more of his fat fingers deep into my pussy.
As his fingers worked my cunt, I knew this wasn't about fucking for him, but about dominance, possession, ownership. I was getting what he deserved. His fingers went deeper, and I felt the second and third stretching my hole. I knew he had to stretch me good if he was going to get his monster of a cock up my ass. His fingers buried deep in me, he leaned over, cigar between his lips, blowing smoke in my face, he said, “Boy your pussy is tight. I'm going to enjoy ripping that thing open. You hear me boy?” I knew this was his attempt to get permission to continue. I didn't hesitate Yes, sir, I need you to stretch my pussy. I need to be able to accommodate you, to do whatever you need.”
Happy with my answer, he stood back up. I felt him rub the tip of his hot cock against my hole. I felt the wetness from my saliva and his precum greasing my ass. He then aligned it against my hole as he slowly pushed his cock head in. I could feel my ass being stretched. I wasn't sure I could take it all. His thick and engorged cock was huge. It has been a long time since I've taken a dick that big. He didn't wait for me to get use to it. He just kept pushing harder, stretching me with every thrust. I felt the agony as my hole tried hard to stretch around his huge fucking cock. He kept pushing it deeper and deeper. I cried out in pain, but he kept going hard, pushing it further and deeper into my hole until his cock was fully devoured by my cunt
Buried deep, he paused, stood up and took a deep inhale of his cigar. His smoke filled the room with a gray curls of vapour. I wasn't sure if he was being nice, well aware his cock was a challenge for most, or if you really just wanted to take his time, but I appreciated the break. I felt my insides stretch further around his cock, and my muscles relaxed. Just as I felt that I was ready, I felt him pulling out. My ass, hungry for his cock, tries to hold it in. As he got further out, I felt his cock head about to pull out, but instead he rammed it back in one large heavy aggressive thrust.
Not ready for such an onslaught, I let out another exhale of pain as I felt the full force of him ram right into me. I became nothing more than a fuck toy as he pulled back out and ramped himself in, again, and again. The pain slowly moved to ecstasy as I felt him push against my prostate. My screams turn to moans, as his thrust became slower and more retracted. With his gar between his lips, his hands resting on my shoulder, he pushed me back onto him, drilling me with his cock. Pausing, he then screamed “Fuck, you've got a tight pussy boy, I have to work hard to stretch this little cunt” Barely able to capture my breath, I let him know that it pleased me that I enjoyed my cunt. Hey smiled, this is exactly what I needed today boy. Having the permission he needed, he continued to thrust in and out, pounding my ass.
I could have stayed like this for hours but I knew it was getting close. As his thrust became slower but more aggressive, I could feel he was close. It was then he yelled, “you ready to be bred, boy?” I replied immediately, Give me your seed, fill me up. I then heard a moan of ecstasy as I felt the first load shoot deep down my gut. He pulled out a little and then thrust forward again shooting deep in my guts. As he shot his third, he collapsed onto my back, feeling release as he shot deep. He then slowly pulled out. I fell when his cock left my ass. I was hungry for him. I wanted him to shove it back in. The gaping hole he left. I got my wish as he started to rub his cock against my ass, shooting a final load, feeling it running down my crack. Not wanting to waste it, he pushed the cum back into my hole with his cock, giving a few final thrust.
He pulled out for a final time, again wiping his cock in my ass and stood up. He took the cigar from his mouth and then sat back down grabbing the beer. Taking a huge swig,, he then told me I was a good boy. I did well tonight. I slowly allowed myself to recover as I stood back up. Even now, he looked impressive, sweaty, cigar in his mouth, beer in his hand, his t-shirt covered in sweat stains. His cock was hanging out against his open leather pants. Without permission, I quickly went to my knees again and took that flaccid cock in my mouth and sucked it clean. He looked down at me, Good little boy, as I released his cock for my mouth, I said Thank you, sir.
He sat there, calm and collected, cigar glowing softly in the dark. The smoke hung between us, heavy and warm. I was on the floor between his legs, back resting against his thighs, my breath still uneven from what we’d just shared. The air hummed with that strange mix of exhaustion and charge — the quiet after a storm.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. My head swam with questions — what happens now? Was this a one-time crossing of paths, or something more? How do you go from that kind of intensity back to something as simple as talking?
Not sure what to do, I was glad when he broke the silence. He said what a good little whore I was. I smiled and “I tried , sir.” I replied quietly.
It seems at first we were still trying to maintain our roles. He then ran his hands through my wavy hair. It was loving and caring. He then said, “I would like to have you as a regular pit stop on my journey through town.” He then added, “if you let me. I come through here once a month.”
The thought of him returning — of this energy, this pull, coming back around — sent a spark through me. “You’d be welcome anytime,” I said.
He smiled, the warmth quickly folding back into control. “Good answer”
We moved to the bedroom eventually, the silence between us comfortable now, the edge softened but still there. He stripped down slowly, deliberate in every motion, and I couldn’t help but watch. The power he carried didn’t fade — it just changed form, less about domination now, more about presence.
He pulled off his jacket and sweaty t-shirt, revealing for first time the bulging muscles that stretched his t-shirt. His pecks were huge and his abs were glistening from the sweat running down his core.
I helped him take off his boots and get out of his pants before getting into bed.
For a moment, I didn’t know where to put my hands, but he settled that question by pulling me closer, wrapping an arm around my waist. His body was heat and weight and certainty, the smell of smoke and leather still clinging to him.
He then reminded me I had not cum. With that his huge muscular arms wrapped around my waist pulling me in closer. I could feel his cock resting against my arse cheeks.. He reached over to grab my cock. His hands were firm and hot against my cock almost hurting as he worked his fist up and down my shaft.
It didn't take me long to cum. I shot huge wads into his hand on my chest. He wiped them with his hand, cleaning me up. He brought his fingers to my mouth. He said, you better clean me up boy I don't want to sleep with your cum on my hand. I licked it off cleanly tasting my acrid flavour of my cum, and swallowed it down He then leaned in and told me to get my rest boy, You're going to need in the morning. It didn't take him long to fall asleep. I just sat there and ecstasy excited for the morning.
