Content Warnings: Adult sexual content. Public risk in a parked car. Semi-public car park. Oral sex. Rimming. Bareback anal sex. Creampie. Gym sweat and unwashed kit used as part of the scene.
Mateo’s fingers catch the damp cuff of my left sock and drag it down over my heel while I'm kneeling in the footwell of his car.
The session had run later than I wanted.
I had come straight from the office with my kit in the boot and a sandwich I never ate, and I had given the floor an hour because that was the deal I make with myself on weeknights: show up, do the work, leave.
Squats first, then the presses, then a last set on the cables that left my shoulders open and my shirt stuck to my back.
Mateo had been on the bench next to mine for that last block.
We had spoken twice before at this gym.
Once he asked if I was finished with the last pair of cables and I handed them over.
Once we stood at the desk together waiting for the fob to beep and he told me the evening class on Thursdays was a waste if you actually wanted to lift.
Tonight he had nodded at me when I racked the bar and I had nodded back and that had been enough.
I had meant to shower.
The plan after the last plate went on the stack was the usual one: locker, water, shirt, walk to the car, home.
The changing room had three men still talking by the benches, kit bags open.
I didn't want the small talk.
I pulled my shorts back on over the sweat and took the stairs with my bag on one shoulder and the air of the car park hit me cooler than the floor.
Most of the spaces were empty.
Mateo was leaning on the hatchback two rows over with his arms folded and his phone dark in his hand.
He lifted his chin when he saw me and tapped the passenger door with two fingers.
I crossed the tarmac.
He had the engine off, the door already cracked.
The cabin light came on when I opened it wider and I saw he had taken his shirt off in the seat, the chain sitting against his chest, a dark line of sweat still at his throat from his own session.
“Get in,” he said.
I didn’t hesitate.
The cabin smelled of warm plastic and the last of his cologne under the sweat.
He tipped the passenger chair back a notch and looked at my trainers, then at the line of my socks above them.
“Those socks have been on since the gym,” he said. “Take them off.
“I can smell the floor on you from here and I want your mouth, not the kit.”
I laughed once because I thought he was winding me up.
He reached for my ankle himself when I sat there with my hand on the door, hooked the damp cuff, and peeled the first sock down over my heel.
The air in the car found the skin that had been trapped all evening.
I got the other one off and dropped both on the mat by my bag.
He watched me do it, the same look he had given the bar when I racked it.
Then he put his hand on the back of my neck and drew me down between his knees.
That's where I am now, the gear stick is against my hip, my bag is still by my feet.
Mateo’s legs are open on the reclined seat and my mouth is working its way up his inner left thigh, tasting salt, the hair there rough against my lip.
His shorts are shoved down just far enough that I can get my hand into them.
I find his cock: semi hard, uncut, filling out in my palm, the foreskin covering the head.
I stroke it once from the base and feel it fill under my fingers, rising against my wrist as the blood pulses through it.
I’d put it at seven inches when it hits full mast, the foreskin sliding back as it does to expose a sensitive head.
I put my mouth on it, feeling its weight on my tongue.
The first taste is skin and the faint soap from whatever he used at home this morning.
I take the head and work my tongue under the foreskin and he makes a sound in his chest that I feel more than I hear.
“That’s it, Jamie. Get it wet.
“Use your mouth properly, I didn't pull you down here to watch you think about it.”
I oblige, salivating as my tongue explores his cock.
There is not much room to move my head in the footwell.
I use my hand on the base and take what I can, spit running down the shaft onto his balls.
He keeps one arm behind his head for a stretch, watching me work, the watch on that wrist catching the streetlight when he shifts.
Then that hand comes down into my hair and stays there, pushing me to go deeper.
The head finds the back of my mouth and I breathe through my nose and hold until my eyes water, my gag reflex threatening to kick in.
When I come off there is a string of spit still joining us.
My own cock is hard in my shorts, folded against the sweaty, damp kit I never changed out of.
I manoeuvre my cock out with my free hand: six inches, uncut, the head slick with anticipatory precum.
Mateo sees the movement down there and puts his heel against my wrist to feel me pleasure myself while I suck him.
I stroke myself in rhythm with the hand wrapped around his shaft.
I lick down the shaft and take one of his balls into my mouth, then the other, the skin hot, then I go back to the head and sink until my nose hits the hair at the base.
He holds me there, his grip tightening, hand in my hair closing, and I gag around him, choking.
He relents for a second and is then thrusting, his hips tipped up off the seat as far as the recline will allow, his cock punching the same spot at the back of my mouth on every lift.
He yanks me off by my hair.
His cock stands in front of my face, shining, the foreskin bunched behind the head, a thread of spit still hanging from the slit to my lip.
He thumbs that spit across my mouth and leaves his thumb there a second.
“Up here. I want you on the seat.
“I've been watching your ass on the floor for an hour and I'm not finishing in your throat.”
I get a knee onto the cushion beside his hip and he turns me so my back is to the dash, then he shoves my shorts down to my thighs and leaves them there, bunched, my cock standing up against the underside of the dash.
His hands find my ass and spread me.
I feel his breath on the small of my back for a second, his mouth on my skin, then his tongue, flat first, then pointed, working my hole open in the dark of the cabin.
I brace on the dash and the seat-back and let him.
He eats me until I'm pushing back onto his mouth, a sound leaving me that I swallow against my own forearm, then he comes up, spits on his cock, and lines the head against me.
“Fuck,” I moan. “Put it in. I've been open since you had your tongue on me.”
He pushes.
The head goes in and I lock around it and he waits anyway, one breath with his forehead against my spine, then he feeds me another inch.
I drop my forehead onto my forearm on the dash.
He works the rest in with short drives, each one seating him deeper, until his hips are flush to my ass and I'm full of him, the stretch burning in a way I can use.
He holds there.
I can feel him pulse inside me, the weight of him packed into my hole.
“Tell me how it feels,” he breathes.
“Full.
“Deep.
Now fuck me, I didn't get in this position for you to sit in me.”
He fucks me in short strokes that still land deep, the wet sound of it loud in the closed car, his chain tapping my back on every drive.
One of his hands stays on my hip, holding the angle.
The other reaches around and finds my cock and strokes it in the same rhythm as his hips, fist tight.
I'm leaking over his knuckles, bucking at the intensity, my tired muscles on the verge of cramp in the enclosed space intensifying every once of pleasure.
Every time he bottoms out I moan and I feel him respond.
He does it again on purpose, burying himself and staying there a second so I have to feel the stretch, then pulling back only far enough to drive in again.
“You sound good like that,” he says against my shoulder, the words coming between the thrusts.
A pair of headlights swings into the far end of the lot.
Mateo doesn't pull out.
He slows, keeps the head inside me and works my cock with his fist while the lights crawl along the row, wash the glass white for a second, and turn out again toward the exit.
I watch them go in the wing mirror, my hole clenched around him, my breath.
When the lot goes dark again he breathes out against my shoulder and starts moving, harder now, the seat complaining under us.
“You’re going to come soon,” he rasps, “I can feel it in the way you keep grabbing me.
“Don’t hold back. Let me feel it.”
The point of no return is sitting in my thighs and in the base of my cock and in the place where he keeps landing.
I reach down and wrap my hand over his and we pump me together while he fucks, his fist and mine sliding over the cut head, precum streaming in hot anticipation.
His mouth is at my ear, open, the breath punching out of him every time he bottoms out.
“Come on - Let me feel it.
“I need you to cum riding my cock.
“I need to fill you up, I've been holding this since you put your mouth on me.”
I release, cumming with my teeth in my own forearm, thick ropes hitting the underside of the dash and his wrist and the back of my own hand, my hole clamping down on him so hard he has to stop moving or he will follow me in the same breath.
He doesn't stop for long.
He grips my hips with both hands and pounds the last of it into me, short and deep, the seat rocking, and then he buries himself and I feel the first pulse, then the second, a thick load pumping into me while he groans against my spine, the sound of it going through my back into the dash.
He keeps his cock there through the rest of it, twitching, emptying his balls inside me, one hand still messy on my spent cock.
We stay packed into the shape the seat has forced on us.
I can feel his cum start to slide when he eases back a fraction, warm against the inside of my thigh.
His hand stays on me.
The cabin smells of sweat and sex.
Mateo’s breath is going against my neck.
Mine is going against the dash.
Neither of us moves to get dressed.
Thank you so much for reading. If you have any capacity to share, comment or review, please do so as I am so so so grateful to anyone who can help get my writing in front of more people.
Please also visit my website hardmanpod.com to find out more about all of my work and how to keep in touch.
If you’d like to commission a story or have a suggestion, please reach out to me a [email protected] - I’ll consider ideas and if they excite me I’ll give them a go. Paid options are available, but if you can’t afford it don’t let that put you off – I’m always keen to hear what people are wanting to read about and would love to play a part in bringing your fantasies to life. I’ve got a lot of stuff in the pipeline beyond just stories, so please watch this space.
Finally, this is a work of fantasy. Any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental. Some works may be inspired by other creators, but all work is entirely original and written by me, Harlan Maddox-Powell. All characters are adults and have fully consented to the depicted roleplay scenario. In real life, always practise safe sex and enthusiastic consent.
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