I like to think of myself as a regular guy, but I know better. At 6’2”, built hard from the gym and years of pushing my limits, has given me broad shoulders, solid arms, and a lean cut that fills out a T-shirt. And as a result, I still turn heads in my fifties.
My stocky frame immediately gives me a hyper masculine vibe. Which is only reinforced by my love of motorcycles, cars, whiskey and cigars. This along with my short, salt-and-pepper hair and thick beard, all frames a face that doesn’t smile easily.. This all goes together to make me look meaner and rougher than I really am. Lucky for me, I’ve always found that many are drawn to me, despite my intimidating appearance, and gruff exterior.
After a wild youth, filled with adventures and sexual escapades. I found someone who could actually keep up. She’s ten years younger, blonde, gorgeous, and still burns like she did the first time. Fifteen years in, and we still can’t keep our hands off each other. We know what each other needs, and we’ve never been shy about taking advantage of it.
She is an amazing woman, but when it comes to sex, she is every man's dream. She sucks cock better than most gay guys I've been with, and her pussy is always wet and raring to go. Not to mention she is more happy to switch it up and let me fuck her in the arse on occasions, which I certainly have made the most of. I have very few complaints, as our relationship is built on something primal — hunger that never really fades.
That said, we have some unwritten agreements. When we travel for work, we allow some indiscretions. We both know that new places hold new temptations, the kind that feeds the fire instead of putting it out. We are discreet about it, except for the moments worth remembering. Sometimes we come home with a new story, a new trick, or even someone new to share. It keeps things alive — honest, raw, and always burning.
However on some occasions that hunger has hit closer to home, when I’m not even trying. A workout that goes too hard. A ride that runs too long. A few drinks at a bar where the air’s thick with looks and unspoken things. That’s when I feel it most — the weight in my gut, the slow burn under my skin — knowing it’s only a matter of time before I will need to find a way to let it out. Usually I just head home and my wife helps me out, but not always
A new temptation I never saw coming started recently that drew something out of me I did not expect. A different kind of pull, one I hadn’t explored before. Something that crept up quietly and turned into a need.
The first time it happened my wife was out of town for work, not due back for a few days. I knew she was probably having a good time wherever she was, and I told myself I didn’t mind. But the truth was, I was restless. Horny. Three days without release had me on edge.
I hit the gym hard, like I always do when I need to burn it off. It helped, but not enough. By the time I got home, I was wound tight. I poured a drink, grabbed a cigar, and stepped outside, hoping the smoke and quiet might cool me down. It didn’t. Cigars always have the opposite effect — slow burn, thick taste, heat in my chest that travels lower. My mind was racing, thinking about possibilities. The easiest thing would have been to just head upstairs, find a good porno and just finish myself off. Cock in my hand, cigar between my lips, some steamy action on television and plenty of lube usually worked well
Somehow, I felt that I needed something more, so I went for a ride.
In the garage, my black Indian sat waiting — polished, loud, and mean. I pulled on my leather jacket and boots, kicked the engine to life, and took off into the night. The road was empty, the air sharp against my face. The vibrations of the engine beneath me didn’t help my frustration; it only made it worse. Every mile felt like it was feeding something that refused to die down.
Needing to take a break, I pulled into a park close to home. The kind of place that’s quiet after dark. Empty lot, trees all around. I killed the engine, hopped off my bike. I was feeling more horny than before. It seemed everything I did only flamed my fire. I pulled out a fresh cigar from my jacket and lit it.
The first pull hit deep — smoke, silence, and the hum in my body from the ride still lingering. Leaning against my bike, I let the night settle in. Every breath of smoke calmed me, but every heartbeat reminded me just how wound up I was. I tried to focus on the sound of the wind, the glow of the ember, the weight of the moment, but this only served to fuel my raging hard on. I had to reach down often to adjust the groin of my denim pants to accommodate my growing cock, usually letting my hand caress the full length.
I was lost in the rhythm of the smoke — the weight of the night, the low hum still running through me from the ride — when I realized someone was watching. At first it was just a shape, a shadow near the far end of the lot, but it didn’t stay there. It was moving toward me.
My first instinct was simple: tell them to fuck off. I wasn’t in the mood for company. All I wanted was quiet — the burn of the cigar, the calm after the rush.
But the figure kept coming, slow and unsure. Young — maybe late twenties, maybe more. Lean, wiry, the kind of build that comes from effort but not yet experience. He moved like he couldn’t decide whether to turn back or see how close he could get. Out here, at this hour, that alone made him out of place.
Even in the low light I could make out the start of definition in his arms, the faint lines of someone trying to harden up. Not bad, but still a long way from me.
I straightened up, watching him approach. My instinct to send him on his way was replaced by curiosity, charge, something that made me hold my ground.
He stopped a few feet away, eyes wide but steady. The light hit his face. He was a pretty. He had wavy mid-length hair and a nice pair of luscious lips and big puppy dog eyes. I took a long drag, blew the smoke out slowly, and let my voice cut through the silence. “Something you need, kid?”
He hesitated. “No, sir… I just saw you here. You looked…” He trailed off, the rest caught somewhere between his throat and his breath. The sir caught me a little off guard. He clearly saw me as his superior. I assumed he was just a polite young man who was respectful of his elders.
For a moment, neither of us moved. The smoke drifted between us. The engine ticked quietly as it cooled. The air felt thick, heavy with things neither of us was saying.
And that’s when I knew. Whatever this was — whatever brought him over — it wasn’t random. This twink was cruising. This horny little fucker was looking for some public action. He saw me and thought he would give it a go. This caught me a little off guard, but I should have known this was a gay cruising location. I was flattered.
But, I was also horny, so the idea of something more got me excited. I had been with guys before, sometimes as a threesome with the wife but occasionally just the two of us. Usually I just let them suck my cock, but occasionally I would bend them over and fuck them. It had not occurred to me that this might be an option tonight.
He stood there in the half-light, still but uneasy — the kind of stillness that comes from not knowing whether to run or hold your ground. I could almost taste his fear. It surprised me a little; sure, I know I can look imposing, but most people figure out pretty quick that I’m easy to talk to once they get past the exterior. The rough edges, the hard looks — they draw people in, not push them away.
Part of me wanted to ease him up, but I wasn’t sure I wanted him to stay. So I kept my guard up — calm, unmoved. I leaned against the bike, smoke curling around me, the cigar burning steady between my fingers. I didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to. Silence has a way of pulling the truth out of people faster than questions ever could.
Finally, he spoke.
“Didn’t mean to bug you.”
His voice was soft, like he wasn’t used to being this close to someone who didn’t flinch first.
“Then why’d you come over?” I asked, low and calm.
He hesitated, swallowed, and looked away. “You just… looked like you could do with some company, maybe someone who could help you out.”
That made me smirk — a small one, but enough. “You thought you could help me out?”
He shook his head. “Yes, sir.”
The “sir” slipped out by instinct. I heard it. His eyes flicked up, caught mine, then dropped again. There it was — that flicker of submission, the one that shows before a word’s even spoken. I found his quick submissiveness strangely alluring. I spent so much effort softening my hard edges I didn't ever think to lean into it.
I took another drag, the tip of the cigar glowing hot in the dark. I decided to test him, to see how intentional he was. “You got a habit of walking up to strangers at night offering help, or just the ones that make you nervous?”
He didn’t answer right away. “Guess I was more curious than nervous” he said finally.
“Curiosity’s dangerous,” I said, flicking ash to the ground. “Especially when you don’t know what you’re walking toward.”
He nodded, but he didn’t move. That told me everything. He liked how much I scared him. He wanted to be close enough to feel it — the weight, the presence, the unspoken dare in my tone. I stepped closer. Just one slow step. He didn’t back away.
Up close, I could see the pulse in his throat — fast, shallow, betraying every bit of the calm he tried to hold. The air between us thrummed with that kind of charge you can’t name, the kind where dominance isn’t spoken, it’s just felt. Understood.
I felt it rise in me, the same energy I’d been trying to burn off all night. The workout, the ride, the smoke — none of it had bled it out. It only built higher, heavier. Now it sat right under my skin, pulsing like the engine still cooling beside us.
“Whatever you think you came here for,” I said quietly, “you’d better be sure you can handle it.”
His eyes lifted again — uncertain, but burning with something he couldn’t hide.
And then I smiled — just enough to make him doubt whether it was a warning or an invitation.
I decided to engage the kid. So how are you going to help me out? Are you out here looking to suck some cock? I could see the twink getting excited by the aggression in my voice. He replied quickly, “Yes sir”
The idea of holding control out here in the open, hit me hard. The fear in his eyes made it sharper, more primal. Every instinct in me wanted to push the moment, test how far he’d go just to stay in my presence.
He hesitated for a heartbeat, then lowered himself, slow and deliberate, his movements uncertain but eager. The air between us thickened; even the quiet of the lot seemed to fade. I didn’t stop him. I just watched, steady, letting him feel the weight of my silence.
He started to rub his hand along my groin, feeling my huge 8-in cock against my jeans. When his gaze lifted, I met it—steady, unflinching.
“You like what you see?” I said, voice low, rough enough to make him swallow hard. He just nodded his head.
It was then in the moment I blurted it out: “well get to it cocksucker."
Even I was taken aback by the harshness in my own voice. But as I stared down at him, I saw it — that tiny, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He liked it. The edge, the roughness, the way I owned the moment.
The air thickened between us. Every heartbeat, every sharp inhale, seemed louder. I could feel the power in holding that silence, letting him soak it in, letting him know who was in control..
He then started to fumble with my button and zipper, pulling my dick out from my jeans. As soon as he released it from its confines, he grabbed it from the base, holding on my cock with a tight grip, and he brought it to his lips. I could tell it didn't bother him that we're outside and in public, potentially with other people watching.
I leaned back against my bike, cigar in hand, letting the night and the tension take over. The way he moved, the way he responded, told me he wasn’t green — there was a confidence there, a hunger that matched my own.
I let him take the lead in his own way, watching every motion, every reaction. My body pulsed with anticipation, as he worked my cock up and down. Guiding it around his mouth with his fist. It was then I noticed a look in his eye as he stared up at me wantingly. He was looking for something more.
I reached down with my free hand and rested it in his hair. He pushed back so my hand was firmly planted on his head. Almost as a reflex I pushed down, forcing his head down on my cock. His smile told me all I needed to know. He wanted me to take control.
I kept up the rhythm forcing him down on my cock. I then blurted out, “that's it cocksucker, take my dick.” He clearly enjoyed this change up. Understanding what was going on. I leaned in to the thrill of the control — the knowledge that I dictated the pace, the energy, the edge of it all. Every glance he dared to meet mine, every small shift, was a reminder: this moment, this space, was mine. And he liked it that way.
I let go of him for a moment to give me time to take a few inhales on my cigar. He looked up at me, wanting more. He took a deep breath, his lips glowing with saliva and cock juices. It was then I decided I would take it up a notch. I was hungry for a tight pussy, and this twink's little cunt would do just fine.
I put gar between my lips and lifted him up my armpits. I then spun him around and dropped him over my bike seat. He was wearing some baggy trousers. I planted my hand hard against his arse, making sure I got a handful. He let out a weak yelp. I ran my fingers along his arse l, following the crease of his trousers. Without thinking I began to force a finger through the crease, making a hole in his pants. Once I found a weak point , I tore his pants open to reveal a large, smooth bubble arse.
I shifted my weight, pulling him closer, letting my hands assert the control I felt rising in me. I let my fingers go exploring his arse. Every move was measured, deliberate — a reminder that this moment was mine to command.
He reacted to my presence, small noises and gestures betraying his tension and anticipation. My fingers probed his arse, deeper and deeper. I let the edge of my dominance course through me, testing him, teasing him, letting him feel the weight of my control without ever needing to say a word. Every glance, every subtle shift, every hesitant move he made fed the fire in me.
The air between us was thick with unspoken rules: he followed my lead, and I decided just how far things could go.
I decided to give him a quick warning of what was coming. “ You are ready for me to rip your cunt wide open?” He nodded eagerly and replied “yes daddy, take my arse, fuck me with your huge cock”. With a smirk on my face I replied, “ Good boy, daddy is going to make sure you have to crawl home”. He. Just smiled. I grabbed my eight inches by base and guided it towards his hole.
Without much warning I quickly forced my cock into him. Pushing hard so I could go deep. His arse reluctantly gave way to my forceful action. He gave a weak scream but almost seemed to revel in the pain. Once balls deep, I leaned back so I could look down at his stretched hole engulfing my cock. I gave a wicked smile and took a large inhale on my cigar.
I then pulled out a little and rammed back in. I repeated this rhythm, slow strokes out and aggressive forceful thrusts in. He quickly matched my pace. The rhythm between us quickened, a push-and-pull that was more than physical — it was a battle of wills. Every motion, every deliberate gesture reinforced the control I held.
I let my voice sharpen, rough and biting, testing him with words he couldn’t ignore. A cunt, a faggot, a cocksucker, each getting more aggressive. The more I pushed, the more he responded, drawn into the game without needing to be told. It was a dangerous thrill — the freedom to be the alpha, to test boundaries, to see just how far someone would follow.
Although I would never think to do this in normal situations, at that moment, nothing else existed. Just the tension, the power, and the quiet, unspoken agreement that I was in charge. Someone letting me lead so completely, letting themselves be guided by my presence, sent a thrill straight through me.
Being out here, in the open, with the night around us, added a dangerous edge I hadn’t expected. The thrill made my pulse race, kept me sharp, and made the control feel almost intoxicating. I never expected to get such a thrill as this guy begging me to take his arse. This thrill made me a little uncomfortable but that added to the excitement. I gave into it all, relaxed into it, embraced it and just gave this twink what he wanted.
In the moment I would pause to enjoy the moment, inhale the cigar as if I was breathing in the energy and exhaling aggression. I then would feel his arse twitch around my cock egging me on to continue. I would then grab his hips and fuck him harder and harder. His moans told me all I needed to know. He then screamed out, I am going to cum
I was so engrossed in my own enjoyment I forgot he too might need release. He then let out a huge exhale as his body convulsed, with my cock deep inside. I knew his cum was covering my leather seat. I got excited about the idea of riding home allowing the boys juice to slide under me.
Paused in the moment, he turns his head and yelled fuck me daddy, fill me up. I did not need any more encouragement. I began to thrust with purpose, getting closer and closer. Finally I could feel my balls twitch, my cock vibrate as I shot four to five loads into the twink.
The release was incredible. Three days of build up plus such forceful and aggressive sex drained me. I was in a state of euphoria. I finally pulled out and fumbled as I put my cock away. The release left me dazed, like a storm had passed through my body and left only heat and quiet in its wake. I leaned against the bike, trying to catch my breath, letting the tension finally ease.
The twink stood up and pulled the fragments of his pants back up. He smiled. And said, thanks daddy. I started to apologize for the state of his pants. He stopped me, and said, “my fault, I should have worn more appropriate attire. I will remember next time.” I paused, I never conceived that there would be next time, but liked the idea.
He straightened, adjusted himself, and shot me a small, mischievous smile. There was something about the way he carried himself — a mix of respect and challenge — that made me smirk back.
For a moment, I let myself linger in the aftermath, savoring the energy of the night. Then, as he slipped back into the shadows, I realized I wasn’t alone. Out there in the darkness, there were others drawn to the same kind of danger, the same thrill. The idea made my pulse spike again — anticipation mixing with the fading rush, promising that this night might not be over yet.
