I hadn’t had sex in weeks. It was Friday night, and it had been raining all day. I wanted cock, and the night felt right. An app profile caught my eye: "New here; looking for young, fem passives." The photo was a guy in his 30s—couldn't see much of his face, but his chest was hairy and muscular. I set it up for 11 PM. He sent me an address.
The place was on the outskirts, right next to some industrial warehouses. The air smelled like grease and shop floor. The guy lived in one of those shacks meant for the workers. He was standing at the door: white tank top, dirty jeans, work boots... he had a mean look, a real son of a bitch. I liked that—and the smell of someone who hadn't showered to have sex. He was the opposite of the boys I usually went out with.
—Get in —he said, looking me up and down. Horniness was driving me, but I was scared.
Inside, there was a mattress on the floor, clothes everywhere, and a small table covered in roach ends. He started rolling a joint. He asked my name, but he didn't give me his.
—You’re a passive, right? —he asked, sharp and dry. I managed a "yes..." —I like cats that act like bitches, you know? —He leaned in with the lit joint, grabbing my ass.
Those words put me in "slut mode." He’d hit one of my fantasies—one I’d never told anyone. His man-hand rubbing my crack was melting me; my hole was already opening up. He passed me the joint; I took a deep hit.
—Take another one —he ordered. I obeyed.
He sniffed my neck, grazing me with his nose. I smelled the alcohol on his breath.
—You wearing perfume, kid? —he said, hands gripping my waist. —Yeah, I like to... be clean. —You got a girl’s body, a girl’s smell, and a beautiful little hole. —Are you that desperate? —I asked. —Just got out from "inside" a few weeks ago... four years without getting laid, babe.
High, scared, and feeling the weed kick in, I backed my ass onto his cock. It was rock hard under his jeans. It felt massive against me. He ripped off my tight shirt and started biting my back, twisting my nipples.
—I’m gonna eat this little bitch alive! —he growled as I started panting.
I loved the way he talked to me—treating me like a girl one second, then a guy, then a girl again. I turned around and pulled off his shirt. I tried to kiss him, but he shoved my face away.
—You’re not ready yet, faggot.
I started kissing his muscles but stopped at his armpits. They weren't trimmed or cared for; they smelled like raw sweat. I buried my nose there, inhaling until my dick almost popped. I licked the sweat off while he guided me with his hands.
—On your knees —he commanded.
I went for the mattress, but he snapped:
—On the floor! I want those knees marked.
I obeyed. I didn't give a fuck about anything anymore.
—Take off the boots.
I did it slowly. No socks. He had a great, heavy smell. Dirty nails, some yellow... man-feet.
—Lick it, slut!
I started kissing those feet. Totally prostrated, licking and smelling. He shoved his foot into my mouth, yelling at me to suck.
—Suck it, you son of a bitch! I’m gonna turn you into a real little street-whore.
I washed his feet with my tongue, eating the grime from between his toes.
—Up —he said—. Get my pants off, but stay on your knees.
My knees were already raw; the concrete floor was hard. I knelt at his waist and started unzipping... Surprise. No underwear. His man-smell hit me in the face: musk, piss, and precum.
—Suck it —he kept saying, grabbing my hair.
I took the head of his cock into my mouth: it was one of those long, thick ones with an upward curve. He was already dripping. I feasted on it. I was about to grab his dick with my hand to take it slow, but he stopped me cold with a hair-pull.
—No! No hands, faggot! Open up, I’m gonna fuck your throat.
He shoved it in one go, right to the back. I gagged. He grabbed my neck and barked: "Open!" He slammed it back in, fucking my mouth like he was pounding a cunt. Saliva was running down my chin; he was hitting the back of my throat every time.
—You’re gonna puke, little bitch —he said, pushing harder.
I couldn't take it. Even though I’ve had my share of big dicks, I’d never tasted anything this huge, this brutal. I threw up right there on the floor. When I came to, he made me swallow it again. My mouth was getting used to it, despite a couple more gags.
—Look at me.
Without pulling out, I looked up. He had a look that terrified me. His body, covered in prison tattoos, was slick with sweat. He smirked at how much of a slut I looked and spat a thick glob of phlegm right in my face. It smeared over my skin, and he wouldn't let me wipe it. He squeezed my throat. Between the cock in my mouth and the iron grip on my windpipe, I was running out of air. But the dog kept squeezing and pumping into my throat.
—You're gonna black out now, faggot —he said, squeezing harder while yanking my hair.
I must have passed out. When I woke up, I was naked on the mattress. I smelled tobacco, grease, man, and rain. But mostly, I felt pain. He was ripping my ass apart without mercy.
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