The only sound was the hum of the server room and the clack of my keyboard. My eyes burned from staring at the code, the fluorescent lights casting a sterile glow over the empty cubicles. Another fucking late night. I jumped at the sound of a deep voice cutting through the silence.
“Burning the midnight oil, Rohan ?”
I spun my chair around. Leaning against the doorframe of my cubicle was Ansh. I’d seen him around the finance floor—tall, built, with a confidence that seemed to suck all the air out of a room. My heart hammered against my ribs. I knew him from somewhere else, too. Grindr. Our chat, a series of increasingly explicit messages, was still open in a hidden tab on my monitor.
“Ansh . Hey. Didn’t know anyone else was still here,” I said, my voice tighter than I wanted it to be.
He took a slow step inside, his eyes roaming over me, over my desk, like he was appraising everything and finding it wanting. “I had to come back for some files. Saw your light on.” A smirk played on his lips. “Those DMs… they didn’t really do you justice.”
A hot flush crept up my neck. So he was going there. Immediately.
He closed the distance, his expensive cologne washing over me, a mix of sandalwood and something darker. He placed a hand on my desk, leaning down so his face was level with mine. “All that talk online. All that eagerness. Was it just talk?”
“No,” I breathed out, the word barely a whisper.
“Good.” His finger hooked under my chin, tilting my head up. “Because I’ve been thinking about that smart mouth of yours all fucking day.”
His kiss wasn’t gentle. It was a claiming. His lips crushed against mine, insistent and demanding. I gasped, and his tongue slid into my mouth, tasting of coffee and mint and pure, unfiltered dominance. My hands, useless, fluttered before gripping the armrests of my chair. He cupped the back of my head, holding me in place as he explored my mouth, the kiss deepening from something demanding into something devouring. I was losing myself in it, in the scratch of his stubble, the sheer ownership of it.
He pulled back, leaving me breathless. A string of saliva connected our lips for a second before breaking. His eyes were dark, hungry.
“Get on your fucking knees, Rohan.”
It wasn’t a request. It was an order. My body moved before my brain could fully process it, sliding off the chair and onto the rough industrial carpet. I looked up at him, the angle making him seem gigantic.
He unbuckled his belt with a sharp, metallic clink, the zipper hissing down. “You look pretty like that. On your knees where you belong.” He fished his cock out of his briefs, and my mouth actually watered. He was thick, veiny, and already fully hard, curving up towards his stomach. He gave himself a slow, lazy stroke. “Open that pretty mouth. Now.”
I parted my lips, my heart pounding in my ears. He didn’t gentle it. He fed his cock into my mouth, the blunt head pressing against my tongue. I gagged instinctively, my eyes watering.
“Relax that throat for me,” he murmured, his voice a low, degrading rumble. He pushed forward, his length sliding deeper, hitting the back of my throat. “Yeah, just like that. Take it. You wanted this, didn’t you? You fucking begged for it in those messages.” He began to move, a slow, brutal rhythm, fucking my face. My nose pressed into the coarse hair at his base with every thrust. Tears streamed down my cheeks from the strain, but a dark, shameful heat was coiling in my gut. I was rock hard in my own pants.
“Such a good fucking cocksucker,” he grunted, his hips snapping forward, holding himself deep. I swallowed around him, and he groaned, a sound of pure pleasure. “Fuck, yes. Milk my dick with that throat.”
He pulled out abruptly, my lips making a lewd pop. A trail of spit connected my mouth to his shining, wet cock. He looked down at me, a mess on my knees, and his smile was vicious. “Not enough. I need more of you. Get up. Bend over that desk.”
I scrambled to obey, my legs shaky. I bent over the cool laminate surface, my report-filled inbox digging into my stomach. I heard him rip open a foil packet—where did he get that?—and the sound of him rolling a condom on. Then his hands were on my hips, yanking my pants and briefs down to my knees in one rough motion. The cool office air hit my exposed ass.
One of his hands pressed between my shoulder blades, holding me down. The other, slick with lube, rubbed over my hole. “So tight,” he muttered. “This virgin ass ever been properly fucked, Ansh?”
“N-no,” I stammered, my face burning against the desk.
“Good. Mine first.”
He positioned himself, the broad head of his cock pressing against my entrance. It was an immense, impossible pressure. “Breathe out,” he commanded. I did, and he pushed.
It was a white-hot burst of pain, a stretching, burning sensation that made me cry out. He didn’t stop. He pushed through the resistance, sinking inch by devastating inch into my ass until he was fully sheathed, his hips pressed flush against my cheeks. I was panting, gripping the edge of the desk, my knuckles white.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned, letting me adjust for only a second before he pulled back and thrust in again. The pain began to morph, to melt into a deep, overwhelming fullness. Each thrust rocked my entire body forward on the desk. The sound was obscene: the slap of his skin against mine, his grunts, my ragged breaths.
“You like that, you filthy slut?” he growled, his pace increasing, becoming punishing. “You like getting your ass stretched open on my cock?”
“Yes! God, yes, Ansh!” I moaned, the words torn from me.
“Whose ass is this?” he demanded, pounding into me with a force that felt like it would break me apart.
“Yours! It’s yours!”
He leaned over me, his chest pressing against my back, his mouth at my ear. His thrusts became shorter, harder, hitting that spot inside me that made my vision blur. “I’m gonna fill this condom up, Rohan. I’m gonna pump it full of my fucking cum. You want that? You want me to breed this tight hole?”
The vulgarity, the sheer nastiness of his words, sent me over the edge. “Yes! Please, breed me! I want it!” I was babbling, lost in the sensation, my own cock leaking onto the desk blotter.
With a final, guttural roar, he slammed into me and held there, his body stiffening. I could feel the intense, rhythmic pulsing of his cock through the latex as he came, his hot release filling the condom inside me. He collapsed on top of me, his weight a heavy, sweaty blanket, both of us breathing in ragged, syncopated gasps.
After a moment, he shifted. But he didn’t pull out. He stayed buried inside me, softening but still present. He reached between us and I felt him rolling the wet, filled condom off. He tossed it aside onto the floor with a wet thud.
Then, to my shock, he pushed back in. Bare. The sensation was utterly different. Slick, intimate, overwhelmingly hot. My oversensitive nerves sang as he began to move again, a slow, deliberate rocking, his bare skin sliding against mine. The feeling of his spend, slicking the way, was filthy and exquisite.
“Fuck,” he whispered into my ear, his voice husky with exhaustion and renewed desire. “Feel that? That’s all me. My fucking cum, all over your insides. I’m just getting started with you.”
He stayed buried inside me for another long moment, his bare cock a heavy, spent weight in my ass. I could feel the wet heat of his cum, a slick, intimate claim that made my oversensitive flesh throb. Then he pulled out with a slow, deliberate drag that made me gasp. The loss of him was profound, leaving me feeling empty and used in the best possible way.
I heard him step back. “Look at me, Rohan.”
I pushed myself up on trembling arms, turning my head. He stood there, his cock glistening and wet, a mix of his release and my own slickness coating his shaft. He was still half-hard, a testament to his insane stamina.
“Open your mouth.”
I did, without hesitation, my tongue already dancing in anticipation of the taste. He fisted his cock, stroking it slowly, making a show of it. He gathered the mess from his skin onto his fingers, a thick, pearlescent string connecting his hand to his dick.
“This is what you do to me,” he murmured, his voice a low, hypnotic thrum. He pushed two fingers past my lips. “Taste it. Taste us.”
The flavor exploded on my tongue—bitter, musky, uniquely him, undercut with the faint, clean taste of my own body. I suckled his fingers clean, moaning at the degradation, at the raw intimacy of it. He watched me, his dark eyes burning with possession.
“Good boy. Now, get on your fucking hands and knees. On the floor.”
I slid off the desk, my legs barely supporting me. The rough industrial carpet scraped against my knees and palms. I presented myself to him, my ass in the air, my back arched, completely exposed. I was his thing to use.
I heard the crinkle of another foil packet. Where does he keep getting those? The thought was a distant, fleeting thing, obliterated by the sound of him rolling a fresh condom on. The pause was agonizing. I needed him back inside me, filling that emptiness.
“Please, Ansh,” I begged, the words muffled against the floor.
“Please what, you greedy slut?” His hand came down on my ass cheek, a sharp, stinging slap that made me jolt and cry out. “Use your words. Tell me what you need.”
“I need your cock! Fuck me, please, fuck my ass again!”
I felt the broad, rubber-covered head press against my sore, well-used hole. He pushed in without ceremony, and I cried out again, this time from the intense, burning stretch. It was even tighter than before, every nerve ending screaming in protest and ecstasy as he buried himself to the hilt in one smooth, ruthless thrust.
“Fuck, Rohan,” he groaned, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. “Your ass is even better now. So fucking tight and hot around my dick. It’s like it’s trying to milk me dry.”
He set a brutal pace from the start, pounding into me with a force that shook my whole body. Each thrust drove me forward on my knees, my cock swinging heavily between my legs, achingly hard and leaking onto the carpet. The sound was filthier this time, wetter, the condom adding a faint, squeaking rhythm to the slap of skin on skin.
“You take my cock so well,” he grunted, his voice strained with effort. “This perfect, tight ass was made for me to fuck. Made to be bred.”
The word sent a new jolt of heat through me. Bred. It was all I could think about. The condom was a lie, a barrier to what we both truly wanted.
“Take it off,” I panted, the words tumbling out in time with his thrusts. “Ansh, please… fuck me raw again. I want to feel you. I want it all.”
He stilled, buried deep. “You have no idea what you’re asking for, do you?” His hand wrapped in my hair, yanking my head back, arching my spine painfully. “You want me to pump my load directly into your guts? You want to walk out of here knowing my fucking seed is dripping out of you?”
“Yes! God, yes! I want it! I need it!”
He released my hair with a shove. I heard the tear of latex, the wet sound of him pulling the condom off. He spat into his hand, slicking his bare cock, and then he was pushing back inside me. The sensation was electric, a slick, hot, overwhelming intimacy that made me see stars. This. This was what I needed.
He fucked me with a renewed, primal fury, his balls slapping against my taint. “This what you wanted, you little whore? You feel that? That’s all me. My bare cock stretching your fuckhole open.”
I was babbling, incoherent with pleasure, reduced to a series of grunts and moans. The pressure built inside me, a coil ready to snap. He was hitting my prostate with every single thrust, a relentless, pleasure-pain that was driving me out of my mind.
“I’m close,” he warned, his voice a guttural snarl. “Where do you want it? Huh? You want me to fill your ass? Make a mess inside you that’ll drip out for days?”
“Anywhere! Just… please…!”
With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself to the root and roared. I felt the hot, pulsing jet of his cum flooding my insides, a sensation so profoundly claiming it stole the air from my lungs. He held himself there, grinding against me, pumping every last drop into me.
He collapsed over my back for a moment, both of us panting, slick with sweat. Then he pulled out, and I felt a hot trickle immediately start its path down my thigh.
“Turn over.”
I rolled onto my back, looking up at him. He was a god, standing over me, his chest heaving, his cock still glistening and hard, painted with our mixed fluids. He gripped himself, stroking slowly.
“Open wide, pretty boy.”
I obeyed, my mouth falling open. He aimed his cock at my face and stroked himself hard, twice, three times. Thick, hot ropes of cum shot across my face—one stripe landed on my cheek, another splashed across my lips and chin, a final, weaker pulse hit my forehead.
He stepped closer, and the swollen head of his dick rested on my bottom lip. “Clean me off. Get every last drop.”
I leaned forward, my tongue swirling around his tip, lapping up the remnants of his release, tasting my own ass on his skin. It was the most debasing, most erotic thing I had ever done.
He finally stepped back, looking down at his handiwork: me, on my back on the office floor, my ass leaking his cum, my face painted with it.
“Look at you,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “My fucking mess.”
