Hi guys, Dave here. It’s been a while since I’ve written an update, mostly because my life is setting into adult normality. It's January 2026 and I can’t believe I'm actually 33 as I write this.
Still a senior associate at a decent high-end private client law firm in London. It’s not bad to be honest, and I reckon I can make partner in a few years. If I go back to 2023, when I was 30 years old, I was still doing that dance of trying to pull birds, and I’d score with a girl every couple of weeks. A one night stand, maybe a bit of dating, but nothing serious.
I’ll admit I hankered after the slutty smut of my hustling days. I used the usual apps to arrange a few hookups with guys occasionally. One afternoon a fuck buddy texted me asking me if I was up for a raw group session. Sure, why not? It had been a while since I'd let loose like that.
The host was older, mid-fifties, divorced and horny as fuck, with a nice detached place in Kent for his 'private parties'. I caught the train out to Ashford and cabbed it the rest of the way. The weather was shite, but it was March after all.
Inside, the place smelled like leather and expensive aftershave. Five guys, including my fuck buddy, already lounged around the living room, naked except for towels draped over their laps, casual as you like. The host had this salt-and-pepper chest rug and thick forearms, the kind of guy who probably played rugby in his youth and still worked out. He directed me to the bar to help myself to beer, wine, whisky, whatever.
I grabbed a whisky and stripped down naked right there. The air was warm against my skin, that kind of central heating that makes you feel like you're already sweating before anything's even happened. The host's eyes dropped straight to my cock, thick and half-hard already, and he smirked. "He’s alright," he said to my fuck buddy, who just shrugged like yeah, obviously, while palming himself lazily under his towel.
The telly was playing gay porn. Someone had cranked the volume way up, so the moans echoed weirdly off the high ceiling. On the coffee table, pump bottles of lube stood next to a pack of wipes and a roll of kitchen towel. A couple of bottles of poppers were on offer but no other chems, they weren’t the host’s scene.
The host grabbed the back of my neck, and pulled me into a kiss, wet and messy, scratchy with beard. His other hand slid down my chest, thumbing a nipple before dragging lower. One of the other guys, lean, mid-thirties, with a tattooed forearm, was already on his knees working on the well-hung blond twink who’d been eyeing me since I walked in. The twink had his head thrown back, fingers tangled in the guy’s hair, making these little punched-out noises every time the guy deepthroated him. Christ, his cock was big and pink and pretty, twitching against the tattooed guy’s stubbled cheek.
Somewhere behind me, someone groaned, low and throaty, and I glanced over my shoulder to see the host’s mate, a stocky bloke with a rugby build, bent over the arm of the sofa, getting fingered open by my fuck buddy. His thighs were trembling, hairy as fuck, and when my buddy crooked his fingers, the guy let out this noise like he’d been gutted. “Fuck,” he panted, “c’mon, don’t tease…” My buddy just laughed and twisted his wrist, and the guy’s whole body jerked.
Then hands shoved me down onto the sofa and I went, landing sprawled on my back with a little laugh. The host grabbed my ankles, pulling my legs up and apart like I was some kind of cheap tart. Which, fair. The twink from earlier crawled between my thighs, grinning up at me with spit-shiny lips, and before I could say anything, he ducked his head and licked a stripe over my hole and up to my shaved balls. I hissed, back arching off the sofa, and the host chuckled above me.
The twink didn’t waste time. He pressed in, mouth hot and wet, tongue flicking against my rim like he was trying to memorize the shape of it. Christ, he was good; no hesitation, no awkward fumbling, just hungry, open-mouthed licks that had me squirming. The host nudged my lips with his cock so I opened, letting him slide past my lips. He groaned when I sucked him down, one hand fisting in my short hair, the other gripping my ankle hard enough to leave marks. The twink moaned against my hole, the vibrations making my toes curl, and then he pressed his tongue inside, fucking me with it, sloppy and relentless.
Behind us, someone cursed - the tattooed guy, I think - and then there was the slick sound of lube, skin on skin. The twink pulled back just long enough to grab the pump bottle, drizzling it over his fingers before pushing two in without warning. He crooked his fingers, rubbing hard. Fuck, he knew exactly where to press.
Then his fingers were gone, replaced by the blunt pressure of his big and swollen cockhead, thick enough to make my breath hitch. He didn’t ask. Just pushed in slow, the stretch burning sweet, and I groaned around the host’s cock, saliva dripping down my chin. The twink got all the way in, and I swear I felt him in my fucking ribs. “Jesus Christ,” I gasped, pulling off the host just to breathe. The twink grinned down at me, all pretty pink lips and flushed cheeks, and rolled his hips in this filthy little circle. “Yeah?” he purred, dragging his cock halfway out before slamming back in. “It’s OK, yeah?” Oh yeah.
The host grabbed my stubbled jaw, tilting my head back up to his cock, and I opened obediently. The twink leaned forward, braced one hand by my head, and started fucking me proper in short, sharp strokes that punched the air from my lungs. His free hand wrapped around my cock, stroking me in time with his thrusts, and fuck, the rhythm was maddening, just enough friction to keep me right on the edge, never quite enough to tip me over. My hips jerked helplessly, torn between chasing his grip and pressing back onto his cock.
Then the host pulled out of my mouth with a wet pop, grinning down at me all wolfish. "Swap," he ordered, smacking the twink's arse. The boy whined but pulled out - Christ, the sudden emptiness - and scrambled off the sofa. The host jerked his chin towards the tattooed muscle hunk who'd been working the twink's throat earlier. "Your turn," he said, like he was handing me a fucking dessert menu.
I sat up, spit still slick on my chin, and the tattooed guy didn't need telling twice. He shoved the twink aside and straddled my lap in one smooth move, thighs bracketing mine, thick cock bobbing against my stomach. Up close, he was even hotter: my age, maybe, with a jawline you could cut glass on and dark ink swirling over his shoulders and pecs. His chest hair was trimmed close, and when he leaned in to kiss me, he tasted like whisky. "Been waiting to ride this," he growled against my mouth, one hand fisting in my hair.
Then he was reaching back, guiding my cock to his hole—already slick with lube, loose from whatever he'd been up to before I got here. He didn't bother with slow; just sank down in one filthy drop, sheathing me to the hilt with a groan that vibrated through his chest. Fuck, he felt nice, clenching around me like he was trying to milk me dry already. His belly flexed as he rolled his hips, riding me slow at first, then faster when I grabbed his waist and thrust up to meet him. I panted, digging my fingers into his thighs.
The room blurred around us, moans, skin slapping, the occasional clink of a glass. Someone had turned the porn up louder, the fake moans mixing with the real ones until it was all just noise. The tattooed guy leaned back, bracing his hands on my knees, and let me fuck up into him, his cock bouncing against his stomach with every thrust. His head tipped back, throat working, and when I thumbed over his nipple, he bit his lip hard enough to leave marks. "Yeah, like that," he gritted out, muscles rippling as he clenched around me. "Fuck, you're thick…" True, my cock wasn’t the longest, at a fairly normal 6.5”, but it had always been thick.
Then the host was behind him, pressing in close, one hand splayed over the guy's chest to keep him upright while the other guided his cock between the guy's cheeks. Fuck man, he was gonna double-penetrate, I hadn’t done that as a top for a long old time. The tattooed guy gasped when the host pushed in alongside my tool, his whole body tensing, and I watched his cock jerk, precum beading at the tip. The host fucked him slow at first, like he was savoring it, then snapped his hips hard enough to make the guy cry out. "Jesus fuck" he panted, nails digging into my thighs as Marcus set a brutal pace. The angle had him grinding against my cock on every downstroke, and fuck, the heat of him, the way his hole fluttered when the host bottomed out… Christ, I wasn't gonna last.
Somewhere in the blur, the twink crawled back over, sucking one of my hairy nips before kissing me. His hand joined mine on the tattooed guy's cock, stroking him rough and fast, and when the guy came - back arching, cursing through his teeth - it set me off too. I came so hard my vision spotted, hips stuttering up into him as he milked me with lazy clenches. The host groaned behind him, thrusts turning erratic, and then he was biting the guy's shoulder as he pulsed inside him. I felt his hot cum all over my cock, leaking out onto my balls, it was fuckin’ amazing.
The next few hours melted into skin and sweat, hands and mouths and cocks swapping between bodies like we were passing a joint. I got done doggy-style over the coffee table, the dude’s grip bruising on my hips while the twink knelt under me, slurping at my slimy balls like a man starved. The tattooed guy recovered quick and took his turn bending me over the arm of the sofa not long after, fucking me with these long, slow rolls of his hips that had me swearing into the leather. The other dude’s cum was still leaking out of me when he pushed in, warm and slick between my thighs.
At some point, my fuck buddy dragged me into the kitchen by my arm, bent me over the granite island, and fucked me while the rugby bloke fed me whisky from the bottle. The cold counter bit into my forearms, but I didn’t give a fuck, not when my mate was hitting that spot with every thrust, not when the rugby bloke’s thumb kept rubbing over my bottom lip like he was thinking about shoving his cock down my throat next. (He did. I gagged. He laughed.) The twink appeared again, licking up the mess on my stomach before sucking me back to full hardness, his tongue flat and wet under my cockhead.
I lost count of how many times I came. At one point, the tattooed guy had me on all fours in front of the fireplace while the host’s mate spit-roasted me. My thighs were slick with sweat and lube, my hole loose and throbbing, but fuck if I wasn’t still grinding back onto every thrust like a cheap slut. The tattooed guy’s hands were rough on my hips, his breath hot against my neck as he muttered filth in my ear - “Take it, yeah, just like that, fucking wrecked for us…” - and I did, gladly, until my knees gave out and I collapsed onto the rug, spent and shaking.
The host called me and my old fuck buddy a cab back to Ashford around dawn. The twink was passed out on the sofa, his lips swollen and pink, his hole still glistening with come. The tattooed guy was smoking by the window, naked except for his socks, watching the rain streak the glass while Marcus’s mate dozed in the armchair, his cock soft against his thigh. I dressed slowly, my clothes sticking to my damp skin, my muscles aching in that good, fucked-out way. The host handed me a coffee. “Weekend after next?” he asked, like he already knew the answer. I grinned and sipped the drink. “Yup.”
***
Mid-2023, I was in the process of upgrading my flat; I'd accepted an offer on my studio and had made one on a nice two bedroom flat in Islington with a proper kitchen and bathroom and some nice Victorian period features. Yeah, I was crossing the Thames, something that would fill a London native with horror! The transaction was due to complete with a moving date at the end of June, and the only downer was leaving behind the wooded suburban park near me with its secluded, neglected toilet block that was a perfect cottaging spot. My last ever encounter there was early June 2023, on a warm sunny Saturday. I was running around the park in short silky running shorts (commando 'cos they were lined) and trainers with ankle socks; I'd gone out bare chested to make the most of the sun. I finished up by the pull up and dip bars, where I did a few sets, then I settled down on the grass and took off my shoes and socks, lying down to soak up the sun for a bit.
A hot guy ran past me and stopped at the bars to work out. He had a really nice gym-honed physique with a broad smooth chest contrasting with hairy legs and a thick treasure trail. His skin was pale, with a couple of small visible tatts, dripping with sweat, and his mid-length reddish-blond hair was swept back from his brow and tucked under a cap. His handsome face was topped off with a tidy full beard. He was topless, wearing short runners' shorts with side slits and running shoes with crew socks. I was sure his head turned to me a little as he ran past, and as I watched his broad sweaty muscular back as he did his pullups, my mind turned to Philip, my first real male lover from way back in Sydney in 2010.
Feeling bold, I got up, picked up my trainers, and walked barefoot over to the bars. "Mind if I work in mate?" I asked, and he grinned and replied "Help yourself". So I did another few sets alongside him before saying "I'm going to the loo, see ya", and wandered across the grass to where the cottage was tucked at the edge of the trees by the rail line. When I reached it, I looked over my shoulder to see him following, and smiled happily to myself. Heedless of the tacky cement floor under my bare feet, I headed through the gloomy, stinky interior to the far cubicle, and once inside I slipped off my shorts, tucked them down next to the cistern with my trainers, and sat fully naked, legs spread, on the old toilet. I pushed the door closed but didn't lock it, and started to wank.
Soon enough, I heard him check in the other two cubicles before opening mine, his eyes popping wide then his face split by a grin as he feasted his eyes. He slipped in, locked the door behind him, turned his cap backwards, and bent down for a wet kiss before I got his stiffie out of his shorts and took him down my throat.
He groaned, fingers tangled in my sweaty hair as I swallowed him deep. His shorts hit the floor and he stepped out of them, kicking them aside. After a few minutes, he stood me up, kissed me again, turned me around and bent me over. He squatted, pulled my asscheeks apart to spit on my sweaty hole, stood up again and moved the saliva over my cunt with his leaking wet cockhead until finally pushing through my tight ring.
I hissed, gripping the cistern as he pressed into my unprepared hole, slow but relentless until he was balls deep inside me. His hands tightened on my hips, those rough runner’s fingers digging in, as he started fucking me in short, sharp strokes, just enough to make me pant. The stench of sweat and piss clung to the stale air, the damp heat of his body pressing against my back as he leaned over me, his beard scratching my shoulder.
He didn’t last long, and I felt his cock twitch before he groaned, his thrusts turning erratic. Then he was shuddering, spilling hot inside me, his grip bruising as he held himself flush against me. For a second, we just stayed like that, breathing hard, the only sound the distant hum of a train passing. Then he pulled out with a wet pop, his cum dripping down my thighs as he crouched behind me.
Before I could even catch my breath, his hands were on my hips, spinning me around to face him. His beard was slick with sweat, his cap still on backwards, and he grinned up at me like he’d won the lottery before swallowing me down to the root. Fuck, he was good, no hesitation, no teasing, just hungry suction that had me bucking into his throat within seconds. His tongue worked the underside of my cock, his fingers fingering my cum-slick cunt, and I barely had time to gasp before I was coming, my knees buckling as I shot down his throat. He swallowed every drop, humming around me, then pulled off with a filthy slurp.
We kissed again, his mouth still warm with my cum, the taste bitter and salty on his tongue. I could feel his cock, half-hard again, pressing against my thigh as he palmed himself lazily. “Cheers, mate,” he murmured against my lips, breath hot. Then he was pulling away, grabbing his shorts off the floor, and slipping out of the cubicle before I could even think to ask his name. The door creaked shut behind him, leaving me standing there, still sticky with sweat and his spend dripping down my legs.
***
Two weeks later, I got a text from my newest fuck buddy, the tattooed muscle hunk from the Kent parties, asking if I wanted to join him and his mate for a weekend camping trip at some queer-friendly spot out near Peterborough. “UK Playroom,” the text read, followed by a winking emoji and a link to the website. Rosebay Campsite, apparently, six acres of private woodland where guys could pitch tents, drink beers, and fuck under the stars. Sounded like my kind of holiday.
We arrived just past noon, the sun already baking the field into dry grass and dust. The site was dotted with tents, some fancy, some barely holding together, and a handful of guys lounging naked on picnic blankets or folding chairs. The rules were simple: clothing optional, no photography without consent. Just sun, skin, and sweat. My buddy tossed me a six-pack from the cooler, already stripping off his shirt as he kicked open the car door. “Welcome to paradise,” he grinned, peeling off his jeans to reveal thick thighs and a semi already tenting his briefs. I didn’t waste time—shucked my clothes right there in the parking lot, stuffing everything into my duffel bag until I was down to just my Havaianas. The sun prickled my bare skin, the air thick with the scent of sunscreen and pine.
I wandered off after a while, leaving my buddy and his mate sunbathing while I explored the woods. The trees swallowed the noise quickly, leaving only the crunch of dry leaves underfoot and the occasional distant laugh. Then I heard it: rustling, deliberate, off to my left. I turned just as a guy stepped out from behind an oak, his cock already in hand. He was older, late forties maybe, with a wiry build and sun-leathered skin. His grey-streaked chest hair glistened with sweat, his cock thick and ruddy in the dappled light. He didn’t say a word, just raised an eyebrow, smirked, and jerked his chin towards a fallen log. Fuck it. I ambled over, kicked off my flip-flops, and sprawled back against the mossy bark, my legs spread lazily.
He dropped to his knees without ceremony, his calloused hands gripping my thighs as he leaned in. The first lick was rough, almost perfunctory, but then he hummed, low and approving, and got to work. His mouth was hot, his tongue broad and flat as it dragged up my shaft. No teasing, no buildup, just wet suction and greedy swallows like he’d been waiting all day for this. I tipped my head back, the sunlight filtering through the leaves above, and let him take over. His stubble scratched my inner thighs, his nose bumping my balls whenever he deepthroated me. Christ, he was good, no wasted movement, just relentless rhythm.
I came embarrassingly fast, my hips jerking as I spilled down his throat. He swallowed it all, lips sealed tight around me until I was twitching from oversensitivity. Then he pulled off with a wet pop, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before climbing up to straddle my lap. His cock pressed against my stomach, thick and leaking, and he rutted against me lazily as he caught his breath. “Been a while?” he chuckled, his voice gravelly. I huffed a laugh, still boneless from the orgasm, and nodded. He grinned, leaning in to kiss me, tongue bitter with my own come, before standing and offering me a hand up. He led me back to the edge of the woods like a man with something in mind.
That’s how I ended up in the cabin, hooded (a mouth hole but no eye holes), wrists cuffed together. Someone had thrown a thick horse blanket over the dirt floor, the wool scratchy under my bare knees. The hood smelled like leather and sweat, the inside lined with something soft that stuck to my lips when I licked them nervously. Voices murmured around me and then fingers trailed up my inner thigh, making me jump. “Easy,” someone murmured, a hand squeezing my hip. “Just gonna have some fun with you.”
The first cock brushed my lips without warning, warm, slightly salty, already leaking. I opened obediently, taking him deep, and someone chuckled. “Fuck, he’s eager.” Hands roamed my body, palming my pecs, pinching my nipples, stroking my cock in slow, teasing tugs that left me twitching. Another guy knelt behind me, his breath hot on my lower back before his tongue licked a stripe up my spine. I groaned around the cock in my mouth, hips jerking when someone’s thumb rubbed circles over my hole. “Look at him,” a voice muttered, rough with amusement. “Already begging for it.”
But no one fucked me. Just the occasional teasing press of a cockhead against my hole before pulling away, leaving me clenching around nothing. Instead, they passed me between them like a party favor, one guy feeding his cock into my mouth while another knelt between my legs, sucking me off with messy, sloppy bobs of his head. The guy behind me kept licking my hole, his tongue flat and wet, but every time I tried to push back onto him, he’d laugh and pull away. “Not tonight, sweetheart,” he murmured, biting the curve of my ass. “Tonight you’re just the pretty mouth.” I could hear other action around me, knew other guys were fucking (could taste bitter ass juice on their cocks), but my hole twitched with denial.
I woke up sprawled on the horse blanket, the hood gone, my wrists uncuffed. Morning light filtered through the cabin’s grimy windows, dust motes swirling in the air. My whole body ached, jaw sore, body hair sticky with dried cum. The guys were gone, the only evidence of them a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the floor and a single sock abandoned in the corner. I gave it a curious sniff.
I stumbled outside, squinting against the sun. Fuck knows where my flip-flops were. The campsite was quiet, just the occasional murmur of voices drifting from tents. No one batted an eye as I walked bare-assed and barefoot across the field toward the shower block, my skin buzzing with that post-sex glow. I took a shit and a piss. The water was lukewarm, the pressure shit, but it washed away the sweat and spend, leaving me feeling human again.
When I got back to our tent, my buddy was crouched over a portable stove, flipping bacon in a cast-iron skillet. His mate lounged naked nearby, sipping coffee from a chipped enamel mug. "Sleep well?" he asked, grinning as I flopped onto the picnic blanket. I flipped him off, but my stomach growled at the smell of sizzling fat. "Breakfast's nearly up," my buddy said. We ate a decent fry-up. By the time we'd finished, the sun was high enough to bake the sweat onto our skin. My buddy stretched out on the blanket, arms behind his head, his cock softening against his thigh. "Right," he said, squinting up at the sky. "I’m doing nowt."
I flopped onto my stomach beside him, the grass prickling my bare chest. The heat settled into my muscles, loosening the ache from last night's exploits. His mate sprawled nearby, one arm thrown over his eyes, his other hand lazily stroking his softening cock. The air smelled of earth and sunscreen, the occasional buzz of a fly landing on someone's sweaty back. I dozed off for a while, waking to the sound of zippers and murmured voices as other campers wandered past our spot. Someone whistled, low and appreciative, and I cracked an eye open to see a guy in nothing but hiking boots watching us from the path. His beard was streaked with grey, his chest flushed pink from the sun. My buddy's mate lifted his head, smirked, and beckoned him over.
The guy didn't hesitate. He toed off his boots and knelt between us, his calloused palms sliding over my sun-warmed back. "Mind if I join?" he asked, though his hands were already dipping into the cleft of my ass. His thumbs rubbed circles there, just shy of my hole, and I arched into it with a groan. My buddy rolled onto his side to watch, his cock thickening against his thigh. The stranger's mouth was hot on my shoulder, his beard scratching my skin as he worked his way down my spine. When his tongue finally licked a stripe over my hole, I heard my buddy's sharp inhale.
"Nice," his mate muttered, sitting up to get a better view. The stranger chuckled, his breath damp against my skin, and then his tongue was pushing in, slow, filthy, savoring it. My hips jerked, my cock rutting against the blanket as he ate me out like a man starving. Fingers replaced his tongue, two thick digits sliding in with ease, and I gasped when they crooked just right. "Fuck—" I choked out, my voice raw. The stranger hummed, his free hand palming my asscheek as he fingered me deeper.
"Turn over," he ordered, his voice rough. I rolled onto my back and pulled my thighs back against my chest, my cock jutting against my stomach, already leaking. He didn't waste time—just spat into his palm, slicked himself up, and forced up me. The first thrust stretched me wide. He followed up with deep, regular strokes that had me clawing at the blanket. My buddy's mate whistled, shifting closer to watch, his own cock hard in his hand. "Fucking wreck him," he muttered, and the stranger groaned, his hips snapping harder.
He lasted maybe three minutes. His rhythm faltered, his thrusts turned erratic, and then he was coming with a grunt, his cock pulsing inside me. For a second, he just stayed there, breathing hard, his forehead pressed to my shoulder. Then he pulled out with a wet sound, his spend dripping out of me as he stood. "Cheers," he said casually, grabbing his boots and walking off in nowt but his socks without a backward glance. I was still achingly hard, my cock twitching against my stomach. My buddy's mate smirked, crawling over to kneel between my legs. "Poor neglected thing," he tutted, wrapping his fingers around me. He wanked me until I came, and then he shot over my belly too.
After, we wandered the campsite, the late afternoon sun warm on our nude bodies. The place had a weird layout—clusters of tents near the main field, then deeper into the woods, random structures dotted between the trees. That's when I saw it: a weathered wooden shed with a painted sign that said "WALLBANGER" hanging over the door. "The fuck's that?" I asked, nodding toward it. My buddy grinned. "Oh, you'll love this."
Inside, the shed was dim, the air thick with the scent of sweat and lube. The far wall had three sets of holes cut into it—different heights, different sizes. One was occupied—a guy's ass sticking out, his legs held up and spread wide by leather straps looped around his ankles. His cock jutted upward, already glistening with precome. Someone was fucking him. "See?" my buddy said, slapping my shoulder. "You're up next."
The attendant, a burly bloke with a beard and a clipboard, handed me a hood. It smelled like leather and spit, the inside lined with felt that clung to my lips when I pulled it on. They led me to a little plywood cabin at the end, the door creaking open to reveal a vinyl mattress slick with sweat. I lay down, my hands shackled beside my head while someone guided my lower body out of the hole in the wall and lifted and strapped my ankles into the leather loops. The wood groaned as they lifted my legs. Then, click. The door locked behind me.
Darkness. Just the sound of my own breathing, the vinyl sticking to my back. Then fingers - rough, calloused - trailed up my inner thigh. "Christ, look at that hole," someone muttered. A thumb pressed against me, circling lazily before pushing in. I gasped, arching against the restraints as he worked me open with two fingers, scissoring them just to hear me whine. Some of the older dude’s load was still there, it hadn’t all leaked out. Another hand wrapped around my cock, stroking me in time with the fingers fucking me. The vinyl squeaked under my shoulders as I squirmed.
"Jerk him off, let's use his cum for lube," a guy said, and the other chuckled. “Fuck yeah”, he agreed. The hand on my cock tightened, speeding up, thumb swiping over the head on every upstroke. I bit my lip under the hood, hips jerking into his grip. The fingers in my ass crooked, pressing hard against my prostate, and I choked out a groan. "There we go," the smoker murmured. "Gonna milk him dry."
The second guy, younger, judging by the softness of his hands, spit into his palm and wrapped it around me again, slicking me up nice and messy. The contrast was filthy: rough calluses and smooth skin, dry grips turning wet. My thighs trembled, my hole clenching around nothing as they worked me toward the edge. "Fuck—fuck—" I panted, the hood sticking to my open mouth. The smoker laughed, his breath hot on my inner thigh. "Yeah, that's it. Give it up."
I came hard, my back arching off the vinyl as stripes of cum hit my stomach. The younger guy kept stroking me through it, milking every last drop while the smoker rubbed my hole with his thumb, pressing just enough to make me whimper. Then, wet warmth. A tongue licking up my spend, lapping at my abs before swallowing it down with a satisfied hum. The vinyl squeaked as someone shifted, and then fingers, slippery with my own cum, pushed back into my hole. "There's your lube," the smoker muttered, scissoring me open.
Two fingers became three, stretching me wide before pulling out entirely. Then pressure. A cockhead nudging against me, blunt and insistent. I braced, but it didn't matter, he shoved in hard, no lube other than cum. The groan that tore from my throat was half-pain, half-relief, my body clamping down around him as he bottomed out. "Fuck, he's nice," the smoker grunted, his hips flush against my ass. He didn't pull out, just ground into me, letting me feel every inch as my cock twitched weakly between my legs.
Then he moved, short, brutal strokes that had the vinyl squeaking under me. Every thrust jolted me forward, my cuffed wrists pulling taut against the restraints. "Look at him," he laughed, his voice bright with delight. "Already hard again." And fuck, he was right, my cock was thick against my stomach, flushed and leaking despite having just come only a minute or so before.
He lasted longer than I expected, his rhythm never faltering as he fucked me raw. Then his breath hitched, his thrusts turned sloppy, and I felt him pulse inside me before he groaned, long and low, his hips jerking as he spilled deep. He pulled out with a filthy sound, his cum dripping from me as he stepped back. "Your turn," he muttered, slapping his mate's shoulder.
The second cock pressed against me almost immediately, thicker, hotter, the head already slick with precome. He didn't ask, just shoved in hard, his fingers digging into my hips as he bottomed out. I gasped, the stretch bordering on too much, but he didn't care. His first thrust knocked the air from my lungs, his balls slapping against me as he set a punishing pace. "Fuck, that's it," he panted, his voice rougher than the first guy's. "Take it."
He came embarrassingly fast, three, maybe four strokes, before his rhythm stuttered, his cock pulsing inside me with a guttural groan. I barely had time to register the second dose of warmth flooding me before he was pulling out, his spend dripping down my thighs. Someone laughed as a third cock nudged against my hole, slick with the last guy's load. "Christ, they're lining up," the smoker chuckled, his hand wrapping around my hard cock again.
The third fuck was rougher, deeper, his hips slamming into me with a force that rattled the plywood wall. My wrists strained against the cuffs, the leather biting into my skin as I arched into each thrust. He didn't speak, just panted, until his rhythm fractured, his cock twitching as he came with a choked-off curse. I felt the wet spill, the way his hips jerked before he pulled out with a wet sound, leaving me gaping.
The fourth guy was quieter, methodical. His hands traced my thighs like he was memorizing them before he pushed in slow, savoring the stretch. He fucked me like he had all day, lazy rolls of his hips, his breath hot against my nape where the hood gaped. When he came, it was with a sigh, his forehead pressed against the wall as his cock pulsed inside me. I could feel his heartbeat through it.
Number five wasn’t so gentle. He spat on my hole (not that my cum-slick cunt needed it, I reckon he just wanted to see his spit mix with that drooling cum) and slammed home in one thrust, his grip bruising on my hips. "Yeah, that’s it," he grunted, pounding into me like he was trying to leave a mark. The vinyl squeaked under me, the shackles clinking as I jerked forward with each drive of his hips. He lasted maybe two minutes before coming with a groan, his cum mixing with the others dripping down my thighs.
Six was quieter, just heavy breathing and the slick sound of him pushing into my sloppy gash. He fucked me slow, deep, his cockhead rubbing my prostate with every drag until I was hard again, leaking onto my stomach. "Fuck, you feel that?" he muttered, thumbing the head of my cock. I nodded under the hood, breath hitching when his pace sped up. He came with a shudder, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside me. Then he gave my hard cock a playful slap. I’d cum when my organic lube was first harvested but I hadn’t made it again through six fucks.
The door finally creaked open, and my mates’ laughter cut through the haze. "Christ, look at the state of you," one said, unshackling my wrists while the other worked my dirty bare feet through the straps around my ankles. The hood came off last, the sudden light stinging my eyes. My buddy’s mate whistled, wiping a thumb through the mess on my stomach. "Proper glazed, aren’t you?"
As my legs flopped down I shuffled back into the little cabin, my back slipping easily over the sweaty vinyl, as I drew my lower half back through the hole in the wall and my mate hauled me backwards out of the cabin. My soles hit the dirty wooden floor, my legs shaky, my cock still hard and leaking. A gush of cum dripped down my thighs as I stood, the wooden floor warm under my bare feet. My buddy handed me a can of tepid beer, grinning as I downed half in one go. "Hungry?" he asked, nodding toward the field where a barbecue smoked in the distance.
I shrugged, but my stomach growled. We wandered that way, the late afternoon sun drying fluids on my skin, my cock slowly softening by still waving and dripping. The scent of charred meat grew stronger as we approached, mingling with the musk of sweat and sunscreen. That’s when I saw him, leaning against a tree, one bare foot propped on the trunk, lazily stroking himself as he watched the crowd. Otter-ish build, lean but wiry, his chest dusted with dark hair, his cock thick and curving up toward his stomach. Good looking with thick unkept scruff. Our eyes locked, and he smirked, jerking his chin toward the woods.
I didn’t hesitate. The second we were out of sight, I shoved him against a mossy log, his knees hitting the dirt with a thud. He laughed, breathless, as I spat into my palm and slicked myself up, fully hard again. No prep, no patience—just the blunt press of my cock against his hole before I shoved in hard. He gasped, his back arching, his fingers scrabbling at the bark as I bottomed out. "Fuck…" he choked out, his voice rough.
I didn’t give him time to adjust. Just pulled out and slammed back in, my hips snapping against his ass with a wet smack. The sounds were filthy, his choked moans, the slick squelch of my cock driving into him, the wet drip of cum still leaking from my abused hole. Every thrust jolted him forward, his cock bobbing against his stomach, already glistening with precome. "Yeah, fuckin’ take it," I growled, gripping his hips hard enough to bruise.
His hole clenched around me, tight despite the rough treatment, and I groaned when he arched his back, pressing into it. "Fuck, you’re greedy," I muttered, thumbing his rim where we were joined. He whimpered, pushing back onto me, and I laughed before picking up the pace. The mossy log creaked under his weight as I fucked him raw, my balls slapping against his.
He came first, a choked-off gasp, his whole body shuddering as he jerked off, ropes of cum splattering the dirt between his knees. The sight of him wrecked like that pushed me over the edge. I buried myself deep, grinding into him as I spilled, my fingers digging into his hips hard enough to leave marks. For a second, we just stayed there, panting, his back pressed against my chest, before I pulled out slowly, both of us wincing at the wet slide.
He turned, still on his knees, and gently sucked my ass-fresh cock clean before grinning up at me. "Nice recovery," he said, nodding at my softening cock. "Considering how wrecked you got in the shed." I flipped him off with a smile, but my stomach growled loud enough to echo. He laughed, clambering to his feet and slapping my ass. "Come on, then. I smell sausages."
Back at camp, the barbecue was in full swing, naked men clustered around the grill, grease sizzling on hot metal. My buddy passed me a paper plate loaded with charred bangers and burnt toast. "Eat up," he said, nodding toward a cooler. "Beer's in there."
Morning came too fast. I woke to the sound of zippers and murmured voices, the air thick with the scent of damp grass and last night's bonfire. It was muggy and sweaty in the tent, and we’d laid naked on top of our sleeping bags all weekend, the nights were so warm. Someone groaned nearby and I rolled onto my side just in time to see my buddy's mate getting his dick sucked by the otter-ish bloke from the woods. His hand fisted in the guy's hair, guiding him deeper, his hips jerking in short, shallow thrusts. "Morning," he rasped when he caught me watching, his smirk lazy. The guy between his legs hummed around his cock, sucking harder.
I stretched. My hole still felt loose, tender from yesterday afternoon’s abuse, but fuck if that didn’t just make me harder. I palmed my morning wood, stroking lazily while I lay on my side and watched the show. My buddy’s mate came with a grunt, his fingers tightening in the otter’s hair as he spilled down his throat. The guy swallowed every drop before pulling off with a wet pop, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Your turn?" he asked, nodding at my cock.
I didn’t answer, just rolled onto my back and spread my legs with a smile, my knees falling open shamelessly. He didn’t need an invitation. His mouth was on me in seconds, hot and wet, his tongue swirling around the head before he sucked me down. I groaned, arching into it, my hands behind my head to aerate my sweaty hairy pits. My buddy’s mate chuckled, vaping as he watched. "Greedy cunt," he muttered, exhaling strawberry smoke. The otter hummed around me, his throat vibrating, and I fucked up into him, short, shallow thrusts that had me seeing stars.
I came hard, my hips jerking off the ground as I spilled down his throat. He swallowed every drop, his lips slick when he pulled off, grinning up at me with a chin glazed in spit. "Breakfast of champions," he said, wiping his mouth. I pulled him in for a sloppy kiss and stroked his hard cock until he came over my belly as my buddy watched.
After a quick rinse at the shower block, packing up was a half-assed affair, sleeping bags rolled crooked, tent poles shoved into sacks with no grace. We yanked on shorts (no shoes, no shirts, no underwear, the denim of my cutoffs rough against sensitive skin) and chucked the rest into the boot haphazardly. My buddy’s mate kept vaping, squinting against the morning sun as he kicked dirt over the fire pit with a bare foot. "Next time," he said, blowing smoke, "we’re making a week of it."
The otter-ish bloke from the woods lingered by his car, wearing a tank top and jeans, barefoot, rubbing the back of his neck like he was deciding whether to say goodbye or just fuck off. I solved it for him: grabbed him by the belt loop, yanked him into a kiss that tasted like stale beer and last night’s mistakes. He laughed against my mouth, hands sliding down to squeeze my ass through the shorts. "Text me," he muttered, biting my lower lip before pulling away.
The drive home was sticky, windows down, hot air blasting through the car, the scent of sweat and sex still clinging to us. I slouched in the passenger seat, my shorts riding up, the fabric chafing where I was still tender. My buddy drummed his fingers on the wheel, humming along to some shitty pop song while his mate dozed in the back, his bare feet propped on the seat. Every bump in the road made me wince, my hole twitching like it was remembering yesterday.
I did call the guy, but we never managed to make it happen. I never went back to Rosebay again, unfortunately, it just never worked out.
****
Anyway, in June 2023 I moved into my new flat and spent a bit of money getting it nicely decorated and furnished (I’d had very little furniture from my little studio).
In September 2023 I met a beautiful girl at a bar in Soho and we went back to my place and spent the night together. We followed that up with a proper dinner in a nice restaurant the next week, and before long we were "dating". She felt she needed to warn me though, early on, that she was bisexual and wasn't really looking for sexual monogamy, she needed to be able to explore her sexuality freely. Massively relieved, I admitted that I was also bi and could never give up sex with men. She was really aroused by the thought of me making out with a fit bloke and we weren't long into our relationship when we tried a London swingers' club and played with another attractive young couple. It is so much easier to meet like-minded people with the apps than I imagine it used to be, and playing with other singles, couples or even groups became something we enjoyed every couple of months. We even went on a swingers' retreat for a long weekend last year.
Outside of that, we built a real romantic connection with each other and found ourselves falling in love. We are sexually non-monogamous but not "polyamorous" in the sense that, actually, we desire a pretty conventional boyfriend/girlfriend exclusive relationship outside the bedroom. We spent 80% of our nights at her flat or mine, the fact of our open relationship and our bisexuality is not something we freely share with others, and we don't want other people involved in our day-to-day domestic life. But we enjoy playing together with other people, and our basic ground rule is that we are free to have same-sex encounters - but not opposite-sex ones - without each other involved. As she travels a fair bit for work, that gives me plenty of time to hook up with guys and she enjoys flings with women abroad. We share lots of the details with each other, but not everything. For example, I've totally confessed to my slutty history, and admitted to having accepted cash for sex on occasions, but she has no real idea of the full extent of my previous commitment to sex work. She's met Ryan, but out of respect for his privacy she doesn't know we've fucked. And my thing with Master Felix is my business; she knows I'm hooking up with a guy, the details are for me alone.
Even when we are having sex just with each other (which to be honest is obviously the majority of the time), it is often pretty straight vanilla. But we have combined our collection of toys, like a bit of bondage play from time to time, and she has a real thing for pegging my ass.
In mid-2024 I shaved off my moustache and went clean-shaven again. At some point my ear stud came out and I forgot to put it back in. The GF laughingly accused me of going "normcore" and for my 32nd birthday in November 2024 she bought me a piercing, among other things. We agreed I should have my nipple done, and a few seconds of agony later and I had a 16ml, 14 gauge titanium barbell in my left one. As I write this in January 2026, it has been fully healed for a while. Oh, and I’m 33 now. I’m getting old.
We are circling around the idea of moving in together. I mean, we virtually live together anyway. Hopefully, as things progress, we can still find a way to continue with the sexually open aspect of our relationship, even as we have increasingly frequent conversations about marriage and kids. My inner cock-craving slut will always need to be fed, and it is simply unrealistic for me to think I could deny it. I don't think my GF could easily suppress her attraction to women either, so I'm certain we are on the same page. However “normcore” our daily life becomes, we’ll have to make sure we schedule special time.
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