I met Taylor’s mum three months after I got out of jail. She owned the dive bar on the edge of town—a place where bikers, ex-cons, and drifters went to disappear. The air was thick with smoke, stale beer, and sweat. She worked most nights behind the counter, leather skirt riding high, tank top painted on, always looking like sin waiting to happen. She had a weakness for men like me—hard, scarred, fresh out of lock-up—and she wasn’t shy about dragging one home when the desire took her.
At first, it was just fucking. Raw, fast, everywhere in the house. But it bled into something else. Before long, I’d moved in. She claimed she wanted me there for her son, Taylor. Said the kid needed a man around, someone to keep him from going soft. I was fine with that as a bed, a roof, and a woman who couldn’t get enough—that was enough for me.
Initially Taylor kept his distance. Couldn’t blame him. He was used to his mother dragging strangers home, men who disappeared in the morning. At first all we exchanged were nods, grunts in the hallway, silence at the table. I was fine with that—I had no interest in babysitting.
That changed one night when he stormed in from school, fists clenched, eyes wild. His mum was working late, so it was just me. He tried to blow me off when I asked, but the rage cracked and spilled. The kids at school called him soft, tore at him for the way he carried himself. I knew the type. I used to chew up boys like him for sport.
I told him what no one else would: you don’t stop bullies by waiting them out. You stop them by becoming the thing they fear. Either he could lean on me to be his shadow, intimidate his bullies, make them question their choices, or he could harden up and carve himself into something untouchable. That was the night we made a pact. I’d take him to the gym, teach him how to build muscle, how to carry himself like a man no one dared cross
It started with workouts. Then beers on the couch. Moving on to his first tattoo at eighteen. Somewhere along the way, I started taking him down to the garage, showing him how to work on my Harley. The kid took to it fast—hands greasy, sweat dripping as he leaned close to watch what I was doing. I first noticed the change in him when I let him straddle the bike to learn the clutch, his chest pressed against my back. He smelled of leather and motor oil. That day I let him ride alone, he came back grinning, chest heaving with adrenaline. He looked like a man then. Broad, cocky, dangerous. I caught his mum watching him that night too, she saw the change and liked how her boy was turning out.
And that’s when things shifted.
His mum and I weren’t monogamous — we had an arrangement. She liked fucking the bad boys from the bar, and I had my own tastes. Sometimes we’d share these men, a third thrown into the mix. Nothing I liked more than eating her pussy off a cock slick with her juices, or ramming into some ex-con while she moaned under him. Jail had carved that hunger deep into me—I needed both.
The setup was always the same. She’d reel them in with her curves and smoky laugh, and if I liked what I saw, I’d show up at the bar. By then, he’d already be half-hard from her teasing, easy prey for her whispers about how I could take things further. It was surprising how many of these so-called bad boys wanted the taste of something dirtier—a devil’s threeway they never admitted to craving.
Sometimes the focus stayed on her. I’d line up behind her, driving my cock into her ass while he fucked her pussy, both of us sweating, both of us claiming her body as ours. Other nights we’d “take her to Paris,” fucking both her holes at once, our eyes locked across her writhing body, caught between the pain, the heat, and the rawness of it.
But there were nights I pushed it further. Nothing hit harder than sucking a cock slick with her juices, swallowing the taste of all three of us at once while she moaned and clawed at our bodies. Sometimes I made them fuck me while I plowed her, a chain of sweat, grunts, and pounding flesh. And on the rare nights, the focus shifted to just us—two muscular, tattooed men taking each other while she watched with hunger in her eyes—the room burned hotter than hell. She loved it all. She loved me with her, she loved me with him, she loved every filthy combination we could invent. Those nights were fire—dirty, raw, and addictive.
For the most part these activities remained a secret. Just between us. Something Taylor knew nothing about. However as Taylor started chasing his own nightlife, I got reckless..
When she wasn’t around, my itch got worse. Jail had carved something in me I couldn’t shake—I needed cock as much as I needed a good pussy. And occasionally I broke the one rule we had. No outsiders at the house. Twice, Taylor walked in on me with a stranger—two tattooed bad boys, muscled up, beers in hand, still sweating from what we’d done. He never saw the act, but I could see the questions in his eyes. The curiosity. The way he held my gaze too long. He’d heard the “just a guy from the bar” excuse before from his mum, and I could tell he didn’t buy it.
This came to a head when his mum left town for a week. Just me and him.
The morning she left, he came down for breakfast as usual. But today he was wearing only his boxers. It caught me off guard. I’d seen him in various states of undress at the gym, but he never wandered around the house like this. And damn… his body had filled out. Chest broad and defined, abs carved across his stomach, arms thick and veined. Thick, solid, undeniable. He wasn’t the skinny kid I’d met years ago—it was a man. Someone I had a hand in shaping, and I felt a surge of pride.
I commented on how good he looked, and he just smirked, deliberate, confident. He made some cereal but hovered around me, leaning against the counter, catching my eye just so. When I glanced down, my gaze hit the sharp crease of his boxers. This seemed intentional on his part. I was surprised by the meaty crease I could see in his sheer boxers. I never saw the boy naked and so was surprised by the size and girth of his manhood. That boy had grown into a man. A man who was packing a monster between his legs. In hindsight I should not have been surprised as his mother did like her men big. There's a good chance his father was also large. I realized I was seeing him differently than I ever had before.
I dragged my eyes back up, catching his grin. He knew I’d noticed. I told him my plans for the day—tuning up the bike, going for a ride, then firing up the grill and relaxing. He smiled knowingly. So no one is coming over tonight. And at that moment, I realized he might be testing me. I flushed, told him it was just me. He smirked wider, clearly pleased with himself.
Then he mentioned he was meeting his friends later, and he would be out all day. He showered, and was out the door in under 20 minutes. Alone in the garage with my tools, I tried to focus on the bike, but I couldn’t shake the image of him—the confidence, the sheer physical presence, that teasing grin. Damn. That boy had grown into a real sexy motherfucker. A man who was in charge. But I knew, if I wanted, I could still push him, break him, mold him—and I liked the idea of what that might feel like.
I came home from my ride to an empty house. I fired up the barbecue, grabbed some steaks, and cooked myself a proper meal. After dinner, I poured a whiskey, picked out one of my favorite cigars, and headed to the porch. Sitting there in my well-worn T-shirt and jeans, I lit the cigar and took a slow, deep inhale. The day was behind me, the bike cleaned and tuned, the sun setting low—it was exactly how I liked to unwind.
I had barely touched my whiskey when I heard the front door open. He was home earlier than usual. I heard him call out, “Where are you?” I yelled back, “On the porch” A moment later, he appeared in the doorway. Dark hair tousled from wearing his helmet, still in his biker jacket and jeans, he stood there, catching the last of the sun. He looked different—older, sharper, more dangerous. The kid I’d known was gone. This was a man, and I couldn’t shake the image of him from my mind.
“Grab a beer and join me,” I said. He nodded, disappeared inside, and returned with a drink, sliding into the chair across from me. We sat there, our eyes meeting briefly—a knowing glance that said something had shifted between us. I pushed the thought aside, focusing on my cigar and whiskey while he took a sip of his beer. The quiet stretched between us, comfortable, tense, filled with unspoken understanding.
I asked about his day. “Good,” he said, smiling. “Enjoyed the ride.” I nodded. “Seems like we haven’t seen each other in a while.” He shrugged. “I travel in different circles now.” I understood completely.
I tilted my head, studying him. “So why aren’t you out tonight?” I asked.
He smirked, that cocky grin that made my chest tighten. “Just… some downtime. Just the two of us, now that Mom’s away.”
I nodded, letting the air settle. It had been a while since it was just us, and the thought stirred something I hadn’t admitted out loud. His grin widened, full of challenge, confidence riding high. He took a swig of beer, then inhaled slowly, like he was getting courage to ask me something.
“So… how long have you liked dick?” he asked casually, leaning back, daring me to react. “Learned it in prison, or was it always a thing?”
I didn’t flinch. I met his gaze, deadpan. Gave him a hard stare. I saw a brief look of fear cross his face like he went too far. Then I told him, “I just figured it out,” I paused, then added “Sometimes I just enjoy cock on the side.”
He smiled, satisfied with himself, thinking he had some power over me. “ I kinda knew once I saw those guys hanging around when Mom wasn’t home.”
I shrugged. “She knows. We just make the most of situations.”
He tilted his head, digesting that, smirk fading into curiosity. “So… you’re saying it’s more than occasional?”
I leaned back, calm, deliberate and then explained. “I’ve always had an interest, but in prison, I got to… explore it properly. I was popular there, but I learned to take charge. Sometimes, that meant enjoying a man’s cock along with exploring my own pleasures. And yeah, I liked it.”
He looked at me, intrigued rather than shocked. I shook my head. “ In fact… sometimes it’s better than some pussy.”
He smirked, eyes glinting with new understanding. Then said, “I agree… in fact I think it's better than pussy”
I looked at him. I was a little surprised. You saying that you are only a cock man. He sheepishly said yes.
I replied, “when you were younger I suspected you might have been like that. But with how you’ve changed… I thought I was wrong. So that feminine streak you had when you were younger—it wasn’t just being around Mom. It’s who you are” I raised an eyebrow, letting that sit. “So… when you said you mixed in different circles… that’s what you meant?”
He nodded, grinning. “Yeah. Let’s just say I’ve had my fair share of… tricks around the city.” thanks to you… I am very popular with the men. They like bad asses as much as any women and I have you to thank for that”
He leaned back, legs spread wide, beer in hand, radiating that self-assured confidence I’d helped forge. “Like you,” he said, voice low and cocky, “I get as much ass as I want. And the boys… they’ll suck me whenever I need.”
I just smiled, taking a slow drag from my cigar. “Glad you know how to take charge.”
He grinned, pride in every line of his body. “I do more than take charge. I’m a kingpin in this town.”
“Is that so?” I asked, letting my gaze linger on him.
“Yeah,” he said, legs still spread, jeans tightening with his growing bulge. “I know how to get what I want, when I want it.”
I took a slow exhale, the cigar smoke curling around us. “Good to know, boy,” I said, eyes tracing the line of his jeans as his arousal became obvious.
He leaned forward slightly, smirk widening. “Let’s just say I’ve got something all the boys want.”
I studied him, letting the tension build. “I see that,” I replied, eyes darkening.
He laughed softly, a little cocky, a little daring. “Got a feeling… maybe even you want a taste of this.”
I didn’t answer immediately. Instead, I let the anticipation linger, the unspoken power play crackling between us.
He stood up and walked over to me. In a clear power play, he grabbed my cigar and brought it to his lips and took a deep inhale. With his groin a face level, he slowly, and deliberately, shifted, unbuckling his jeans and easing them down with a mix of pride and defiance. The cock that emerged was bigger in person than I’d imagined—thick, hard, demanding.
I was staring at his cock. He was smoking my gar, smoke on his face. Knowing how alluring that cock was.
I grabbed it, feeling the weight and heat in my hand, guiding it toward my mouth. His gaze locked on mine, dark with hunger and challenge, and I felt the thrill of control and submission coiling around us.
I worked him slowly at first, taking the head into my mouth, teasing, testing, while my hands wrapped around the shaft, massaging and stroking with deliberate care. He leaned back, breathing deep, loving every second of it, his confidence and cockiness only feeding my own hunger.
When I lowered further, taking him past the head and down to the balls, he let out a low, satisfied groan. “I can see you know what you’re doing,” he said, voice thick with lust. “This isn’t your first big cock.”
I didn’t answer. I just continued, moving between head and shaft, working him, letting him feel the heat and control of my touch. All while he was keeping the cigar burning between his lips. He leaned forward then, hands in my hair, trying to push me down further, testing the dynamic.
I grabbed his hand and pulled it off my head. “You might think you’re in control, boy,” I said, voice low and commanding. “But it’s me who’s running this show.”
The flicker of uncertainty in his eyes was fleeting, quickly replaced by lust and desire as I returned my attention to him, working him hard. Soon, he twitched, arched, and came in my mouth, each pulse sending shivers through me as I swallowed every drop.
When he was done, I let him go, standing up, taking the cigar back from him, my hand sliding firmly around his jaw, pulling him close. He met my gaze, wide-eyed and wanting.
“Now, boy,” I said, voice low and dangerous, “this… is where it gets fun.”
He wasn’t used to giving up control. Amongst the men he met, even at his young age, he was always the one in charge. But standing next to me—bigger, older, ink crawling down my arms and cigar smoke curling between us—he knew the game had changed.
I shoved him over the chair, leather jacket riding up, ass framed perfectly. I ran my hand down his crack, teasing his hole until he shifted and groaned, half-embarrassed, half-eager.
“Ever been opened up before?” I growled, pressing my lips to his ear.
His knuckles went white gripping the cushion. “No. Never.”
I smirked. “You’re about to learn.”
Two fingers pushed inside first, slow, stretching him, then curling until I felt him shudder. I worked him, knuckle-deep, twisting and spreading him wider until he was panting and pushing back against my hand.
When I felt his arse was sufficiently stretched, iI pulled my cock free from my jeans. His eyes went wide at the sheer size of it.
“Relax,” I muttered, rubbing my head against his hole. I spat on his whole and rubbed it around his entrance with the tip of my cock. “ready to take it like a man.”
The first push made him groan, raw and guttural. Inch by inch, I forced myself inside, his body tight and hungry at the same time, clenching hard around me. He gasped, then swore, then moaned again as I buried deeper. I pulled back just enough for him to feel the loss, then drove in harder, my hips slamming against his ass.
“Fuck—” he hissed, voice breaking.
“That’s it,” I growled, hand gripping his hip, forcing him down on me.
I set a brutal rhythm, cock grinding into him, stretching him open with every thrust. His body shook, muscles straining, but the sounds coming out of him were pure need. He was getting off on being taken, every moan proof he’d been waiting for this.
Once it's clear the boy's arse was comfortable taking my cock, I pulled out and then went back to the chair. He looked surprised. I then told him to get on the top of me and ride me like the cock hungry slut that he was. Show me how much you need my cock.
He looked at me, legs spread, cigar between my lips.. I wanted him to show me how hungry he was to be fucked, how much he wanted it. How much he needed it.
He came over and then slowly ease his arse back onto my cock. His thighs shook as he lowered himself down, his arse swallowing me whole. He then started to ride me up and down holding onto my shoulders. His arse moved up and down taking the full length of my cock. As he rode me, the sweat dripped from his chest as he bounced on me, my hands gripping his waist, guiding him harder, deeper. He leaned into me, teeth on my shoulder, groaning with every slam of his ass down my length.
“You feel that?” I hissed, smoke curling from my cigar as I exhaled into his face. “That’s what it means to be fucked.”
He bucked harder, grinding against me, desperate for more. His cock was leaking, untouched, smearing pre-cum down his abs. He didn’t even care. All he wanted was to be filled.
When I felt the release boiling up, I yanked his face up by the jaw, made him look me dead in the eyes. “I’m about to give it to you. Do you want it?”
He nodded furiously, breath ragged. “Yeah. Inside me. Give me all of it.”
I slammed him down one last time, buried myself deep, and let go. My cum shot hot into him, pumping until it spilled back down his thighs. His whole body shivered around me, clenching hard, milking me for every drop.
I sat back, whiskey burning down my throat, cigar glowing in the dark, while he collapsed against me—still impaled, still full.
“Don’t spill a drop,” I said, voice low. “I will like to clean you up later” In the meantime let's enjoy our drinks and cigars and recuperate, ready for round two..
He smirked weakly, eyes glassy with sweat and smoke. “You’ve got it, whatever you want.” I looked at him and smiled. “Seems like you take after your mother. Insatiable.” He just grinned and replied. “Yep, looks like you're going to have your work cut out for you in this house.” I leaned back in the chair, satisfied, and drank my whiskey thinking of the adventures ahead. His mom was gone for a week and this was only the beginning.
