I met him in the back room of that dingy bar downtown, the one with the sticky floors and the smell of sweat and cheap beer. He was leaning against the wall, tall, built like he lifted heavy shit for a living, dark stubble on his jaw. Our eyes locked and that was it. No names, no bullshit. He grabbed my arm and pulled me into the single stall bathroom.
"Get on your knees," he growled, already unzipping. His cock sprang out thick and veiny, already half hard. I dropped and took it in my mouth without a word. It tasted like salt and man, heavy on my tongue. I sucked him deep, gagging when he thrust forward and hit the back of my throat. He fucked my face hard, hands in my hair, hips snapping. Spit ran down my chin as he used me.
"Stand up and turn around," he ordered after a minute.
I did, pants around my ankles. He spat on his fingers and shoved two straight into my ass, no warm up. It burned good. He worked them in and out fast, stretching me while his other hand stroked his cock slick with my spit. Then he lined up and pushed in.
Fuck, he was big. The head popped past my ring and he didn't stop, just drove the whole length home in one thrust. I grunted against the wall as he started pounding. Each slam shook the stall door. His balls slapped my ass and he kept up a filthy running commentary. "Take that cock, you dirty fuck. Your hole's sucking me in so tight." I pushed back to meet him, jerking my own dick in time with his strokes.
He reached around and grabbed my balls, squeezing just hard enough to make me moan louder. The pace got brutal, skin slapping, the wet sound of his cock wrecking my ass filling the tiny room. He pulled out suddenly, spun me, and bent me over the sink. Mirror showed us both red faced and sweating. He slammed back in from behind and kept going, one hand on my hip, the other yanking my hair so I had to watch.
When he came he buried himself balls deep and flooded me, hot pulses shooting deep. I came right after, shooting ropes across the sink while he stayed inside me, still twitching. He pulled out slow, cum leaking down my thigh. We didn't say a word after. He zipped up and left. I cleaned up and walked out with his load still inside me.
That was number one. The next ninety nine came just as fast and just as filthy over the next few months. Different guys, different places. A mechanic in his garage who bent me over the hood of a truck and fucked me with the door open. A suited businessman who made me suck him under his desk during a conference call, then bent me over the desk after and pounded me until I couldn't walk straight. A gym regular who cornered me in the sauna and made me ride him reverse on the bench, his thick cock stretching me while steam fogged everything.
Each one was raw. No condoms, just skin on skin and the wet slap of bodies. Some were quick and rough in alleys or bathrooms. Others took their time, making me beg before they gave me their load. One guy had me on all fours in his apartment for an hour, switching positions every few minutes, telling me exactly how my hole looked stretched around his dick. Another made me swallow three loads in a row before he even touched my ass, then flipped me and fucked me until I shot hands free from the pounding.
The stories piled up because I chased them. Late nights, apps, bars, gyms, anywhere two men could get off fast and dirty. Every fuck felt different but the core stayed the same: hard cock in a willing hole, sweat, grunts, and the rush of getting filled or filling someone else. By the time I hit a hundred I had a collection of sore mornings, cum stained sheets, and memories of being used exactly how I wanted. No romance, just the heat and the release. That's how it stayed.
