I found the site at 2 a.m. on a Thursday, cock already half-hard from the search bar. nifty.org/nifty/gay pulled up endless stories, and I clicked the first one about a guy getting railed in a dorm shower. My hand went straight down my shorts. I read how the top pinned him face-first to the tiles and drove in raw, balls slapping, and I stroked faster, imagining the same thick dick stretching me open.
By the third story my boxers were soaked. I stripped, sat back in the chair, legs spread wide, and jerked slow and nasty while the words burned into my head. The writer described the bottom’s hole gripping every inch, how the top grunted and flooded him without pulling out. My own hole twitched like it wanted the same treatment. I spat in my palm, slicked my shaft, and pumped harder, thumb rubbing the leaking head.
I kept clicking. Another story had two strangers in a park at night, one on his knees sucking like he was starving. I pictured myself there, mouth open, taking a stranger’s cock until my throat bulged. My balls tightened. I edged myself for twenty minutes, stopping every time I got close, letting the ache build until pre-cum dripped onto the floor.
When I finally let go, I shot hard. Thick ropes hit my chest and stomach, some landing on my chin.
I scooped it up and licked my fingers clean the way the stories always made the bottoms do. Heart still pounding, I bookmarked the archive and went to bed sticky.
Two nights later I was back, this time with lube and a dildo I’d ordered after the first session. I loaded a long story about a mechanic and his customer. The mechanic bent the guy over the hood of a truck and fucked him in the open garage. I read every filthy detail while I worked the toy into my ass. It slid in easier than I expected because I was already loose from fingering myself. I rode it slow at first, then faster, matching the rhythm in the story. Every time the top in the tale slammed deep, I pushed the dildo all the way in until the base pressed against my hole.
My cock bounced untouched, leaking steadily. I kept reading, voice low and hoarse as I muttered the lines out loud. “Fuck me harder, use that hole.” The words felt dirty in my mouth and made me clench around the toy. When the story ended with the mechanic breeding the customer and cum running down his thighs, I came untouched. My dick pulsed and sprayed across my keyboard. I kept the toy buried while the aftershocks rolled through me, hole fluttering around the silicone.
By the end of the week I was on the site every night. I started chatting with a guy in the comments section of one story. He said he lived two towns over and had always wanted to act out one of the truck-stop tales. We swapped pics. His cock was thick, veined, exactly the kind that stretched the bottoms in the archive. We made plans for Friday.
He picked me up in a beat-up pickup. We didn’t talk much. He parked behind an abandoned rest stop, killed the lights, and told me to get in the back. The second the door shut he had me on my knees. His cock was already out, heavy and hot against my lips. I opened up and took him the way I’d practiced on the dildo. He fucked my face slow at first, then deeper, holding my head while spit ran down my chin.
When he pulled me up and bent me over the seat, I was shaking. He ripped open a packet of lube with his teeth and smeared it over my hole. One thick finger pushed in, then two, scissoring me open. I moaned into the upholstery like every bottom in every story I’d read.
He lined up and shoved in. The stretch burned, then bloomed into heat that made my toes curl. He didn’t wait. He fucked me hard and steady, the truck rocking with every thrust. Skin slapped skin. His balls swung against mine. I reached down and jerked my own cock in time with his pounding.
“Tell me what you want,” he growled.
“Fill me up,” I answered, voice wrecked. “Breed me like in the stories.”
He groaned and slammed in to the root. I felt him swell, then pulse. Hot cum flooded my guts in thick spurts. He stayed buried while he caught his breath, then pulled out slow. Cum leaked out of me and down my thighs. He wiped some up with his fingers and fed it to me. I sucked them clean, tasting both of us.
We drove back in silence, but he gave me his number before I got out. I went straight to my room, opened nifty.org/nifty/gay again, and started a new story while his load was still inside me. My fingers moved across the keyboard with one hand and stroked my spent cock with the other. The words came easy now. I knew exactly how it felt.
The archive had turned into real life, and I wasn’t stopping. Every night I added another chapter to my own filthy history, always raw, always dripping, always hungry for the next load.
