I met him on the app after midnight. Profile said “no names, no bullshit, just dick.” I replied with my location and a pic of my hard cock leaking in my fist. He showed up twenty minutes later at the edge of the park where the lights don’t reach.
He was bigger than his pics. Thick shoulders, short beard, jeans already unbuttoned. No hello. He grabbed the back of my neck and shoved my face into his crotch. The smell of sweat and precum hit me hard. I dropped to my knees on the dirt and yanked his jeans down. His cock slapped my cheek, heavy and veined, already dripping. I opened wide and took him straight to the back of my throat.
“Fuck yeah, suck that dick,” he growled, both hands on my head, fucking my mouth like a hole.
Spit ran down my chin onto my shirt. I gagged but didn’t pull off. I wanted it nasty. He pulled out, strings of saliva connecting my lips to his shiny head, then slapped my face with it.
“Turn around. Pants down.”
I stood, shoved my jeans to my ankles and bent over the picnic table. The wood was cold against my chest. He spit on my hole once, rubbed the head of his cock against it, and shoved in. No slow start. One hard thrust and he was balls-deep, stretching me open. I grunted loud. He didn’t care. He started pounding right away, hips slapping my ass, the wet sound of his cock driving into me echoing in the dark.
“Take it, slut,” he snarled, gripping my hips so hard I knew there’d be bruises. Every thrust punched the air out of me. My own cock swung between my legs, dripping onto the ground. He reached under and grabbed it, jerking me rough and fast while he fucked me.
I came first, shooting onto the dirt with a choked moan. My ass clamped down on him. He didn’t stop. He fucked me through it, using the extra slickness, going even harder. Then he pulled out, spun me around, and shoved me back to my knees.
“Open.”
Thick ropes of cum hit my tongue, my lips, my chin. He kept stroking until he was empty, then wiped the head across my mouth so I’d taste every drop. I swallowed what I could and licked the rest off his fingers when he offered them.
We didn’t exchange numbers. He zipped up, turned, and walked back into the trees. I stayed on my knees a minute longer, cum drying on my face, hole still throbbing, before I pulled my pants up and headed home.
That was the first of three times we met. Each one dirtier than the last. No talking, just raw, filthy fucking wherever we could find a dark spot. Exactly the kind of nifty gay male sex stories I used to jerk off to before I started living them.
