He walked into the bar like he owned the place, all shoulders and swagger, and the second our eyes locked I knew I was fucked. Not in the fun way yet, but that was coming. I was twenty-eight, straight as an arrow until that night, and one look from him had my cock twitching in my jeans like it had a mind of its own.
"Buy me a drink," he said, voice low and rough, already standing too close. His name was Marcus. I bought the drink. Then another. By the third he had his hand on the back of my neck, thumb pressing just hard enough to make me swallow hard.
"You ever sucked cock before?" he asked, blunt as hell.
I shook my head. My mouth was dry.
"You're gonna learn tonight."
We didn't even finish the drinks. He dragged me out back to the alley, pushed me against the brick wall, and unzipped. His cock was thick, already half-hard, the head shiny. "On your knees, boy."
I dropped. The concrete was cold and gritty under my knees but I didn't care. I opened my mouth and he fed it to me, slow at first, then deeper until I gagged. Spit ran down my chin. He didn't let up.
"That's it. Take it. You look good with a dick in your mouth."
I choked and sucked harder, tongue working the underside like I was starving for it. My own cock was rock hard, straining, leaking. He noticed and laughed.
"Look at that. Straight boy getting off on sucking cock. Pathetic."
He fucked my throat until tears streamed down my face, then pulled out and hauled me up. "Pants down. Turn around."
I obeyed without thinking. He spat on his fingers and shoved two inside me, rough and fast. I grunted, pain and heat mixing until my hole started to open. He didn't wait long. He lined up and pushed his cock in, one long thrust that made me cry out.
"Fuck, you're tight. Gonna ruin this ass."
He pounded me against the wall, hips slamming, balls slapping my ass. Every thrust hit deep, lighting me up from the inside. I reached down and jerked my cock in time with him, moaning like a whore.
"Say it," he growled in my ear. "Tell me you're my cocksucker now."
"I'm your cocksucker," I gasped. "Fuck, I'm yours."
He came first, flooding my hole with hot pulses. I followed right after, shooting ropes across the brick. We stayed like that, breathing hard, his cock still twitching inside me.
That was the first night. It didn't stop there.
Marcus started texting me orders. Come over. Strip at the door. Kneel. I did every time. He had me suck him while he watched the game, using my throat like a toy. He bent me over his kitchen table and fucked me until I couldn't walk straight. He made me beg for his load, made me thank him after he filled my ass.
One weekend he invited a friend over. "Show him what you are," Marcus said. I got on my knees in the living room and sucked both of them, switching back and forth while they talked over my head like I wasn't even there. They took turns on my ass, stretching me open, using me until I was a shaking, cum-drenched mess on the floor.
I started craving it. The submission. The way he called me "boy" and "slut" and "hole." The way he decided when I came and when I didn't. One night he tied my hands behind my back and edged me for an hour, cock dripping, balls aching, while he fucked my face slow and deep.
"Please," I begged around his dick. "Let me come."
"Not yet. You come when I say."
He finally let me shoot while he was buried in my ass, one hand around my throat, the other stroking me rough. I came so hard my vision whited out.
After that I stopped pretending I was straight. I was his. Whenever he wanted, however he wanted. Sometimes he'd just text "ass up" and I'd be waiting on his bed, hole lubed and ready. He'd walk in, drop his pants, and sink into me without a word, using me until he was satisfied.
The best nights were when he made it last. He'd have me worship his cock with my tongue for ages, licking every inch, sucking his balls, then ride him slow while he watched my face.
"Look at you," he'd say. "Couldn't get enough once you got a taste."
I never could. Every time he pushed me down, every order he gave, every time he used my body like it belonged to him, I sank deeper. Gay submission wasn't just a story anymore. It was my life, raw and filthy and exactly what I needed.
Marcus still owns that ass. And every time he takes it, I thank him like the good submissive slut I am.
