The bar was packed, but the real action was down the narrow hallway past the bathrooms. I spotted him the second he walked in: tall, thick arms straining his black t-shirt, buzzed hair, and a look that said he was here to unload. He caught me staring and gave a short nod, then turned toward the back. I followed without thinking twice.
The backroom was dark, lit only by a red bulb and the glow from the emergency exit sign. He was already leaning against the far wall, legs spread, rubbing the bulge in his jeans. I stepped up close, no words needed. My hand went straight to his crotch and squeezed.
Hard cock. Thick. He grunted and pushed into my palm.
“Pull it out,” he said, voice low and rough.
I unzipped him, reached in, and hauled out a fat, uncut dick already leaking at the tip. I dropped to my knees on the sticky floor and took him straight into my mouth. No teasing. I swallowed half his length on the first go, tongue working under the foreskin, tasting salt and sweat. He grabbed the back of my head and fed me more until my nose pressed into his pubes. I gagged once, eyes watering, then relaxed and let him fuck my throat in short, steady thrusts.
“Fuck yeah, take it,” he growled. “Suck that cock like you mean it.”
I did. Spit ran down my chin onto the floor while I worked him with my mouth and one hand on his balls, rolling them, tugging just enough to make him hiss. After a minute he pulled me off, hauled me up by the arm, and spun me around. He yanked my jeans down to my thighs, spat on his fingers, and shoved two inside me without warning. I groaned and pushed back, riding his hand while he stretched me open.
“Nice tight hole,” he muttered. “Gonna wreck it.”
He pulled his fingers out, lined up, and pushed his cock in slow but steady. The burn was sharp and perfect. I braced against the wall as he bottomed out, balls pressed to my ass. He didn’t wait. He started fucking me in hard, deep strokes, each one slapping skin and making my own dick bounce untouched. The wet sound of his cock sliding in and out filled the small space.
“Harder,” I told him. “Fuck me like you hate me.”
He grabbed my hips and did exactly that. Every thrust punched the air out of my lungs. Sweat dripped off both of us. He reached around, wrapped a rough hand around my cock, and jerked me in time with his pounding. I was close fast, the mix of pain and pleasure pushing me right to the edge.
He felt it. “Don’t you fucking come yet,” he ordered, slowing down just enough to keep me desperate. He pulled out, turned me to face him, and shoved me down again. “Clean it.”
I sucked my own ass taste off his dick, sloppy and eager. When he was satisfied he stood me up, bent me over a low table, and sank back inside me in one thrust. This angle was deeper. He hammered my prostate until my legs shook. His breathing got ragged, thrusts turning short and brutal.
“Gonna fill you up,” he warned.
“Do it,” I said. “Pump that load in me.”
He slammed in one last time and stayed there, cock pulsing thick ropes of cum deep in my guts. I felt every spurt. While he was still shooting he reached under me and gave my cock two rough strokes. I came hard, shooting across the table and the floor, hole clenching around him and milking out the last of his load.
We stayed locked together for a long minute, breathing heavy. Then he pulled out slow, letting his cum leak down my thigh. He tucked himself away, zipped up, and gave my ass a sharp slap.
“See you around,” he said, and walked out.
I stayed bent over the table a little longer, feeling the ache and the warm trickle, already wondering how soon I could get back here for round two.
