Sex stories

I live alone, have a full-time job, my own car, and I pay all my bills. I’m not the type to depend on anyone — I work hard, take care of myself, and when the weekend comes around, I let go completely. That Friday night, the city felt hot, charged. I was craving something filthy. Something dominant.
I hit up this guy I’d met a few weeks earlier. He’s younger — early twenties — lean but muscular, confident in that way only young guys can be. He’s straight, or so he says, but he knows the effect he has on me. I’d seen the outline of his cock once through his sweats — it looked massive. Since then, I couldn’t get him out of my head.
When I messaged him, I didn’t expect much. But he replied right away: “What’s up, old man? You still craving this dick?” I smiled, already hard.
An hour later, he was at my door. He didn’t even knock — just sent a text: “I’m outside.” When I opened the door, he stood there, shirtless, low-hanging joggers barely clinging to his hips. His abs glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. I stepped aside, and he walked in like he owned the place.
“I’m just here to chill,” he said, but the bulge in his pants told another story.
He dropped down on my couch, legs spread, cock heavy between his thighs. I offered him a drink, but he shook his head. “You look nervous,” he said, catching me staring at his crotch.
“I’m just… distracted.”
He raised an eyebrow. “By what?”
“By you, obviously.”
He stood up and stepped closer. “Then get on your knees and show me some respect.”
I didn’t hesitate. I dropped, mouth open, and pulled down his sweats. That cock — thick, dark, veiny, with a fat mushroom head — slapped against my face. He didn’t say a word, just held my head and pushed it into his lap. I opened wide and took him deep, feeling the weight of him stretch my throat.
“Yeah,” he grunted. “You know what to do, slut.”
His fingers dug into my scalp as he guided my mouth. He face-fucked me like he’d done it before, hitting my throat over and over, groaning as I gagged around him. My eyes watered, my jaw ached, but I didn’t care. I loved every second.
“You like choking on that dick?” he asked, smiling down at me.
I moaned around his cock. He took it as a yes.
Then he pushed me back, grabbed my arm, and led me to the couch. “Bend over,” he ordered. I did. He spit on my hole, spread me open, and teased me with his fingers — slow at first, then harder, deeper.
“You’re already open,” he said. “Been playing without me?”
“No,” I gasped.
He laughed. “Liar.”
He lined up behind me. I didn’t even see him put on protection — just felt that huge cock start to press against my entrance. I pushed back, desperate to feel him inside me.
“Relax,” he said, voice low and firm. “Take it like the bitch you are.”
I moaned as he sank in, inch by inch, filling me completely. The stretch burned in the best way. He fucked me slow and deep at first, then faster, harder. The sound of skin slapping echoed in the room. He gripped my hips tight, pulling me into every thrust.
“You like being used?”
“Yes…”
“You like being my hole?”
“Yes. Please don’t stop…”
He kept pounding me — no mercy — driving into my spot over and over until my legs were shaking. He leaned forward, growling in my ear. “You’re mine tonight.”
When he finally pulled out, he made me kneel again, slapped his cock on my face, and shoved it deep in my mouth. “Finish me.” I sucked eagerly, feeling him tense up.
He came hard, groaning, fingers tangled in my hair. I swallowed every drop, staying there on my knees like the obedient little toy I’d become.
After, he pulled up his pants, smirked, and kissed my forehead. “You’re a good little bitch. I’ll hit you up next weekend.” And just like that, he was gone.
I sat there, hole still throbbing, jaw sore, and body buzzing from pleasure. I didn’t need anything else. That was the weekend I’ll never forget.