twisted-talez: “Are you Martin?” I asked the muscled hottie as he scrolled through his p
twisted-talez: “Are you Martin?” I asked the muscled hottie as he scrolled through his phone inside the coffee shop. “No — Sorry,” he answered quickly, locking his sexy eyes on me. Jesus, I wanted him. “My apologies,” I ingratiated. “A friend set me up with a guy named Martin. He’s supposed to meet me here.”“Do you know what he looks like?” the hottie asked, scanning the coffee shop as he put down his phone. “No,” I answered. “I’m just bummed that you’re not him. You’re fucking hot.”“Thanks,” he blushed. “I get that a lot. But I’m actually not gay.”“Of course not. I’m never that lucky,” I laughed, taking the seat across from him. “You mind if I sit here while I wait?”“Be my guest,” he gestured, taking a sip of his espresso. An awkward silence followed as I struggled not to keep staring at this gorgeous hunk of a man.“What’s it like?” he asked, finally breaking the silence. “You know — sticking your dick in a guy?”“It feels fucking amazing,” I answered. “But does it feel better than pussy?” the hottie pressed. “Well, I’ve never had pussy,” I admitted. “But straight guys, like you, who’ve fucked me have all said my hole feels way better than pussy.”“Do you get a lot of straight guys?” he asked, his interest piqued. “Yeah,” I affirmed. “A lot of guys just need to dump a load without the hassle that comes with fucking a bitch, and I’m always glad to help.”“Damn,” the hottie exclaimed, scratching his scruffy chin, his wheels turning. “You’ve never fucked a guy?” I asked pointedly. “No,” he replied. “But I — I’ve never told anyone this — I used to let this one faggot suck me off all the time in college. Shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t use that word.”“It’s okay,” I smiled. “It’s kinda hot to me — the way you used it. And you never fucked this faggot who sucked you off regularly?”“No. I mean — he wanted me to fuck him,” the hottie shared. “But I was always too chicken shit to cross that line.”“Do you regret it — not fucking him?” I asked. “Shit,” he exhaled. “I guess I do at times.”“You wanna fuck my ass?” I offered directly, not beating around the bush. “Jesus,” his brows lifted in surprise. “I dunno. Yeah — sure. You wanna give me your number? I can text you later to arrange it.”“Later?” I laughed. “Dude. We both know you’ll just get cold feet and will never text me. I want you to fuck me now — right here.”“Where?” he inquired quietly, his eyes scanning the coffee shop. “That men’s room is a single,” I replied, nodding to the restrooms in the back of the place. “You can fuck me in there.”“Is that safe?” the hottie questioned. “Totally,” I assured him. “See that barista over there behind the counter — the tatted one in the lumberjack plaid shirt? He fucked me in there just yesterday.”“Damn, that’s hot,” the hottie exclaimed. “Okay. Let’s fucking do this.”Two minutes later, we were locked in the men’s room. Dropping my pants and bending over the sink, I produced a small bottle of lube from my pocket and handed it to the hottie.“Do you always carry lube on you?” he asked incredulously as he unzipped, pulled out his cock, and lubed it up. Christ, he was hung. “Yeah,” I laughed. “I sorta do this kinda thing a lot. Now get that big dick in me.”“Jesus, you’re tight,” he marveled as he pushed into me. His thick, eight-incher was a hole stretcher, and I was loving it. His hands went to my shoulders as he began to pummel my hole. “Yeah, use this ass,” I moaned, gripping the sink. “Destroy my fuckin’ hole.”“Hey, dude? I’m about to nut,” he announced urgently. Dammit. I didn’t want the party to end so fast. “It’s cool,” I acquiesced. “Go ahead and breed this hole.”“FUCK,” he grunted, ramming my head into the mirror over the sink as he gave one final thrust and unleashed his load inside me. I reveled in the feeling of his big cock throbbing inside of me until he finally pulled out. “Sorry I busted so fast,” he apologized, wiping off his cock with some toilet paper. “I’ve never fucked anything that tight. I guess it’s for the best, since you’ve gotta meet your date. He’s probably out there looking for you.”“Nah,” I replied. “I don’t have a date. I just made that up to get in your pants — and it worked.”“You slut,” he laughed, zipping up his pants and giving me a slap on the ass while I rested against the sink, his load dripping from my used hole. I turned to ask him if he’d like my number, so we could arrange a repeat — but he was already gone, the door slamming behind him. I quickly cleaned up my messy hole with some toilet paper and bolted out into the coffee shop, hoping to catch him — but he was nowhere to be seen. Fucker. It was then that I saw a hot, bearded guy sitting alone in a far corner, sipping a cortado. “Are you Martin?” I asked with an exaggerated smile, hoping to score my second load of the day. Stories are fiction and intended for readers 18 and up. All characters are assumed to be legal, consenting adults. -- source link
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