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Go out, get fucked. That was Marvin’s plan for the evening. He had pulled on a pair of tight pants—the pair that accentuated the curve of his ass nicely—and hoped that would do the trick. It usually did. He had been out of town for a week and a half, visiting his parents—who, incidentally, did not know he was gay, and he wasn’t about to clue them in by going out and coming home reeking of sex and men’s cologne—so he was desperate for a good fuck. He’d jerked off while visiting his family, but he hadn’t brought any of his toys and had to be content with fucking himself with the handle of a spare hairbrush he’d found in the bathroom, but it just wasn’t comparable to being stretched and filled and fucked by a man.
So here he was, leaned up against the bar in a club, eyes peeled for the right person. Several men approached him, but it quickly became clear that they were out to get fucked, not do the fucking, and Marvin wasn’t interested. He saw a man walk up to the bar about an hour later—tall and sleek and strong and handsome—and Marvin knew he was the one. He nearly tripped over his feet in his haste to intercept him.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, sliding into the spot next to him.
The man turned his eyes on him and looked him up and down. Marvin turned slightly, giving the man a full view of the way his ass looked in the pants he’d chosen. Bingo. The man’s eyes darkened and he licked his lips.
“How about we skip the drink,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“My asking was only a formality.”
The man laughed, and it was a wonderful laugh, loud and sure of itself. Marvin crowded closer and pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the last vibrations of his laughter ebbing away. Marvin pushed his thigh between the man’s legs. Marvin could feel the heat of his body through his pants. The man rocked against Marvin’s leg slowly. He was hard. Marvin was lightheaded. They were at the bar, in full view of everyone around them, and yet, no one batted an eye at them.
“What you in the mood for, baby?” the man purred, his voice dropping to a low, sultry hum.
Marvin pushed his leg up, pressing harder against the man’s clothed cock. The man sucked in a breath and ground down.
“I wanna feel you in me,” Marvin said. “I wanna feel you filling me up. I wanna feel you take me. Please.”
The man’s eyes darkened dangerously. Marvin felt an electric shock shoot down through his fingers.
“I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll forget your name,” he said, his hand reaching out to palm Marvin through his pants. “You getting hard for me, baby? You gonna take my cock?”
“Yes,” Marvin said breathlessly, pushing against the man’s hand, his cock swelling full and hot. The man rubbed him lightly. The friction was delicious. “Yes, yes. I’m getting so hard for you. Only you.”
Marvin dropped his leg and put his hand on the man’s cock, squeezing through his jeans, feeling the heat and hardness beneath. They were both rubbing at each other, movements quickening, getting more and more worked up, until the man pushed Marvin’s hand away and dragged him to the bathroom.
“You want me to fuck you?” he said darkly in his ear as he pushed Marvin through the club. “You want me to fuck you so hard everyone here knows what I did to you?”
“Yes, yes. Please.”
The man pushed him through the door and shoved him up against the cold tiled wall, frantic. He yanked at Marvin’s pants and Marvin heard the button pop and fly off, hitting the wall and rolling away across the bathroom floor. The man shoved Marvin’s pants down just as far as he needed, and then Marvin felt the blunt head of a cock pressing against him, slippery with lube. He steadied himself, legs spread as wide as the pants around his thighs allowed and hands pressed flat to the wall. He pushed back, feeling the tip start to breach him. He was so desperate for it.
The man thrust in—one solid, hard thrust—and Marvin nearly blacked out at the feeling—the entanglement of pain and pleasure, the need to be dominated and fucked to oblivion. He didn’t give Marvin any time to adjust to him being inside him. He pulled back out and rammed home again and again and again. The blunt force of a stranger pounding into him, nails digging into his back, scrabbling and scratching at him… Marvin had never been fucked like this before.
“You like that?” the man growled, hand twisting in Marvin’s hair and yanking his head back. “You take my cock so good, baby.”
Marvin could hardly respond. He tried to form words but couldn’t. He let out a long, guttural moan that reverberated around the tiled bathroom, overwhelmed with feeling. It felt as though his entire body was on fire, burning up from the inside, every nerve ending tingling, desire churning inside him.
“You’re so good, baby. So hot and tight for me.”
The man wrapped a muscular arm around his neck and pulled him back further. The pressure on his neck wasn’t enough to choke him completely, but Marvin’s legs started trembling. It was so good. He knew he was moaning incoherently, but he could hardly think for how turned on he was. His head fell back on his shoulders, the man’s arm still around his neck, easing up on the pressure a bit but still fucking him with a relentless, punishing rhythm.
Marvin was too far gone to realize a couple had come into the bathroom and then rushed out when they saw what was going on. The man noticed, though, and pulled out suddenly, leaving Marvin gaping and empty and unfulfilled. He was wanting, needing, and his hole clenched desperately around nothing.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” he gasped, pushing his ass back.
The man gripped his arm, nails digging into the soft flesh of his forearm, and shoved him into a stall. He forced him over the toilet and thrust in again, harder, rougher than before. Marvin gripped the slippery white porcelain as best he could, knuckles white, legs shaking with the effort it was taking him to stay on his feet. Leaning on the toilet helped, but he was being fucked harder than he’d ever been fucked before and his brain was clouded and his knees felt ready to give out at any moment.
The man gave Marvin’s ass a sudden open-handed slap, hard, and pain and redness bloomed across his skin. Marvin let out a long moan, the pain rushing to his head, electric, and it was everything he didn’t know he wanted. He’d been fucked rough plenty of times—that’s how he liked it—but no one had ever hit him like that before. Sure, his ass had received more than a few swats in his life, but never like this—a hard, bruising, blistering slap designed more to hurt than to give pleasure.
The man hit him again, and Marvin saw white behind his eyes. He fell forward, hands now on the floor instead of holding himself up over the toilet, and the change in angle suddenly meant the man was pounding directly on his prostate—hard and unrelenting. Marvin was breathing shallowly, letting out throaty moans every time the man’s cock caught on his prostate, and when the man slapped him again, his toes curled, his body shuddered, and he came hard, pain and pleasure clouding his mind and he could only focus on the electricity shooting through him. He stuttered out a frantic, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” as his cock twitched and spasmed. He hadn’t even had to touch himself.
He was wheezing, bent over the toilet, a blistering red mark on his ass, cock swollen and spent and sensitive, but the stranger was still fucking him relentlessly. He slapped Marvin again, but this time it actually hurt, the lusty fog that had dampened the pain slowly ebbing away. The man pulled out and fumbled with something, and then he pulled Marvin up off the toilet. Marvin knelt on the floor, coming face to face with the stranger’s cock—flushed and thick and hard in front of him. He wanted to taste it.
“So pretty,” the man said, looking down at him. “So pretty and ready to suck my cock.”
Marvin opened his mouth and the man rested the tip on Marvin’s tongue. He moved forward to take it into his mouth, but the man stopped him with a rough hand on his shoulder. He reached down and, his cock still resting heavy on Marvin’s tongue, touched Marvin’s face almost tenderly. His hands moved around to cup the back of Marvin’s head, and Marvin prepared himself for what he knew was coming.
When the man shoved his head forward, he was ready, and he found his nose pressed into the man’s groin, sparse public hairs tickling his face, the acrid scent of sweat and booze filling his nose. Despite being prepared, the man’s cock was bigger than he thought and he gagged and coughed and sputtered for a moment and tried to pull back, but the man’s hands were holding him in place. Saliva was running steadily out of his mouth and he swirled his tongue around as best he could—getting the swollen, sweaty cock in his mouth slick and wet—and he felt vaguely like a wild dog with dripping jowls.
The man started fucking his mouth, and Marvin loved that feeling—the dripping wet slide of a hard cock slipping through his lips, in and out, in and out. Second to being fucked, the salty taste of another man’s cock filling his mouth was his favorite thing. The man started thrusting faster, and Marvin’s hands went up to grip his thighs—thick and muscular and just right for digging his fingers into—and he sucked in his cheeks, making it as tight a slide as possible, and the man grunted and groaned, and a few quick thrusts later, he was coming down Marvin’s throat—thick and viscous and salty and wonderful. When the man pulled out, his cock was still flushed but softening.
“You felt so good, baby,” the man said, tugging lightly at himself before tucking himself back in his pants. “Pretty little thing.”
Marvin wiped his lips and chin with the back of his hand and just ended up smearing saliva across his face.
“Felt so good,” Marvin managed to say, his voice cracking, hoarse. “So good for me.”
The man reached out and ran a hand down Marvin’s chest, disrupting the beads of sweat that had gathered there. He brought his hand to his mouth and licked a long stripe down his palm, tasting. He leaned forward and kissed Marvin wetly, pushing his tongue into Marvin’s mouth, most likely tasting himself there.
“You were so good, baby,” he said when he pulled back. He brushed his fingers across Marvin’s jaw, said, “Take care of yourself,” and then turned and left.
Marvin heard the bathroom door swing open and shut, squeaking to and fro, and the stranger was gone. Marvin was still kneeling on the floor, pants around his thighs, cock out—soft, now—sweaty, tired, and absolutely wrecked, but satisfied. Oh, yes. He was satisfied. He felt it in his bones. He wanted to just go home and sleep. He would be able to sleep well after tonight. He always slept best after a good fuck. He felt like he could sleep for days after this one, it was so good.
He managed to pull himself up to sit on the toilet. His legs were wobbly, still trembling from being fucked so hard his mind was cloudy, and he could feel a twinge of pain in his ass. He was going to be sore tomorrow. But that’s how he liked it—the constant reminder that someone had left a calling card behind, a reminder that someone had been there, deep inside him. Even though no one else would ever know, it gave Marvin a thrill when he could still feel it the next day.
He wiped his face off with his shirt, grabbed some toilet paper and dabbed at himself, and tugged at his pants. He would need to thoroughly clean himself when he got home—his hole was still slippery and wet and open—but he pulled his pants up without doing any more of a cleanup. A club bathroom was not the place.
He realized the button had gotten lost somewhere on the floor, and it wasn’t worth his time to go searching for it, so he zipped his pants up and got to his feet. He was still shaky—that man had done a number on him, for sure—but he made his way out of the bathroom, through the club, and out onto the street.
The breeze was crisp and it cooled his skin, and he took several deep breaths, relishing the clean, clear air of the night after the stuffy, sticky air in the club. His skin was still tingling all over from how good it had felt to be manhandled and pushed around and taken like he had been, and there was still a buzz in his ears that he couldn’t quite shake—leftover from the incredible high he had experienced.
He went home, showered, cleaned up, and crawled into bed, sated and pleased and satisfied. He was going to be riding high for several days at least, after that. If only he had caught the man’s name.
It was only when he went to throw his pants in the wash the next day that he discovered a slip of paper that had been shoved in his back pocket. On it was written a name—Whizzer Brown—and a number.
Call me.