Dog in: The Nervión Docks

It's 2 a.m. when you receive the message on the app: "Olabeaga Dock. Container area. Look for the red crane. Bring poppers." The Nervión smells of salt, diesel, and that industrial mix that characterizes ports. Your footsteps echo on the wet asphalt as you venture into the port area.

The lights of the cranes cast giant shadows on the stacked containers. The river water laps against the docks with a dull, constant sound. In the distance, you distinguish the red crane and three figures waiting.

Kepa, the night shift foreman, signals you from the shadow of a container. Forty-something, arms like tree trunks, work overalls stained with grease. Next to him are Unai and Gorka, young stevedores with the look of laborers who have been loading containers all day.

"You arrive on time, kid," Kepa growls as he lights a cigarette. "Did you bring what I asked for?"

You nod and show him the poppers. Kepa smiles and unzips his overalls, revealing a hairy torso and a beer belly that ends in gray briefs soaked with sweat.

"We've been moving crap for twelve hours. We're fed up and need to unload," he says as he pulls down his briefs. His cock, thick and uncut, is already half-erect. "Get on your knees there, against the container."

You position yourself as he orders, on the damp asphalt. The ground is cold and rough, stained with oil and river water. Unai, the youngest, approaches from your left.

"Are you sure he can take what we're going to give him?" he asks as he unzips his navy blue overalls.

"This puppy came here looking for exactly that," Kepa replies, grabbing your head. "Isn't that right, bitch? Tell them what you want."

"I want... I want you to use me," you whisper, looking at the three cocks rising in front of your face.

"Louder, so we can hear you over the machine noise," Gorka orders, a burly Basque with tattooed forearms.

"I want you to use me as your cumdump," you shout, and your voice resonates between the containers.

Kepa thrusts his cock into your mouth without warning. It tastes of sweat, a long workday, and pure, raw masculinity. He pushes it to the back of your throat while Unai tears off your shirt.

"Damn, what a throat," Kepa growls. "Gorka, get his ass ready while I teach him to swallow."

You feel Gorka's calloused hands pulling down your pants. The cold river air hits your naked skin. He spits on your hole without hesitation.

"It's tighter than a closed container," he laughs as he thrusts two fingers inside you.

The pain makes you arch your back, but Kepa's cock in your throat prevents you from complaining. Unai brings the open poppers to your nose.

"Breathe, puppy. You're going to need it."

You take three deep breaths. Your head spins, your muscles relax, and Gorka takes advantage to insert a third finger. The poppers turn the pain into an electric sensation that runs down your sp...