It was good, dog

—You give me the address. I like it with no light; I don’t want to see you or know who you are either. No need to talk. You leave the door open, I come in, get undressed, and you suck my cock hard, I give you my cum, and I leave.

A week after his message, after several attempts, we finally managed to arrange it.

I had asked him:

—How do you want me to receive you, naked or dressed?

—I don’t care, I just want you to suck my cock deep and with lots of saliva.

I was already waiting. I took off my clothes, but left my underwear on. I waited impatiently, not taking my eyes off the screen during the hour-long wait.

He sent me a message saying he was there; I gave him the instructions on how to enter.

He insisted:

—I’m going to come in. I don’t want to talk. I come in, get undressed, you do what I told you, and I leave.

All I could answer was “ok.”

I heard him arrive; then I unlocked the door, he came in, and I closed it again. The darkness turned him into an even denser presence. With his phone turned away from me, he lit up where to leave his clothes and inspected the place. I waited looking at the floor and, out of the corner of my eye, measured him with an almost humiliating obedience. He was a tall male, taller than me, maybe 185 cm, and thick, with a heavy belly; perhaps over 110 kilos. Short hair, buzzed.

He left the helmet on a chair, took off his biker jacket, sneakers, pants, underwear, and finally his T-shirt. He sat in the armchair and opened his legs. I understood it was my turn. I knelt down and started sucking his cock; at first it was flaccid and kept falling, so I kept sucking, swallowing my frustration and the desire to be treated like nothing. I wanted to touch his belly, feel how he imposed his weight and presence on me, but I had no permission. So I kept obeying, my face pressed against him, surrendered to that degradation that turned me on.

He remained reclining, silent, watching as I gave myself over to what he had asked of me. When he finally got hard, my own pulse grew faster and dirtier; I felt he was using my head too, that he was deliberately erasing me.

At one point, he stood up, turned around, and presented his ass for me to lick. Obediently, I put my tongue into his asshole; it was sweaty, rough, with that stale, human taste that sent a shudder of disgust and pleasure through me. He turned back around and, standing now, began pushing my mouth against him until he made me lose my breath. He ordered me to stick out my tongue, open wider, endure it. I obeyed between gags, saliva, and coughing, feeling my own body rebel while another part of me wanted to sink deeper into that humiliation. I felt like an object, a useful mouth, something to be used and thrown away.

Saliva ran down my chin, soaked my lips, and forced me to breathe in broken gasps. He kept pushing, with a cold violence ...