Cruising Guadarrama River parking lot

I park the car in the wasteland by the bridge; the mid-morning sun is already heating the metal. I go down the dirt slope, loose stones crunching under my sneakers. It smells of rosemary and dried piss in the weeds. There’s no one in plain sight, but I know they’re there — the cars parked on the shoulder give it away. Three, four vehicles. A workday, so they’re retirees, unemployed men, or guys like me who’ve slipped away from work.

I head into the path that runs along the river. Branches brush my face. After a few meters I see a guy leaning against a tree, in his forties, dark jeans, rolled-up checkered shirt, three-day beard. He looks at me without saying hello, with eyes that are already undressing me. I stop three meters away and hold his gaze. He slowly grabs his crotch, making it clear what’s there.

I move closer. Without a word, I get on my knees on the damp earth. He lowers his pants to mid-thigh and plants his half-hard cock against my lips. I smell it before licking it: cheap soap, this morning’s piss, three-day sweat. I put my tongue out and start working.

“Suck, whore,” he says in a hoarse voice. And I obey. He grabs me by the back of the neck and starts fucking your mouth at his own pace, pushing it all the way in until his balls hit my chin. I choke, tears run down my face, and he doesn’t ease up. “That’s how I like it, faggot, choke on my cock, that’s what you came for.”

He keeps fucking my mouth, and when he has me drooling everywhere and my saliva dripping down my chin, only then does he yank me up by the hair, turn me around, and shove me against the tree trunk. The rough bark scrapes my cheek. He pulls my pants down to my ankles in one tug, spits on my ass without asking permission, and I hear the condom wrapper tear. I feel the rubber tip pressing against my entrance, and without further preamble he shoves it all the way in with a single thrust of his hips.

“Ssss... fuck,” I grunt against the bark as he starts moving. There’s no rhythm, no compassion: dry, deep thrusts that press my guts against my stomach. His balls slap my ass with every thrust, a wet sound mixing with the birds and the murmur of the river.

“You’re liking it, big whore, say it,” he snaps as he speeds up, grabbing my hips so hard his fingers leave marks.

“Yes... yes, I love it,” I answer, my voice broken.

“That’s it, say it louder, so all the faggots in the woods hear you.”

“I LOVE IT,” I shout as he pounds me faster, deeper, and I feel him grab my shoulders, clenching his teeth by my ear as he comes. I feel the rubber swell inside me, the spasms of his cock against my prostate.

He pulls away without care, takes off the condom, ties it, and throws it into the bushes. He pulls up his pants, leaves. No name, no thanks. That’s how this works.

I stay leaning against the tree for a moment, legs trembling, ass open and throbbing. I pull up my pants and continue down t...