Igor's warehouse

It had rained again, and the puddles in the industrial estate reflected the yellow light of the streetlamps. Almost all the warehouses had been closed since the crisis, and at that hour no one passed by. I was walking quickly, phone in hand, when a deep voice cut me off.

—Do you have a cigarrrrrette?

I looked up. He was a tall, strong man, about sixty-something, with shaved hair, a thick beard and a scar on his cheek. He wore old work clothes and spoke with an eastern accent that dragged out his r's.

—I don't smoke —I told him, pretending to be in a hurry.

I tried to go around him and he stood in front of me again. He rested his big paw on my chest.

—Where are you going in such a hurrrry? Is your boyfrrriend waiting for you?

—I don't have a boyfriend. And I'm not gay —I shot back, staying in character.

He smiled, and a gold tooth gleamed.

—We'll see about that. Will you keep me company for a rrwhile?

He picked me up in his arms as if I weighed nothing and carried me to the door of an abandoned warehouse. Inside it smelled of rain and rust. In a corner there was a mattress, a sleeping bag, a lit gas stove and an old wardrobe with a cracked mirror. He put me down on the floor and looked me up and down.

—I prrropose a deal —he said, stroking my chin—. You touch me a little, and then you decide if you stay or leave.

—And if I say no?

He leaned close to my ear and lowered his voice, now without the accent.

—If you say "streetlamp," we stop, and you know it.

I shook my head. I wasn't going to say it. He smiled again and went back into character.

—Then obey.

He guided my hand to his fly. What I found there left me speechless. I stroked it slowly, first with the shyness my character demanded and then with more eagerness than I wanted to admit. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, and I liked seeing how that big man melted in my hands.

—On yourrr knees —he ordered in a firm voice.

I knelt and gave him pleasure with my mouth, unhurried, while his big hand set the rhythm on my head. Now and then he lifted my chin to look me in the eyes, and I knew that in that look he was also asking me if everything was okay. I answered by squeezing his thigh.

He lifted me and kissed me hard. His beard scraped my face and his tongue tasted of tobacco. I felt my body responding, and he noticed it too.

—It appearrrs you're not as strrraight as you said —he mocked.

—Shut up —I told him, and this time I was the one who kissed him.

He took me to the mattress and laid me face down. He undressed me slowly, enjoying each garment. He nibbled my back and neck, and gave me some spanks that made me moan. In the cracked mirror of the wardrobe I saw his big body over mine, and that image turned me on even more.

—Ask me for it —he whispered—. I want to hearrr you say it.

—...