Cruising night I (Patreon)

The night air in the woods was thick and cool, carrying the smell of pine, damp earth, and something older—sex that had already happened in the dark between the trees. I walked the path with my backpack over one shoulder, the weight of the 22-centimeter dildo shifting against my side with every step. I didn’t want the deepest shadows tonight. I wanted to be seen.

The picnic tables sat under a few weak yellow lights that barely pushed back the dark. I chose the one farthest from the path, set my bag down, and stripped my pants and underwear to my ankles. The wood was rough under my knees as I climbed onto the table and settled on all fours. I pulled the thick black dildo out, spat on it twice, and pressed the blunt head against my hole.

I pushed back slowly until the full length disappeared inside me. 

The stretch burned in the best way. I started fucking myself in long, deep strokes, letting the wet sound of it carry through the quiet. Then I stopped holding back the noises. I moaned—loud, shameless, broken—every time the thick toy bottomed out.

It didn’t take long.

Footsteps approached from behind. A dark Brazilian guy, maybe late twenties, solid and quiet. He didn’t ask. He just stepped up, pulled the dildo out of me with a wet sound, and replaced it with two thick fingers. He fucked them into me fast and rough, like my ass was already his. I cried out and pushed back harder. A moment later his tongue replaced his fingers—hot, wet, and hungry—pushing deep inside me while I moaned into the night.

From the front, a white guy in a baseball cap and a tight t-shirt stopped a few feet away. He was muscular, around twenty-eight, already stroking a thick cock. I lifted my head, opened my mouth, and stuck my tongue out. He stepped closer and fed it to me. I took him straight into my throat while the Brazilian kept eating my ass like he was starving.

Around us, other men gathered in the half-light. Some stayed back and watched, hands moving inside their pants. Others stepped closer. The air filled with the wet sounds of me being used from both ends—cock in my throat, tongue in my hole—and the low grunts of men who were getting off on the show.

The guy in the cap didn’t last long. He grabbed my hair, shoved deep, and came hard across my tongue with a quiet curse. I swallowed what I could. The rest spilled down my chin. He stepped away without a word.

A taller Black guy took his place almost immediately. His cock was heavier, darker, and thicker. I opened wide and let him push all the way in until my nose pressed against his stomach. He held me there, fucking my throat in slow, deep strokes while I gagged and drooled around him.

Behind me, the Brazilian finally pulled away. A new man stepped up—tall, early thirties, shaved head, black leather jacket creaking as he moved. He didn’t ask either. He just spit on my open hole, lined up, and shoved in with one long thrust that forced a loud, broken moan out of me around the cock in my mouth.

He fucked me hard. The picnic table rocked under us. Every thrust drove me forward onto the Black guy’s cock until I was nothing but a hole being used from both ends. The men watching moved closer. I could hear them stroking faster.

The Black guy pulled out suddenly and came across my face in thick, heavy ropes—forehead, cheeks, lips, chin. I kept my mouth open and let it land where it wanted. The leather-jacket guy didn’t slow down. He gripped my hips hard enough to bruise and kept pounding into me until he buried himself deep and came with a low, animal sound, flooding my ass.

I stayed on all fours, shaking, face dripping, hole clenching around nothing and pushing cum out onto the table. I lifted my head and looked at the circle of men still watching.

“More,” I said, voice wrecked. “Come on. Use my face to cum.”

They did.

One by one the men who had been stroking in the dark stepped forward and finished on me. Hot streaks landed across my cheeks, in my hair, over my open mouth. Some pushed between my lips at the last second and forced me to swallow. I lost count. My face, hair, and the front of my T-shirt were soaked and sticky. My ass stayed open and leaking down my thighs.

When the last man finished and walked back into the trees, I stayed there for a while longer, breathing hard, the night air cool against all the wet mess covering me. 

Eventually I pulled my pants up over the cum still running out of me, shoved the dildo back into my bag, and started the long walk home.

My face was still covered. My hole was still open.

Every step reminded me what I was.

I already knew I’d be back.

All characters are consenting adults (18+). All acts depicted are consensual between the characters.