Brazilian stamina (Patreon)

Author’s note: All my characters are consenting adults (18+). All sexual acts depicted are consensual between the adult characters.

Brazilian breeder

My roommates left at seven.

I heard the door, the laugh in the hallway, the elevator. That was all I needed. I had the apartment until morning. I locked nothing. I opened my bedroom door all the way, put the jockstrap on, the black one that sat under my ass and left everything available.

I am twenty. White. Smooth. I keep myself that way on purpose. No hair to catch on anything. No distractions. When guys come through that door they get a hole and a body that doesn’t talk back unless they ask. Most of them don’t ask.

I had the Grindr profile up for exactly this. 

Door open. Blindfold on. Jock. Dump and leave. No kissing. No names. No staying.

 It worked often enough to satisfy my cumdump hunger.

Tonight a message came from a profile really close to me . Body shots. Dark skin. Thick chest. Tattoos down both arms and across the stomach. He sent a temporary face pic, I didn’t ask. Bald, not thinning, shaved to the skin, zero. A big beard almost grey and bushy. 

looking for a hole to dump my load near me. no talking. just unload and go.

I sent the address and the rules.

He answered with one line.

20h.

That was it.

I got on the bed on all fours facing the headboard, ass toward the open door, blindfold on, and waited.

I heard the front door at eight on the nose.

Keys in the lock — I had left it unlocked on purpose — then heavy steps. No greeting. No you good?The footsteps stopped in my doorway. Something metal hit the mattress near my knee. His keys. Then the sound of a belt. A zipper.

A hand landed on the small of my back. Hot. Rough. He didn’t spread me or spit or ask. He just set the head of his cock against my hole and pushed.

I was already open from earlier, from the plug I’d taken out ten minutes before he arrived, but he was bigger than the plug. Thick. The stretch burned in a straight line and then his cock was inside me in one hard shove. I felt metal — a ring at the base, cold for a second against my skin — and something else at the head, a piercing that dragged over the spot inside me and made my knees slip on the sheet.

He didn’t ease in.

He fucked.

Short, mean strokes from the first second, hips slamming, the wet sound starting almost immediately because I was slick and he was not interested in patience. His hands locked on my waist hard enough to leave marks. The bedframe knocked the wall. He breathed through his nose like he was lifting. No words. Not one.

I counted in my head without meaning to. One minute. One and a half. His rhythm got jagged. His grip tightened. A low sound came out of him — not a word, just a grunt from the chest — and he buried himself all the way and came.

I felt it. Hot. Pulse after pulse. He held still while he emptied, the piercing pressed deep, the metal ring flush against my ass, and then he pulled out in one motion. Cum followed. I felt it run.

Belt. Zipper. Keys scooped off the bed. Footsteps. Front door.

The whole thing lasted under two minutes.

I stayed on all fours with my hole twitching and his load leaking down my balls and into the jockstrap and I laughed once, quiet, because it had been exactly what the message promised. Dump and leave. No talk.

I didn’t clean up.

I wiped nothing.

I waited to see if the night was over.

At nine another message from him: you still available?

I said yes and was inside in 5min. The front door opened again. He wanted a second round.

Same steps. Same weight. I was still blindfolded, still in the jock, still wet from him. The keys hit the mattress in almost the same spot. Belt. Zipper.

He didn’t check if I was ready. He set his cock against the mess he’d already left one hour ago and pushed in through his own cum.

It was easier the second time and worse. 

Sloppy. Slicker. Deeper. The piercing dragged and my mouth opened against the pillow. He fucked like the first load had been a warm-up he’d been annoyed to need. Harder. The slap of his hips on my ass filled the room. My knees burned. I braced on my elbows and took it.

Still no words.

Only the sound of him using me and the wet noise of a second load already mixing with the first. I lost the count. A minute. Maybe two. His breath went rough. His fingers dug into the flesh above my hips. He drove in to the base, the metal ring hard against me, and came with that same short, punched-out grunt.

Pulled out.

Keys.

Door.

I collapsed onto my stomach with my ass up and felt both loads leak out of me in a slow, thick crawl. The jockstrap was soaked. My thighs were wet. I was shaking — not from pain, from the adrenaline of a man who lived a hundred meters away and had just walked back into my apartment like I was a public toilet he had a key to.

I should have locked the door.

I didn’t.

Ten o’clock. A new message: I have more cum can I go again?

I heard him coming down the hall before the front door even opened. My body reacted — hole clenching around nothing, cock hard and ignored in the pouch of the jock, mouth dry. The keys landed. I pushed my ass higher without being asked.

He was already hard when he lined up. I could feel the heat of it, the wet of my own mess still on him or on me, I couldn’t tell. He shoved in and the sound I made was embarrassing. He didn’t care. He set a pace that had no interest in whether I could breathe through it. The piercing hit the same place over and over. The ring slapped. My arms gave out and my chest hit the mattress and he followed me down, fucking me into the bed, one hand on the back of my neck now, holding me there.

Still silent.

The only noise was skin and the bed and the low grunt when he got close. I felt him swell. I felt the change in the stroke. He crushed me into the mattress and came for the third time, deeper than the first two, like he was trying to put it somewhere it wouldn’t run out.

He stayed buried for a few seconds. I could feel his heartbeat in his cock. Then he pulled out, a wet sound, and I felt the third load spill down after the first two.

Keys.

Door.

I rolled onto my side and reached back and touched my hole with two fingers. Open. Slick. Full. Cum on my fingers, on the jock, on the sheets. I was trembling the way you tremble after you almost get hit by a car and then don’t. Alive. Wired. Empty-headed.

He lived a hundred meters away.

He had already come three times in two hours.

I waited for midnight like a stupid, hungry animal. Three loads was impressive, I doubted he had more.

Midnight. I was wrong. New message.

The door.

I was half-hard and leaking in the jock and my ass was a mess and I didn’t care. The keys hit the bed. I heard him spit once — the first time he’d done anything extra all night — and then the thick head of him, piercing and all, pushed through the cum and the loose muscle and seated itself inside me like it belonged there.

This one was slower only in the sense that he lasted the full two minutes instead of less. He fucked me with long, punishing strokes that pushed the air out of my lungs every time he bottomed out. His hands owned my hips. The metal ring was warm now from his skin. I could smell him — sweat, sex, the faint detergent of a man who’d maybe changed shirts between visits and maybe hadn’t. My hole made filthy, wet sounds around him. I was nothing but an open, used thing on a mattress and he was nothing but a silent Brazilian cock with a job to finish.

He got close and the grunt came earlier. He fucked through it — hard, mean, short punches of his hips — and then locked up and emptied the fourth load into me with a sound that was almost a word and wasn’t. I felt every pulse. I felt how much there was. I felt it join the rest.

He pulled out.

Something landed on the sheet next to my hand. Not the keys at first. A tissue, maybe, or a wipe. He didn’t use it on me. He used it on himself. Then the keys. Then the footsteps. Then the front door closing for the last time.

I lay there with four loads in me and the blindfold still on and the jockstrap destroyed and my whole body ticking like a wire.

I took the blindfold off after a minute.

The room was the same room. Empty. The keys were gone. The door to the hallway was open the way I’d left it. My ass was soft and open and leaking onto the sheet in a slow, steady creep. I reached back and felt the mess and then brought my fingers up and looked at them in the light from the window.

White. Thick. His.

Four loads. Four times. Eight o’clock. Nine. Ten. Midnight. Two minutes each. No conversation. No name. Just a bald, tattooed Brazilian breeder from a hundred meters away who needed a hole that didn’t ask questions and had found one.

I didn’t shower.

I left the jock on and the cum where it was and I lay on my stomach in the dark feeling it leak out of me and thinking about the piercing and the metal ring and the way he’d grunted when he finished like it was the only sound he allowed himself all day.

My phone buzzed once on the nightstand.

Grindr.

One message from the same profile.

You’re a handy hole to dump my loads.

I typed back with my clean hand.

Thanks. Always willing to serve men.

Then I put the phone down and closed my eyes and felt the fourth load slide down my thigh and I smiled into the pillow like a man who had been used correctly.

Some nights you get one stranger.

Some nights the same stranger treats your ass like a schedule.

I didn’t clean the sheets.

I wanted the smell still there when he came back.