تسجيل الدخولORGY PARTY: YOU'RE ANTI-GAY? LET MY DICK🍆 TEACH YOU HOW 3I kept my voice low, almost gentle against the wet noise of the room.“Get on your knees.”Gerald’s eyes flickered. Hesitation lived there for half a second — it spelt pride, fear, the last stubborn scrap of the boy who had shouted homophobic words outside my office — then it died. Surprisingly, his knees hit the polished floor with a soft thud. He was already breathing hard, chest rising and falling under the hoodie.I reached down and ran my fingers through his hair, slowly, with possessive strokes from the crown to the nape. I had known this moment was coming. I had known his loud homophobic mouth was just the armor of a boy who had never felt a real man open him up. He had never had a bad black man fuck him with a good, thick cock. That was the real reason he spent so much energy hating what he secretly craved.I cupped his chin and tilted his face up. His skin was hot under my palm.“Have you ever had a bad black man fuc
ORGY PARTY: YOU'RE ANTI-GAY? LET MY DICK🍆 TEACH YOU HOW 2.Gerald turned on his heel, shoulders tight, already angling for the door he had just walked through. I caught his wrist before he took a second step.“We agreed,” I said, voice low enough that only he could hear over the bass and the wet sounds of fucking. “One hour. Thirty minutes minimum. You’re not walking out at the two-minute mark.”He spun to face me, mouth already opening to spit something nasty. That was when I saw it — the thick, obvious bulge straining the front of his jeans. His cock was hard, fully hard, pressing against the denim like it was trying to punch its way out. He wasn’t looking at me. His eyes were locked past my shoulder, fixed on a scene a few feet away.A tall, broad-shouldered man had a boy about Gerald’s age folded nearly in half on a low padded bench. The boy’s knees were shoved up to his own shoulders, ankles locked behind the man’s neck. The man’s thick cock was buried to the hilt in the boy’s s
ORGY PARTY: YOU'RE ANTI-GAY? LET MY DICK🍆 TEACH YOU HOW 1I stood on the steps of my office block that afternoon and watched the little protest dissolve. A handful of protesters still lingered with their cardboard signs, faces twisted in the same old mix of fear and borrowed rage. Gerald was the loudest. Always had been. He was Elite College of Pharmacy’s self-appointed anti-queer mouthpiece, twenty-one years old, with a tight little body he tried to hide under oversized hoodies, and a mouth that never stopped running about how faggots like me were a disease."Gerald?" I called his name once.He turned, still talking shit to the two boys beside him, then strutted over like he owned the concrete. Up close I could smell the cheap cologne and the nervous sweat underneath it.“Inside,” I said. Nothing more.He followed me into my office, still talking about how disgusting we were. Me in particular. I just let him. When the door clicked shut I leaned against the edge of my desk, arms fold
MY GREEDY HOLE GETS FISTED 🍆✊ 2.He went slow, twisting his hand gently as it advanced, letting my body adjust to each new fraction of width. I felt the thick ridge of his knuckles pressing harder and harder against my rim. The stretch burned deep, a sharp, constant pressure that forced the tight ring of muscle to yield millimeter by millimeter. My breath came in short, shaky gasps.“Ahhh—fuck—Victor—” I moaned, the sound cracking high in my throat.When the widest part of his knuckles finally popped past the tight outer ring, a raw, broken cry tore out of me — pure, shocked ecstasy. My hole clamped down hard around his wrist in a sudden, involuntary squeeze. Victor let out a low, rough groan from deep in his chest, the sound vibrating through the air between us.“Fucking bastard… you’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, voice thick. “Clenching on me like that…”He kept pushing. His thick wrist followed, the skin sliding in with a wet, slick sound as more of his forearm entered me. I fe
MY GREEDY HOLE GETS FISTED✊🍆.I didn't ever think I’d beg a man to shove his entire fist inside me just to fully fulfill, and satisfy my twisted, dark desires, until the night I met Victor.I am Elias. A twenty-four year old. Slim, smooth, with a tight ass that I’d only ever played with using toys, five fingers at once, a mop stick, lotion container, biros, knife handles, and vegetables—egg plants, carrots. Yeah… you read that right.I had fantasized about fisting for years. Late at night I would watch twisted, gay porn videos with my legs spread, something already buried deep in my hole while I imagined something much thicker forcing me open past any limit I had reached alone. But I never had the courage to ask anyone to do it.Until fate favored me and I met Victor.He was thirty-eight, a tall, muscular bear of a man with thick arms, a heavy hairy chest, and calm, commanding eyes that made my knees weak the moment we met at the leather bar. We talked for hours. He was experienced,
FUCK ME 🍆 HARDER, DON'T MAKE LOVE TO ME 3.The shy, quiet boy I’d thought I was with was gone. In his place was this man, three fingers buried in his own ass, face already flushing darker, pupils blown, openly demanding to be used.I didn’t argue.I grabbed the lube from the nightstand, coated my cock until it dripped, then yanked his fingers free and replaced them with the head of my cock in one hard shove. His rim stretched wide around me. I kept pushing, no pause, no gentle rock, just steady, relentless pressure until every thick inch was buried inside the tight, silky heat of him. Leo’s mouth fell open on a broken, high moan that turned into a continuous, shaky sound as I bottomed out.“R-right—there!”I pulled almost all the way out and drove back in harder. The slap of my hips against his ass cracked through the room. I set a brutal pace immediately — long, deep strokes that dragged over his prostate on every thrust, the head of my cock punching against that swollen spot inside







