The story happened in 2023.
This is the story of a wild ride-hailing encounter that went down one Saturday, the kind of absurd, novel-like plot I never thought would happen to me. I’d spent years scrolling through steamy online stories, fantasizing about chance encounters, but never imagined I’d stumble into one myself. Out of all the drivers in the sea of cars, I just happened to book his ride at the perfect moment. Our eyes locked, sparks flew, and what followed was a raw, carnal rendezvous that felt straight out of a fever dream. Here’s how it all unfolded…
* For privacy, street names are replaced with XXXX, and only the first letter of the last name.
I was in the middle of moving, and with a business trip looming the following Tuesday, I had to hustle to get the last of my stuff out over the weekend. Saturday morning, I’d planned to take the subway and path train from my new place in Jersey City, but after physical therapy, my lower back was still aching. Screw it, I thought, no need to torture myself. I opened the app and called a car. Lugging an empty suitcase, I hopped into a blue Mitsubishi SUV. The car was spotless, and the driver, a guy wearing a low-brimmed baseball cap, had these tanned, muscular arms poking out of his short-sleeve tee. Dude was built, but what really got me was that mature, slightly stocky vibe... thick, meaty frame, a bit of stubble, crow’s feet, and laugh lines. He was the kind of rugged, middle-aged country neighbor you’d fantasize about. My stare must’ve been too obvious, because his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, catching mine. I looked away like a kid caught stealing, and felt my heart pounding loud enough to echo in the quiet car.
Fuck, he caught me checking him out. Embarrassing.
“You live here?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, with a thick New York accent that felt laid-back but commanding.
I froze, mouth half-open, too nervous to answer right away.
“I live like ten minutes from here, over on XXXX Street,” he added.
“Oh… yeah, I just moved here. Still getting used to the area,” I mumbled, barely audible. His gaze in the rearview mirror was intense, like he was stripping me bare. I squirmed in my seat.
He chuckled. “Where’d you move from? You young guys usually stick to Manhattan. Why Jersey City?”
“Lease was up, landlord jacked up the rent. It’s cheaper here,” I said, trying to keep it together under that piercing stare.
“Yeah, same reason me, my wife, and kids moved here a few years back. Bigger place, lower rent. More room to breathe.”
We kept chatting, my shoulders relaxing as he steered the conversation. I mostly just answered, too shy to take the lead. Honestly, talking to a beefy married dad like him was kind of a thrill. I’m usually quiet as a cat in the ride, glued to my phone or dozing off. He rambled like he was giving me his life story: family, kids, even a funny tale about a trip to Spain. I snuck a peek at the app’s driver info. His last name started with P, Mr. P, I call.
“You live alone?” he asked as we hit the Holland Tunnel. The dim orange lights flickered, syncing with the hum of tires on the road, like some tense soundtrack to a predator closing in on his prey.
“Yeah, so moving’s not too bad. Just inconvenient without a car.” No license, no wheels. I’m used to the subway in NYC, but Jersey City’s a bit trickier. Not that I go out much anyway.
“Ha, I hear ya. I once drove a couple moving out here. They ended up hiring me for the whole day, even bought me dinner. Now wife’s friends with my wife, and we take the kids out together sometimes.” He grinned, then added, “So, you always lived alone, or you splitting rent with someone to save cash?”
“Had a roommate, but he moved out. Honestly, I like having my own space.”
“Bet you do. Before I got married, I lived single for like a decade. Took me forever to get used to living with my wife.” His eyes flicked to the rearview again as we exited the tunnel, sunlight flooding the car. Those eyes… unapologetic, locking onto me like I was under a spotlight.
“You calling another car after you’re done moving stuff?”
“Probably. Just grabbing clothes and small stuff today.” I’d had friends help with the big furniture earlier, but I hate bugging people on weekends, so I was handling this on my own.
“How long’s it gonna take to pack? I’ll wait for you, drive you back. Gotta swing by my place anyway.”
“Nah, you don’t have to. That’s too much,” I said, glancing at the mirror. Those deep, aggressive eyes were still on me, unreadable but heavy. My brain started spiraling into some crazy erotic fantasy. Was this just a friendly local dude being nice, or was there… something else? That intense stare... was I reading too much into it? Maybe I was just horny, projecting onto this hot married guy.
God, I’m such a perv.
* Friendly reminder: keep your eyes on the road, drivers. Stay safe, even if you’re feeling horny.
But after reading too many wild, X-rated stories online, my brain wouldn’t quit. I pictured Mr. P with his wife, pinning her down, that thick, tanned body dominating her. Those eyes beneath his heavy lids were surely locked onto her with a fierce, burning stare, his face dripping with sweat… his body thrashing, sweat flying off with every move. His meaty chest heaving, that slight beer gut quivering, those strong thighs driving hard, cursing in that gritty New York accent, totally owning the moment. Fuck, I wanted to be the one under him.
How hairy is he? How big’s his dick? He’s straight, right? Married, obviously…
My pants were getting tight. Shit.
“No big deal. Go pack, I’ll wait. Gonna step out for a smoke,” Mr. P said, snapping me out of my daydream as he pulled up to my old place in the city.
“Alright, thanks!” I said, too obedient for my own good. Why was I such a pushover?
Grabbing my backpack and suitcase, I rushed into my old apartment, suddenly panicking. I hate making people wait, it’s a thing with me. I started shoving clothes into the suitcase, sweating despite the cool weather. After packing in record time, I grabbed two water bottles from the nearly empty fridge and headed down. It was drizzling now. Mr. P was leaning against his car, smoking, wearing jeans and a light brown tee. Standing there, he looked straight out of one of those sketchy straight-to-gay porn vids I sometimes watched. Goddamn, why’s he gotta be so fucking hot? Or am I just a slut for daddies?
Yeah, I’m the problem. But staring’s not a crime, and neither’s fantasizing. So I let myself be a perv.
He saw me coming, tossed his cigarette, and ground it out with his shoe. “Done already? That was quick.”
I loaded the suitcase into the trunk. “Didn’t have much to grab, heh.”
Back in the car, the vibe shifted. Maybe it was his scent... musky, masculine? Or the fact that this was his domain, and I was just a rabbit stumbling into a wolf’s den. The drizzle streaked the windows, making the air feel sticky, heavy. His hunter’s gaze in the rearview mirror kept flicking to me, pinning me in place.
After a while, he broke the silence. “Yo, how old are you, kid? Got a girlfriend? You’re a good-looking guy, bet you got chicks lining up.”
We were back in the tunnel, those orange lights flashing again, like the hunt was on. My heart was racing, loud enough to choke me. I looked right into the mirror, no dodging this time.
“I don’t have a girlfriend. I’m into guys.”
His eyes darted away, like I’d just dumped ice water on him. Fuck, was I wrong? Maybe this was all in my head, some delusional gay fantasy. I forced an awkward laugh, trying to cover up my stupid, impulsive confession. Time to lay off the porn, clearly.
Then he hit me with, “So, you wanna suck my dick or what?”
What the fuck???!
“Huh?” I blurted, sounding like an idiot. My dick was instantly rock-hard, my ears burning.
He burst out laughing. “What, you like guys, don’t you? Bet you’ve sucked a ton of cock, huh?” His tone was playful, but I couldn’t tell if he was messing with me or serious.
Then he doubled down. “Or you more into getting fucked?”
If this was a woman or a different situation, it’d be straight-up #MeToo harassment. But me? I’m a horny little boy. Harass me, Mr. P, I’m down. Guess it’s not harassment if I’m into it.
I was losing it inside, but my face just twitched into an embarrassed grin. “I… haven’t done that in a while.”
My brain was pure static, cock throbbing. Never had an encounter like this.
“No shit? Why not get a boyfriend then?”
“I don’t go out much, don’t meet new people.”
“Wanna suck me off?” he asked, all casual, then added, “I’m hard as fuck right now. You down?”
Holy shit, yes! Throwing all shame out the window, I practically yelled, “Yeah!”
It was loud, he froze for a second, then cracked up. “Haha, alright, you’re locked in now! Gimme your number, I’ll call you up later. Wait for me at home.”
I punched my number into his phone, and he launched into full-on dirty talk, grinning like a devil. Said he and his wife hadn’t fucked since their second kid was born. Then he dropped a wild story about four years ago, driving a drunk passenger late at night who got handsy, offering to blow him for cash. Horny and pent-up, Mr. P let the guy do it. Total bullshit, I thought, but given what was happening now, maybe not. He said that was his first time with a guy, and since his wife wasn’t into sex as much, he didn’t mind messing around with dudes. Didn’t care who got him off. Was that how straight guys worked? No idea, and I didn’t get it. We also talked about my ex. Mr. P was curious, asking if my ex was hung, if he liked getting sucked. I admitted my ex was rough in bed, not gentle at all. He’d skip foreplay, force his way in, sometimes making me bleed. His weird kink, I guess. So I hated anal for him and mostly just blew him.
* Friendly reminder: tops, be gentle. Even with prep, bottoms need time to adjust. And don’t go harassing drivers or passengers -this is a rare, extreme case. Get caught, and the cops’ll have your ass.
I barely noticed we’d left the tunnel and were nearing my new place. Mr. P kept up the filthy banter, either teasing or seducing me, I couldn’t tell.
“Fuck, my boxers are soaked, kid. Don’t ghost my call!” he shouted as I got out, rolling down the window. I was so hard it hurt. Mr. P, you’re killing me.
Back at my new apartment, I was a mess, obsessively checking my phone. Why didn’t I call myself from his phone to get his number? Stupid. I paced like a lovesick idiot, trying to distract myself by cleaning, even though most of my stuff was still in boxes.
By 3 pm ish, starving, I ran out to grab a Chipotle, forgetting my phone like a moron. Halfway through my burrito bowl, I realized my mistake. I wolfed it down and hurried home, praying Mr. P hadn’t called. Of course, two missed calls. My gut said it was him. I called back, and sure enough, it was Mr. P, laughing that I was as forgetful as his kid. Said he’d taken another fare since I didn’t pick up, but he’d swing by around dinner time.
Like an idiot, I went out again at 6 pm to grab takeout, even though I had my phone this time. While waiting for my order, it rang... Mr. P. He told me to stay put, said he was coming to get me, joking that I kept trying to ditch him. “Making me work this hard for a blowjob,” he teased.
“Get in!” his familiar voice boomed from the curb, his head poking out of that blue SUV.
I slid into the passenger seat, and before I could buckle up, he grabbed my hand and pressed it against his crotch. “Been hard for hours,” he growled. Fuck, it’s huge. And hard.
“So hard…” I muttered, dazed.
“You’re taking care of him,” he said, smirking.
I’d grabbed an extra chicken plate for him, figuring he hadn’t eaten. We ate at my place, but the food was bland compared to the tension. All I could think about was ripping his clothes off and devouring him.
After the meal, I ducked into the bathroom to brush my teeth and rinse my mouth. When I came back, Mr. P was sprawled on my new couch, one hand rubbing his bulge, the other slung over the backrest, a cocky grin on his face.
“C’mere,” he ordered.
Before I knew it, I was on my knees between his legs, fumbling with his jeans. The zipper came down, revealing blue and white checkered boxers stretched tight over his erection. My hands grazed thick leg hair, and a wet spot marked where his precum had soaked through. I swallowed hard, easing his boxers down. His cock sprang free! Thick, dark brown, at least six inches, veins bulging, with a plump, purplish head pulsing and leaking. The upward curve was perfect, like it’d hit my prostate just right. I clenched instinctively, imagining it inside me.
“Like it?” His voice was deeper now, almost impatient, like he was annoyed I hadn’t started.
I nodded, and before he could say more, I dove in, taking his cock in my mouth. Fuck, it’s hot. And thick. No funky taste? Just a hint of soap. Did he shower before picking me up?
“Oh…” He let out a deep groan, spurring me on. My tongue worked the sensitive spot under the head, circling the tip, drawing heavier breaths and a heaving belly.
“Fuck… oh… shit…” he panted, cursing as I went deeper.
I pulled off to admire it, slick with my spit, the head glistening under the light. I yanked his tee up, revealing a slightly hairy chest, the light hair trailing from his pubes up to his pecs. Total married bear vibes. His nipples, dark and full, begged for attention. I latched onto one, teasing it with my tongue, sucking hard. His cock twitched against me, his groans louder.
“Fuck, that’s good,” he growled, eyes shut, brows furrowed, mouth open.
Seeing this married daddy melt under me gave me a twisted sense of power. I wanted him to crave this, to remember my mouth when his wife couldn’t satisfy him.
“Like it?” I asked, throwing his question back at him.
His eyes blazed, a smug grin spreading as he patted my cheek. Approval.
I went back to his cock, licking from base to tip like a lollipop, feeling his muscles quiver with each stroke. His grunts filled the room, pushing me to the edge. I was so hard I thought I’d cum hands-free. When I reached his balls, the musky scent mixed with soap hit me hard. I sucked one, earning a strangled, “Fuck! Oh… shit!” from him.
“Lick both!” he demanded, guiding my head to the other neglected ball.
His untrimmed pubes brushed my face, his hot cock smearing precum on my forehead. I teased his nipples with my fingers while sucking his balls, drowning in his scent. God, he’s so fucking hot.
I was about to go back to his cock when he asked, “You love sucking dick this much?”
I nodded like a maniac, too far gone. Then he threw me off. “Wanna take some pics? Something to jerk off to later.”
Without thinking, I grabbed my phone. “No face!” he barked.
“Got it.” I snapped a few close-ups of his perfect cock, knowing these would fuel my fantasies for years.
He snatched my phone, grinning at the screen. “Pretty big, huh?”
I ignored him, diving back onto his cock, chasing his moans and filthy curses. The sounds echoed in my bare apartment, marking this as the wildest move-in ever.
“Fuck, I’m close… oh… shit…” he groaned.
I didn’t care that my jaw ached or my nose was stinging from his cock hitting my throat. I sucked harder, desperate for his load.
“Gonna shoot in your mouth!”
“Mmph…” I mumbled, still working him.
“Swallow it all, oh fuck! Fuck!” he roared.
With a final, “Fuck! Fuck!” he erupted, hot cum flooding my mouth. I kept sucking, matching the rhythm of each spurt, swallowing some as it hit my throat. The thick, sticky load filled my mouth, dripping down his cock onto his pubes. I’d never been so turned on giving head, wanting his cock in my mouth forever.
“Oooh god, that was good,” he panted, shivering, flashing a toothy grin. “Go spit it out, you don’t gotta eat it. Ain’t that nutritious, haha.”
“You said swallow!!” I mumbled through a mouthful, stumbling to the bathroom. He followed, laughing as I spat his load into the sink.
“Damn, that’s a lot!” he said, proud of himself. Then he grabbed me from behind, yanking my pants down, his sweaty chest pressed against my back. He gripped my cock, jerking me off. “I don’t suck dick, but I’ll get you off.”
A surge of hot breath grazed my ear, his head resting heavy on my shoulder. My legs buckled, forcing me to lean my full weight against Mr. P’s beefy body, my ass crack pressed against his still-hard, wet, throbbing cock, radiating heat. The cum still pooled in the sink, unwashed, was scooped up by Mr. P’s rough hand, using his own slick load to stroke my dick. The raw, filthy sight of it sent me reeling, ready to blow in seconds. A sharp, aching surge ripped from my groin, electrifying my whole body. I glanced up at the bathroom mirror, the depraved image pushing me past the edge.
My legs shook as I shot my load, spraying hard. In the mirror, I was cradled in the arms of Mr. P’s naked, mature body, that beer belly and meaty chest pressed against me, his baseball cap still on. Those eyes bored into me, fierce and unyielding, just like in the car’s rearview mirror, but now locked onto my bare, exposed body. He stood there, flaunting his rugged, his gaze burning, raw, and predatory, devouring his prey…
I don’t know if my mouth left a mark on him, but those searing eyes? They’re burned into my soul forever.
-END-
Epilogue:
This whole story is 90% real, with just 10% fudged because some dialogue I couldn’t quite remember word by word, pieced together from memory, and a bit of extra spice to make it read like a proper porn novel. But the wild, fucking unreal way it all went down? That’s exactly how it happened. The next morning, Sunday, Mr. P couldn’t keep his dick in his pants and called me, itching to swing by my place for a quick blow before hitting the road for his driving shift. Problem is, I’d been up late Saturday night playing game, so I didn’t drag my ass out of bed until past noon. Only then did I see missed calls on my phone. Called him back, and sure enough, Mr. P laid into me, grumbling that I’m as bad as his son, always sleeping in on the weekend lol...
But that was it for me and Mr. P. We didn’t take things any further. It was just that sometimes, before he’d drive for the app on weekends, he’d hit me up to be a stand-in for his wife’s mouth. After all, he’s got a family and kids. To me, it felt more like a hot uncle messing with his horny nephew lol~ Because he really did care and nag like some older relative. Later, I moved farther and relocated to a different state. So we couldn’t keep up the naughty fling, but Mr. P figured out how to use video calls.
There's a few occasion when he’s bored during a break from driving on weekends he’ll call me up on video, being all extra and showing off his hard cock… Guess it’s my little perk, if you ask me.
This is the story of a wild ride-hailing encounter that went down one Saturday, the kind of absurd, novel-like plot I never thought would happen to me. I’d spent years scrolling through steamy online stories, fantasizing about chance encounters, but never imagined I’d stumble into one myself. Out of all the drivers in the sea of cars, I just happened to book his ride at the perfect moment. Our eyes locked, sparks flew, and what followed was a raw, carnal rendezvous that felt straight out of a fever dream. Here’s how it all unfolded…
* For privacy, street names are replaced with XXXX, and only the first letter of the last name.
I was in the middle of moving, and with a business trip looming the following Tuesday, I had to hustle to get the last of my stuff out over the weekend. Saturday morning, I’d planned to take the subway and path train from my new place in Jersey City, but after physical therapy, my lower back was still aching. Screw it, I thought, no need to torture myself. I opened the app and called a car. Lugging an empty suitcase, I hopped into a blue Mitsubishi SUV. The car was spotless, and the driver, a guy wearing a low-brimmed baseball cap, had these tanned, muscular arms poking out of his short-sleeve tee. Dude was built, but what really got me was that mature, slightly stocky vibe... thick, meaty frame, a bit of stubble, crow’s feet, and laugh lines. He was the kind of rugged, middle-aged country neighbor you’d fantasize about. My stare must’ve been too obvious, because his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, catching mine. I looked away like a kid caught stealing, and felt my heart pounding loud enough to echo in the quiet car.
Fuck, he caught me checking him out. Embarrassing.
“You live here?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, with a thick New York accent that felt laid-back but commanding.
I froze, mouth half-open, too nervous to answer right away.
“I live like ten minutes from here, over on XXXX Street,” he added.
“Oh… yeah, I just moved here. Still getting used to the area,” I mumbled, barely audible. His gaze in the rearview mirror was intense, like he was stripping me bare. I squirmed in my seat.
He chuckled. “Where’d you move from? You young guys usually stick to Manhattan. Why Jersey City?”
“Lease was up, landlord jacked up the rent. It’s cheaper here,” I said, trying to keep it together under that piercing stare.
“Yeah, same reason me, my wife, and kids moved here a few years back. Bigger place, lower rent. More room to breathe.”
We kept chatting, my shoulders relaxing as he steered the conversation. I mostly just answered, too shy to take the lead. Honestly, talking to a beefy married dad like him was kind of a thrill. I’m usually quiet as a cat in the ride, glued to my phone or dozing off. He rambled like he was giving me his life story: family, kids, even a funny tale about a trip to Spain. I snuck a peek at the app’s driver info. His last name started with P, Mr. P, I call.
“You live alone?” he asked as we hit the Holland Tunnel. The dim orange lights flickered, syncing with the hum of tires on the road, like some tense soundtrack to a predator closing in on his prey.
“Yeah, so moving’s not too bad. Just inconvenient without a car.” No license, no wheels. I’m used to the subway in NYC, but Jersey City’s a bit trickier. Not that I go out much anyway.
“Ha, I hear ya. I once drove a couple moving out here. They ended up hiring me for the whole day, even bought me dinner. Now wife’s friends with my wife, and we take the kids out together sometimes.” He grinned, then added, “So, you always lived alone, or you splitting rent with someone to save cash?”
“Had a roommate, but he moved out. Honestly, I like having my own space.”
“Bet you do. Before I got married, I lived single for like a decade. Took me forever to get used to living with my wife.” His eyes flicked to the rearview again as we exited the tunnel, sunlight flooding the car. Those eyes… unapologetic, locking onto me like I was under a spotlight.
“You calling another car after you’re done moving stuff?”
“Probably. Just grabbing clothes and small stuff today.” I’d had friends help with the big furniture earlier, but I hate bugging people on weekends, so I was handling this on my own.
“How long’s it gonna take to pack? I’ll wait for you, drive you back. Gotta swing by my place anyway.”
“Nah, you don’t have to. That’s too much,” I said, glancing at the mirror. Those deep, aggressive eyes were still on me, unreadable but heavy. My brain started spiraling into some crazy erotic fantasy. Was this just a friendly local dude being nice, or was there… something else? That intense stare... was I reading too much into it? Maybe I was just horny, projecting onto this hot married guy.
God, I’m such a perv.
* Friendly reminder: keep your eyes on the road, drivers. Stay safe, even if you’re feeling horny.
But after reading too many wild, X-rated stories online, my brain wouldn’t quit. I pictured Mr. P with his wife, pinning her down, that thick, tanned body dominating her. Those eyes beneath his heavy lids were surely locked onto her with a fierce, burning stare, his face dripping with sweat… his body thrashing, sweat flying off with every move. His meaty chest heaving, that slight beer gut quivering, those strong thighs driving hard, cursing in that gritty New York accent, totally owning the moment. Fuck, I wanted to be the one under him.
How hairy is he? How big’s his dick? He’s straight, right? Married, obviously…
My pants were getting tight. Shit.
“No big deal. Go pack, I’ll wait. Gonna step out for a smoke,” Mr. P said, snapping me out of my daydream as he pulled up to my old place in the city.
“Alright, thanks!” I said, too obedient for my own good. Why was I such a pushover?
Grabbing my backpack and suitcase, I rushed into my old apartment, suddenly panicking. I hate making people wait, it’s a thing with me. I started shoving clothes into the suitcase, sweating despite the cool weather. After packing in record time, I grabbed two water bottles from the nearly empty fridge and headed down. It was drizzling now. Mr. P was leaning against his car, smoking, wearing jeans and a light brown tee. Standing there, he looked straight out of one of those sketchy straight-to-gay porn vids I sometimes watched. Goddamn, why’s he gotta be so fucking hot? Or am I just a slut for daddies?
Yeah, I’m the problem. But staring’s not a crime, and neither’s fantasizing. So I let myself be a perv.
He saw me coming, tossed his cigarette, and ground it out with his shoe. “Done already? That was quick.”
I loaded the suitcase into the trunk. “Didn’t have much to grab, heh.”
Back in the car, the vibe shifted. Maybe it was his scent... musky, masculine? Or the fact that this was his domain, and I was just a rabbit stumbling into a wolf’s den. The drizzle streaked the windows, making the air feel sticky, heavy. His hunter’s gaze in the rearview mirror kept flicking to me, pinning me in place.
After a while, he broke the silence. “Yo, how old are you, kid? Got a girlfriend? You’re a good-looking guy, bet you got chicks lining up.”
We were back in the tunnel, those orange lights flashing again, like the hunt was on. My heart was racing, loud enough to choke me. I looked right into the mirror, no dodging this time.
“I don’t have a girlfriend. I’m into guys.”
His eyes darted away, like I’d just dumped ice water on him. Fuck, was I wrong? Maybe this was all in my head, some delusional gay fantasy. I forced an awkward laugh, trying to cover up my stupid, impulsive confession. Time to lay off the porn, clearly.
Then he hit me with, “So, you wanna suck my dick or what?”
What the fuck???!
“Huh?” I blurted, sounding like an idiot. My dick was instantly rock-hard, my ears burning.
He burst out laughing. “What, you like guys, don’t you? Bet you’ve sucked a ton of cock, huh?” His tone was playful, but I couldn’t tell if he was messing with me or serious.
Then he doubled down. “Or you more into getting fucked?”
If this was a woman or a different situation, it’d be straight-up #MeToo harassment. But me? I’m a horny little boy. Harass me, Mr. P, I’m down. Guess it’s not harassment if I’m into it.
I was losing it inside, but my face just twitched into an embarrassed grin. “I… haven’t done that in a while.”
My brain was pure static, cock throbbing. Never had an encounter like this.
“No shit? Why not get a boyfriend then?”
“I don’t go out much, don’t meet new people.”
“Wanna suck me off?” he asked, all casual, then added, “I’m hard as fuck right now. You down?”
Holy shit, yes! Throwing all shame out the window, I practically yelled, “Yeah!”
It was loud, he froze for a second, then cracked up. “Haha, alright, you’re locked in now! Gimme your number, I’ll call you up later. Wait for me at home.”
I punched my number into his phone, and he launched into full-on dirty talk, grinning like a devil. Said he and his wife hadn’t fucked since their second kid was born. Then he dropped a wild story about four years ago, driving a drunk passenger late at night who got handsy, offering to blow him for cash. Horny and pent-up, Mr. P let the guy do it. Total bullshit, I thought, but given what was happening now, maybe not. He said that was his first time with a guy, and since his wife wasn’t into sex as much, he didn’t mind messing around with dudes. Didn’t care who got him off. Was that how straight guys worked? No idea, and I didn’t get it. We also talked about my ex. Mr. P was curious, asking if my ex was hung, if he liked getting sucked. I admitted my ex was rough in bed, not gentle at all. He’d skip foreplay, force his way in, sometimes making me bleed. His weird kink, I guess. So I hated anal for him and mostly just blew him.
* Friendly reminder: tops, be gentle. Even with prep, bottoms need time to adjust. And don’t go harassing drivers or passengers -this is a rare, extreme case. Get caught, and the cops’ll have your ass.
I barely noticed we’d left the tunnel and were nearing my new place. Mr. P kept up the filthy banter, either teasing or seducing me, I couldn’t tell.
“Fuck, my boxers are soaked, kid. Don’t ghost my call!” he shouted as I got out, rolling down the window. I was so hard it hurt. Mr. P, you’re killing me.
Back at my new apartment, I was a mess, obsessively checking my phone. Why didn’t I call myself from his phone to get his number? Stupid. I paced like a lovesick idiot, trying to distract myself by cleaning, even though most of my stuff was still in boxes.
By 3 pm ish, starving, I ran out to grab a Chipotle, forgetting my phone like a moron. Halfway through my burrito bowl, I realized my mistake. I wolfed it down and hurried home, praying Mr. P hadn’t called. Of course, two missed calls. My gut said it was him. I called back, and sure enough, it was Mr. P, laughing that I was as forgetful as his kid. Said he’d taken another fare since I didn’t pick up, but he’d swing by around dinner time.
Like an idiot, I went out again at 6 pm to grab takeout, even though I had my phone this time. While waiting for my order, it rang... Mr. P. He told me to stay put, said he was coming to get me, joking that I kept trying to ditch him. “Making me work this hard for a blowjob,” he teased.
“Get in!” his familiar voice boomed from the curb, his head poking out of that blue SUV.
I slid into the passenger seat, and before I could buckle up, he grabbed my hand and pressed it against his crotch. “Been hard for hours,” he growled. Fuck, it’s huge. And hard.
“So hard…” I muttered, dazed.
“You’re taking care of him,” he said, smirking.
I’d grabbed an extra chicken plate for him, figuring he hadn’t eaten. We ate at my place, but the food was bland compared to the tension. All I could think about was ripping his clothes off and devouring him.
After the meal, I ducked into the bathroom to brush my teeth and rinse my mouth. When I came back, Mr. P was sprawled on my new couch, one hand rubbing his bulge, the other slung over the backrest, a cocky grin on his face.
“C’mere,” he ordered.
Before I knew it, I was on my knees between his legs, fumbling with his jeans. The zipper came down, revealing blue and white checkered boxers stretched tight over his erection. My hands grazed thick leg hair, and a wet spot marked where his precum had soaked through. I swallowed hard, easing his boxers down. His cock sprang free! Thick, dark brown, at least six inches, veins bulging, with a plump, purplish head pulsing and leaking. The upward curve was perfect, like it’d hit my prostate just right. I clenched instinctively, imagining it inside me.
“Like it?” His voice was deeper now, almost impatient, like he was annoyed I hadn’t started.
I nodded, and before he could say more, I dove in, taking his cock in my mouth. Fuck, it’s hot. And thick. No funky taste? Just a hint of soap. Did he shower before picking me up?
“Oh…” He let out a deep groan, spurring me on. My tongue worked the sensitive spot under the head, circling the tip, drawing heavier breaths and a heaving belly.
“Fuck… oh… shit…” he panted, cursing as I went deeper.
I pulled off to admire it, slick with my spit, the head glistening under the light. I yanked his tee up, revealing a slightly hairy chest, the light hair trailing from his pubes up to his pecs. Total married bear vibes. His nipples, dark and full, begged for attention. I latched onto one, teasing it with my tongue, sucking hard. His cock twitched against me, his groans louder.
“Fuck, that’s good,” he growled, eyes shut, brows furrowed, mouth open.
Seeing this married daddy melt under me gave me a twisted sense of power. I wanted him to crave this, to remember my mouth when his wife couldn’t satisfy him.
“Like it?” I asked, throwing his question back at him.
His eyes blazed, a smug grin spreading as he patted my cheek. Approval.
I went back to his cock, licking from base to tip like a lollipop, feeling his muscles quiver with each stroke. His grunts filled the room, pushing me to the edge. I was so hard I thought I’d cum hands-free. When I reached his balls, the musky scent mixed with soap hit me hard. I sucked one, earning a strangled, “Fuck! Oh… shit!” from him.
“Lick both!” he demanded, guiding my head to the other neglected ball.
His untrimmed pubes brushed my face, his hot cock smearing precum on my forehead. I teased his nipples with my fingers while sucking his balls, drowning in his scent. God, he’s so fucking hot.
I was about to go back to his cock when he asked, “You love sucking dick this much?”
I nodded like a maniac, too far gone. Then he threw me off. “Wanna take some pics? Something to jerk off to later.”
Without thinking, I grabbed my phone. “No face!” he barked.
“Got it.” I snapped a few close-ups of his perfect cock, knowing these would fuel my fantasies for years.
He snatched my phone, grinning at the screen. “Pretty big, huh?”
I ignored him, diving back onto his cock, chasing his moans and filthy curses. The sounds echoed in my bare apartment, marking this as the wildest move-in ever.
“Fuck, I’m close… oh… shit…” he groaned.
I didn’t care that my jaw ached or my nose was stinging from his cock hitting my throat. I sucked harder, desperate for his load.
“Gonna shoot in your mouth!”
“Mmph…” I mumbled, still working him.
“Swallow it all, oh fuck! Fuck!” he roared.
With a final, “Fuck! Fuck!” he erupted, hot cum flooding my mouth. I kept sucking, matching the rhythm of each spurt, swallowing some as it hit my throat. The thick, sticky load filled my mouth, dripping down his cock onto his pubes. I’d never been so turned on giving head, wanting his cock in my mouth forever.
“Oooh god, that was good,” he panted, shivering, flashing a toothy grin. “Go spit it out, you don’t gotta eat it. Ain’t that nutritious, haha.”
“You said swallow!!” I mumbled through a mouthful, stumbling to the bathroom. He followed, laughing as I spat his load into the sink.
“Damn, that’s a lot!” he said, proud of himself. Then he grabbed me from behind, yanking my pants down, his sweaty chest pressed against my back. He gripped my cock, jerking me off. “I don’t suck dick, but I’ll get you off.”
A surge of hot breath grazed my ear, his head resting heavy on my shoulder. My legs buckled, forcing me to lean my full weight against Mr. P’s beefy body, my ass crack pressed against his still-hard, wet, throbbing cock, radiating heat. The cum still pooled in the sink, unwashed, was scooped up by Mr. P’s rough hand, using his own slick load to stroke my dick. The raw, filthy sight of it sent me reeling, ready to blow in seconds. A sharp, aching surge ripped from my groin, electrifying my whole body. I glanced up at the bathroom mirror, the depraved image pushing me past the edge.
My legs shook as I shot my load, spraying hard. In the mirror, I was cradled in the arms of Mr. P’s naked, mature body, that beer belly and meaty chest pressed against me, his baseball cap still on. Those eyes bored into me, fierce and unyielding, just like in the car’s rearview mirror, but now locked onto my bare, exposed body. He stood there, flaunting his rugged, his gaze burning, raw, and predatory, devouring his prey…
I don’t know if my mouth left a mark on him, but those searing eyes? They’re burned into my soul forever.
-END-
Epilogue:
This whole story is 90% real, with just 10% fudged because some dialogue I couldn’t quite remember word by word, pieced together from memory, and a bit of extra spice to make it read like a proper porn novel. But the wild, fucking unreal way it all went down? That’s exactly how it happened. The next morning, Sunday, Mr. P couldn’t keep his dick in his pants and called me, itching to swing by my place for a quick blow before hitting the road for his driving shift. Problem is, I’d been up late Saturday night playing game, so I didn’t drag my ass out of bed until past noon. Only then did I see missed calls on my phone. Called him back, and sure enough, Mr. P laid into me, grumbling that I’m as bad as his son, always sleeping in on the weekend lol...
But that was it for me and Mr. P. We didn’t take things any further. It was just that sometimes, before he’d drive for the app on weekends, he’d hit me up to be a stand-in for his wife’s mouth. After all, he’s got a family and kids. To me, it felt more like a hot uncle messing with his horny nephew lol~ Because he really did care and nag like some older relative. Later, I moved farther and relocated to a different state. So we couldn’t keep up the naughty fling, but Mr. P figured out how to use video calls.
There's a few occasion when he’s bored during a break from driving on weekends he’ll call me up on video, being all extra and showing off his hard cock… Guess it’s my little perk, if you ask me.
. I love Mr. P, I love his confidence, no doubting about his sexuality, he's such a hot daddy, he's just horny and wants to get the pleasure from whatever gender of a person it is, he just wants to cum. He even suggested that you take a pic of his dick, being proud of his manlihood. He even jack you off, so that you can cum too, he's so honest about his intention saying whatever he feels, like his cock is so hard in his boxer being soaked talking about what to happen, teasing you for your missed calls just to get BJ, and so on, he's verbal without any bad words. What you experience came from a fictional stories and is really a dream come true for a story reader like you. He's such a daddy, just like you said it's like a hot uncle messing with nephew
And he's still have connection with you through video calls.
