The Stranger from the Wasteland Taught Me to Obey

Today is the day. Today I stop imagining it and finally do it.

My name is Daniel. Yesterday I turned the age that officially made me an adult, and I still couldn't believe it when I woke up this morning. I'm short and slim, with short brown hair, nothing that draws attention in a crowded train carriage. For two years I'd been telling myself no, that I didn't really like men, that it would pass. And for two years I'd been lying to myself. Today I'll know for sure. Today I'll have my first time.

I'm on the bus heading out toward the edge of the city, my backpack pressed against my thighs to hide the bulge that's been showing ever since I got on. There's a wasteland I've been reading about for months in forums and stories: a cruising spot half an hour from my home, between abandoned warehouses and tall weeds. To kill the last few minutes, I open the contacts app on my phone. I've called myself something ridiculous, “Never Been Used,” because I couldn't think of anything better. It doesn't even take a second for it to ping.

—What are you looking for? —someone writes.

I look at his profile. Not bad at all. Early thirties, light eyes, a smile that invites you in. Will he be the one to take my innocence away, the one to put the first cock in me? I'm about to answer when I look up and realize we've already arrived.

I press the stop button, sling my backpack over my shoulder, and get off. No one else gets off with me, which is exactly how I prefer it. I pull my cap down over my eyes, just in case someone recognizes me, and head down the street toward the back, where the asphalt gives way to dirt and weeds. I'm nervous. My hands are sweating. But there's something stronger than the nerves, something pushing me forward with a tingling that pulses at the tip of my cock, something I've never felt before.

In the distance I see a guy about my age walk past. Then another, and another, all going in the same direction, like pilgrims headed for some place only they know. That's the way. I quicken my pace along a narrow path through the weeds, head bowed. And I nearly walk straight into a man.

He's tall, in his mid-fifties, broad-shouldered and blond, wearing a gray suit that looks completely out of place in the mud of this spot. He looks me up and down with an annoyed grimace.

—Don't you watch where you're going? —he snaps, curtly, in a tone that doesn't invite an answer.

—Sorry —I stammer, looking away.

I continue on with my heart racing. Farther ahead I see two guys tangled up in the bushes: one has the other pinned against a tree trunk, his trousers around his knees, and is fucking him from behind with short, muffled thrusts. I hear the slap of skin against skin, a grunt, the receiver's clenched-teeth breathing. I keep watching for a few seconds longer than I should, seeing how the one thrusting grips his hips with one hand and pulls his hair back with the other, forcing him to arch his neck. The scene fascinates and embarrasses me in equal measure, and I feel my cock swelling inside my briefs until it's completely hard. It's your turn today, Daniel, I tell myself. I start walking around in circles. I pass one guy, look at him, and he looks back, but he doesn't quite convince me. The same thing happens with another. I check my watch and nearly forty minutes of pointless wandering have gone by. You have to make up your mind, I order myself.

I put my hand in my backpack, looking for my cigarettes to calm myself down, and realize I left them at home. I curse under my breath. I look around, and who do I see? The man in the suit, sitting on a fallen tree trunk, smoking slowly and staring at his phone screen. He looks up. Sees me. And gives me a crooked smile.

—Well, look who it is again —he says.

—Yes, I guess it is —I reply, avoiding his eyes.

—Looks like your destiny is to keep running into me. —He takes a long drag without stopping watching me.

—Can I have a cigarette? —I ask, because it's the only thing I can think of.

—Earn it. —He says it without raising his voice, but the words fall like an order, firm and final, while smoke slowly escapes between his lips.

—And how do I do that? —I murmur.

He stands up without answering. “Follow me,” is all he says, and I walk behind him like an automaton, as though someone has switched off the part of my mind that makes decisions. We take a few steps, and then he stops.

—No. Better you go first.

And as I pass, I feel his hand close around the back of my neck. He guides me with steady pressure, neither rough nor gentle, just certain. It's a new, utterly strange sensation, and I admit I like it more than I should. I'm hard inside my trousers from that alone, my cock pressed against the fabric, already leaking a drop of fluid that stains my briefs. I turn my head and he fixes me with his stare again. He's going to be my first. I don't care what he asks of me, but I'm finally doing it.

We reach a half-ruined shack with no doors, lost in the middle of nowhere. His hand pushes me inside and he leans toward my ear.

—Pull down your trousers and underwear. On your knees.

—Why do I have to pull down my trousers? I can do it just as well without—

I don't finish the sentence. The slap comes first, sharp, right across my cheek. It doesn't hurt me, but it cuts off my breath and leaves my face burning.

—Okay, sorry —I say at once, and obey. I pull my trousers and briefs down to my ankles and kneel on the cold earth. My cock bobs in the open air, hard and pointing upward, the glans gleaming with all the pre-cum I've already released.

—See? It wasn't so difficult, was it? —He crouches a little to look at me, lowering his gaze to my crotch—. Look how hard you are, just from getting yourself worked up over me. You're an eager little slut, aren't you? Unless you're one of those who only learn through getting hit. You know what happens now, don't you?

—Yes —I whisper, reaching my hands toward his belt.

—Take it out without undoing me. Here, you're the only one with his trousers on the ground.

—Yes, sorry.

I slip my hand through his fly and free it. It's half-hard, neither huge nor small, thick, with the foreskin covering almost all of it, and a warm, manly smell hits me full in the face when I bring it close. I like that detail. I remember something I once read, a trick involving the tip of the tongue between the glans and the skin, playing with the frenulum instead of merely moving my mouth up and down. He's hairy too, and I like that as well; I don't understand the obsession with shaving everything off. I run my nose through the hair at his groin, breathing in his scent deeply, and feel his cock hardening against my cheek.

I begin running my tongue along it from the base to the tip, and back again, unhurriedly, feeling it stiffen beneath my lips. I lick his balls too, one first and then the other, carefully taking them into my mouth and sucking them until he lets out his first deep sigh. I move back up, leaving a wet trail along the entire vein underneath, and when I reach the top I pull the foreskin back with my fingers, revealing the pink, glistening glans. I slip the tip of my tongue between the skin and the rim, circling, and he clenches his jaw. Once he's fully hard, I take him all the way into my mouth in one motion, remembering the frenulum and pressing it with the tip of my tongue on every upward stroke. I suck with my cheeks hollowed, creating a vacuum, pull his cock all the way out, and smack it against my face two or three times as if it were mine. I'm doing it right. I raise my eyes and find him staring fixedly at me without blinking. I don't know whether to hold his gaze or hide from it. Focus on what's in your mouth, Daniel.

—Look at me while you suck it —he says, his voice thick—. I want to see your eyes. That's it. Good little slut.

Suddenly I feel his hand on the back of my neck again, pushing me toward the back of his throat. I gag. His cock strikes the roof of my mouth, forcing its way down my throat, and I feel my eyes fill with tears as a string of drool runs from the corner of my mouth. I look at him through tear-filled eyes, and he remains there, impassive, watching me as if he were studying every reaction. He starts moving, setting the pace himself now, deeper and deeper, both hands on my head, holding it like a toy. The gags keep coming and he doesn't seem to care. It becomes harder and harder to move my tongue. His glans pushes into my throat with a wet, ugly sound, and I understand that all I can do is stop resisting, abandon myself, try to control the nausea, and give him complete control. Saliva runs down my chin, falling in strings onto my bare thighs, and every time he thrusts all the way in, I go a few seconds without breathing, my nose buried in the hair above his cock.

—That's it, all the way down, swallow it all —he pants—. That's what that throat is for, to swallow me.

There comes a moment when I'm about to be unable to take any more, but he notices and eases off just in time, giving me a second to cough and breathe before putting it back in. He's an expert; he controls every second. Then he starts again, even deeper, fucking my mouth at a steady rhythm, spitting a little of his own saliva onto my lips so his cock will slide more easily. I look into his eyes again, and this time he gives me a crooked smile.

—Good boy —he says softly—. You're doing very well. Almost there. You're going to swallow every last drop, do you hear me?

That sentence runs down my spine like a shiver. Is he going to come like this, straight into my mouth? It goes against everything I've always been told about looking after myself, but right now I don't care in the slightest. I'm completely surrendered. My only priority is him, his cock, his cum. Mine is still dripping between my legs, hard and untouched, throbbing every time he thrusts deeper into me.

And then it happens. A deep moan, his fingers tightening around my skull, one final thrust that buries my nose in his hair, and I feel the first hot jet explode down my throat. Then another, and another, thick and falling straight downward. His cock pulses inside my mouth, swelling and emptying in slow contractions, and I feel the salty taste flooding everything, mixed with my own saliva. And you know what? I come too, without even touching myself, just from that: my cock jerks and I shoot several streams of cum onto the ground and my own thighs, one spasm after another, leaving me trembling on my knees with my mouth still full. He keeps moving slowly, emptying himself, pushing the last remnants deep inside, and I search for his eyes. He's satisfied. I don't know whether to swallow or not, so I do what I once saw in a video: when he pulls out, I open my mouth to show him the thick white puddle resting on my tongue. A string slips from the corner of my lips and he notices. Slowly, without hurry, he gathers it up with his finger and puts it back in my mouth.

—Swallow —he orders in that same voice.

And I swallow. I feel the semen slide down my throat, thick and leaving a hot trail all the way to my stomach. I stick out my tongue and show it to him, empty and clean. I smile like an idiot.

—Thank you —I murmur.

—Good boy.

I run my tongue over his glans one last time, collecting the final drop beading at the tip, and he pulls away with a small shudder.

—Stop —he says—. It's very sensitive.

I remain on my knees, motionless, waiting for an order that never comes, while he puts his now-flaccid cock back inside his trousers without even wiping away my saliva, which still gleams at the base. He looks at me without saying anything. His expression isn't as hard as before, and I'm surprised by how much I like that calmer look. I lower my eyes and see my own cum on the ground between my knees, and the white stains left on my thighs.

—What's your name? —he asks.

—Daniel. And you?

—Ramón.

—How old are you?

—I turned eighteen yesterday —I answer, still on my knees.

—So you came of age with me.

—Yes. Well… actually, I had my first time completely. It was my first time ever.

—For a beginner, you didn't do badly —he says, almost with borrowed pride, looking at the traces of semen still dripping down my chin—. And now you've been baptized, with milk inside and out. Come on, stand up and get dressed.

I do it without raising my eyes, pulling up my still-stained briefs and buttoning my trousers with fingers that are still clumsy. What a strange experience. I never imagined myself behaving like this, obeying a stranger as if my brain had been reprogrammed, swallowing the cum of a guy I'd first seen half an hour earlier. And yet I feel good. Calm. Floating in a sort of warm cloud, with his taste still on my palate.

***

He's looking at a phone. I pat my pocket and mine isn't there. I look at the ground. Not there either. Then it hits me: the phone in his hand is mine.

—That's my phone. Give it to me.

He doesn't react. He keeps scrolling with his thumb.

—Give me the phone —I repeat, angry this time.

—That's no way to speak to me —he replies calmly, holding it between two fingers over the opening of a broken window, as if he might drop it—. Ask me properly and I'll give it back.

—Give me the phone, please.

—On your knees.

And I kneel again. I don't know why I do it, but I do, and ask him the way he wants me to.

—Ramón, please, could you give me my phone back? —I plead, my face burning with embarrassment.

—That's better. I like you obedient. See? It isn't so difficult. —At last, he holds it out to me.

I check it for a few seconds, in case he's deleted anything or looked through more than he should. Everything is in order.

—You don't trust me? —he asks, amused.

—No —I answer without looking at him.

He chuckles under his breath. Then he extends his arm and offers me a cigarette, the one I had to earn.

—Happy birthday —he says.

—Thank you. —I stand up, put it between my lips, and he lights it for me. I take my first drag and feel the smoke mingle with the taste of his semen still clinging to my tongue.

—Do you come here often? —I ask.

—Not that often.

—Will we see each other again? —It's incredible how much he intimidates me when he looks at me like that.

—I think so. Next time I'll wreck your ass. See you later.

And without another word, he turns and walks away. He leaves me empty, with a comedown I hadn't expected and the promise in that last sentence pounding inside me. I stand still, watching him disappear among the weeds, and not once does he turn his head. I have the absurd urge to follow him, to go with him wherever he left his car. I'm a quivering mess, my asshole clenching on its own every time I think about what he said. Why did he say he thinks we'll see each other again? Does he expect me to come here every day looking for him so I can let him fuck me?

I pick up my backpack. Inside, in the top pocket, I have a couple of condoms I brought just in case. The funny thing is that my plan was different; I was supposed to take the initiative. What irony. How did I let a stranger come into my mouth without protection? My mind abruptly jumps to the tests I'll have to get, and how long it takes for anything to show up. But even that thought can't completely erase the earlier sensation: his cock forcing its way to the back of my throat and his cum pouring into me in hot jets.

I reach the bus stop. Two other guys from the area are waiting for the same bus. I pull down the brim of my cap and look at the ground. When I get on, I go straight to the back row, put on my headphones, and let the radio play by itself. An old ballad keeps repeating something about doing it right, and in my head those words are spoken by him, in his calm voice, with his hand on the back of my neck. I can still taste him in my mouth.

When I open my eyes, one of the two guys from the bus stop has sat down beside me. Latino, in his early twenties, with an easy smile.

—Sorry, is this seat free? Can I sit here?

—Yes.

—Nice to meet you, my name's Bruno. And you?

—Daniel —I answer mechanically.

—You're coming from the spot, aren't you? —he says, winking at me—. It shows. You look like you've swallowed well.

I have no desire to talk.

—I don't know what you're talking about. —And I turn up the volume on the radio.

What an afternoon. I close my eyes again. Today I stopped imagining it. And I can't think of anything except when I'll run into him again and what it will be like to have him inside my ass next time.