A Hundred Men Were Waiting for Me at Seville’s Old Expo

It’s hard for me to reconstruct exactly how it all started. I know it was the end of July, one of those Seville nights when the heat clings to your skin and even the levante can’t be bothered to blow. For weeks I’d been turning it over in my head, reading on forums what people said about the dawn hours in the grounds of the old ’92 Expo, among the boarded-up pavilions and the gardens the City Council let rot on Cartuja Island. They said that on summer Thursdays the place changed nature. That hundreds of guys gathered there. That there were no rules.

I parked near the Alamillo Bridge after two in the morning. I walked toward the remains of an open-air amphitheater, where the weeds had swallowed the paths and the streetlamps had been dead for years. Only the moon and the cold light of a few phones lit the albero walkways.

I was wearing black shorts, a tank top, and nothing underneath. I had showered, shaved everything off, gotten myself ready inside and out. I knew what I was going for. Or thought I did.

The first group was by a dry fountain full of dead leaves. Six or seven guys smoking, some of them shirtless. They saw me coming. One of them, a huge guy, dark-skinned, with a thick beard and a bear’s belly, blocked my path.

“What are you looking for?”

“Everything,” I answered.

He laughed. A deep laugh that bounced off the cracked concrete.

“This one says everything. Did you hear that?”

He pulled out his phone and typed something. In less than five minutes more men started showing up. From the bushes, from side paths, from the parking lot. As if that message had been a signal. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. And they kept coming.

The bear grabbed the collar of my shirt and yanked me down.

“On your knees and mouth open. You don’t get up until I say so.”

The albero dug into my knees. He ripped my shirt off in one pull and used it to tie my wrists behind my back. A simple knot, but tight. I felt the cotton cutting off my circulation.

The first one pulled out his cock in front of my face. Thick, uncircumcised, smelling of all-day sweat. He shoved it all the way down my throat without warning. I felt the gag reflex rise and held it back. He grabbed my hair and started fucking my mouth like it was just any old hole. Because that’s what it was. That’s what I’d come for.

When he came, he kept his cock inside and I felt hot spurts slamming against my uvula, sliding down my throat. He didn’t let me swallow it all. He pulled out dripping and grabbed my jaw to keep my mouth open.

“Let it show,” he ordered.

The cum glistened on my tongue. Several of them pulled out their phones and started recording. The flashes blinded me.

The second was rougher. He shoved his fingers into my mouth to open it wider, spat inside, then pushed in. His cock was longer, curved, and rubbed my palate with every thrust. He fucked my face while holding me by the ears. When he finished, he did it outside, aiming at my eyes. Semen sealed my left eyelid shut. Hot. Thick.

“Don’t wipe it off,” someone said.

I wasn’t planning to.

I lost count after the tenth. Cocks followed one after another without pause. Some huge, some average, some small, their owners compensating with rage. They fucked my throat until tears ran down mixed with spunk. Saliva hung from my chin in thick strings that dripped to the ground.

***

Then the bear came back. He’d taken his pants down. His cock was thick as a can, half-hard, hanging heavy between his hairy thighs.

“Turn around. Ass up.”

They pushed me until I was on all fours. Someone yanked down my shorts. I felt the warm night air on the exposed hole. A murmur went through the group. There must have been fifty of them by then, maybe more. A mass of sweaty bodies closing a circle around me.

The bear spat on my hole. A long, thick gob of spit. Then he put in one finger. Two. Three. No tenderness, no hesitation. He opened me with his hand like someone forcing a lock. I screamed. Someone covered my mouth with his cock.

When he penetrated me, I felt like I was being split in half. That obscene thickness stretching my walls, forcing its way in centimeter by centimeter. The pain was real, intense, electric. And I loved it. Every fiber of my body begged me to stop and every neuron in my brain begged me to keep going.

He fucked me slowly at first, letting me mold to his shape. Then he sped up. Dry, deep thrusts that shoved me forward and drove the cock in my mouth even harder into me. I was sealed at both ends. A tube of flesh for them to use.

He came inside with an animal growl. I felt his hot spunk filling my guts. When he pulled out, semen ran down the inside of my thighs.

“Next,” he said, and stepped aside.

There was no respite. Another took his place. And another. And another. They fucked me in a chain, each adding his load to what was already inside me. The mixture lubricated me so much that the cocks went in and out with a wet, filthy sound that could be heard all over the clearing. Some came quickly, turned on by the situation. Others took their time, fucking me slowly while the rest waited their turn, jerking off around us.

At the same time, the line at my mouth never stopped. They kept filling my face with cum. On my eyes, my forehead, my hair, my ears. I felt layers drying and new ones falling on top. The crust of semen pulled at my skin every time I tried to move my face.

***

Someone decided to put me on my back. They laid me out on the albero, which dug into my spine. One guy sat on my face and started rubbing his sweaty ass against my mouth.

“Lick, bitch.”

I ate his ass while another fucked me with my legs in the air. The position made the cum from the ones before run down my back, soaking the ground beneath me. I could feel the puddle forming under me.

And then the rain started.

Not water. One guy came up, shook his cock, and started pissing all over me without a hint of shame. The hot stream hit my chest, climbed to my neck, splattered my chin. The sharp, sour smell mixed with the sweet stench of cum covering my face. I didn’t close my mouth. The piss got between my lips, salty, bitter, and I swallowed it.

That opened the floodgates. As if they’d all been waiting for permission. One after another, the ones who had already come and were waiting to get hard again stepped up and pissed on me. On my face, my chest, my cock, my hair. Some aimed straight into my open mouth and I swallowed what I could while the rest ran down my cheeks. One of them pissed into my open eyes on purpose, and the sting was brutal. I didn’t close them. I didn’t deserve to close them.

The puddle under my back was already a pool. Albero, semen, piss, saliva, sweat. Everything mixed together in a warm mud where my body sloshed every time a thrust shook me. I’d been there for more than an hour. Maybe two. Time had stopped existing.

***

A group of young guys, early twenties, showed up together. Four or five of them, wearing caps and tracksuits. They stood there watching for a moment, whispering and nervously laughing. One of them, the tallest, blond, with a face like butter wouldn’t melt, came over and spat in my face.

“Fuck, man, look at this pig,” he said to his friends.

He pulled down his tracksuit bottoms. His cock was long, thin, rock-hard. He shoved it into my ass without asking and started fucking me at a frantic pace, as if he were in a hurry. His friends got into it. One shoved his cock into my mouth, another knelt beside me and jerked off, aiming at my face. The fourth planted his sneaker on my chest, pinning me to the ground, and masturbated while looking down at me with a grimace of disgust.

They came almost at the same time. The blond one inside my ass, the one in my mouth in my throat, the other two on my face. Four loads in ten seconds. They left laughing, slapping hands like they’d scored a goal.

***

Then the bear took control again. He hauled me up off the ground by my hair. He weighed twice as much as I did and handled me like a puppet. He set me on my knees in front of him.

“Open your mouth and don’t close it no matter what.”

I was scared shitless. And at the same time my cock got hard as a rock.

He turned around, crouched, and shoved his hairy ass in my face. The smell was thick, concentrated, animal. He pressed my head against his cheeks with his hand.

“Eat.”

I put my tongue in his hole. It tasted like stale sweat, like man, like something darker and more primitive. I rimmed him like my life depended on it, prying his hole open with my tongue while he groaned with pleasure. I could feel his sphincter squeezing and releasing my tongue in a slow rhythm.

Meanwhile, others kept taking turns in my ass. By then I couldn’t even tell who was going in or coming out. The hole was so open, so stretched by dozens of cocks and liters of cum, that some of them pushed theirs in and barely touched the walls. One tried to shove in his fist. He closed his hand, coated it in the spunk dripping out of me, and pushed. The knuckles went through with a dull, deep pain. When he opened his hand inside me, I screamed against the bear’s ass. I could feel his fingers moving in places no cock had reached. He pulled his hand out covered in the semen of fifty men and wiped it across my face.

I lost all sense of everything. Time, space, who I was. Only the sensations existed. The cock in my ass, my tongue in the bear’s hole, the hands grabbing me, the spit landing on me, the insults raining down from every direction. “Bitch.” “Pig.” “Trash.” “Cum bucket.” “Dump.” Every word pushed me a little deeper and made me a little harder.

***

The bear moved away from my face and turned me around. I found myself looking up at the sky, at the few stars visible through Seville’s orange glow. The Alamillo Bridge stood out in the distance with its leaning mast, like the skeleton of some enormous animal. Beautiful and sinister at once.

“Last round,” the bear announced.

They organized themselves. I don’t know who gave the order or how, but suddenly there was a tight circle of men around me. Twenty, thirty, forty of them jerking off at the same time. I could hear the wet sound of dozens of hands working dozens of cocks. Some growled, others breathed deeply, some muttered obscenities. I was lying in the center, on my back, soaked head to toe in a mixture of fluids I could no longer even identify. The albero had worked its way into my back and my ass. I didn’t care.

The first one came with a short moan. The stream hit my stomach. Then another on my chest. Another on my face. And then it was like a chain reaction. They started coming almost all at once, as if one man’s orgasm triggered the next. Cum falling from every angle. In long arcs, in thick drips, in hard jets. It covered my face, got into my eyes, my ears, my nose. I was choking and swallowing and coughing and swallowing more. I felt the hot impacts on my skin like drops of a heavy rain. On my chest, my thighs, my cock, my feet. Every inch of my body got its share.

It lasted several minutes. Wave after wave. Those who finished stepped aside and others took their place. Some came over and squeezed the last drops straight into my open mouth, shaking their cock against my lips. Others rubbed it across my face, using me as a rag to clean themselves.

***

When they were done, the silence was overwhelming. Only ragged breathing and the occasional cricket in the brush could be heard. I opened the eye I could open. The circle had broken apart. The guys were getting dressed, lighting cigarettes, checking their phones. They were ordinary people again. Family men, office workers, mechanics, teachers. Men who would take their kids to the park or go down for bread the next day. And who that night had used me as a public toilet.

The bear was the last to leave. He crouched beside me and looked at me. His eyes were dark, almost black, and his expression was impossible for me to read. He spat one last time in my face. The gob ran down my cheek and fell into the puddle where I’d been lying for hours.

“Good pig,” he said. And left.

I stayed there for I don’t know how long. Ten minutes, half an hour. Looking at the stars with my eyes stuck together by layers of dried semen. I could feel the spunk cooling in every fold of my body, thickening, tugging at my skin. My ass throbbed open, slowly emptying the semen of countless strangers, which ran down my perineum into the puddle. My throat was raw. My knees were wrecked. My back was marked by the albero. And my cock was still half-hard.

I got up as best I could. My legs were shaking. I found my shorts three meters away, trampled and soaked. I put them on without bothering to clean myself. The shirt was in tatters, useless. I walked to the car barefoot, naked on top, covered in semen from head to toe, leaving a wet trail on the asphalt.

I sat behind the wheel and looked at myself in the rearview mirror. I didn’t recognize myself. Swollen face, red eyes, hair matted in white crusts, finger marks on my neck and cheeks. I looked like someone else. I looked exactly like what I was.

I started the engine. I crossed Seville at five in the morning, sticky, broken, empty, and absolutely full. I passed the Giralda, and the first light of dawn was beginning to tint the Guadalquivir orange. On the way home, my only thought was when I’d come back there again.