Andrés Had Me Meet Him in a Warehouse, and He Wasn’t Alone

Diego had been sleeping with Andrés almost every night for nearly a month. His body already knew every habit of that man fifteen years older than him: the way he gripped the back of his neck when he drove into him, the sharp rhythm of the slaps, the hair-pulling right before he came. But that night was going to be different, and they both knew it.

The message arrived at seven-thirty in the evening, while he was still at the office.

“Tonight you’re not coming to the penthouse. I’ll be waiting for you at eleven in the warehouse at the back of the Cervera industrial estate, number forty-eight. Gym clothes only, nothing underneath. If you’re late, you stay outside.”

Diego read the message three times. Andrés had never changed the setting before. It was always the same huge bedroom, the same bed, the same rules. For him to suddenly call him to a warehouse on the edge of town meant something, and Diego’s hands started trembling. Not from fear. From something else.

At ten fifty he parked two streets away. The industrial estate was dead at that hour, just a couple of streetlamps flickering like they were about to blow at any moment. It smelled of burnt rubber and garbage. He walked to number forty-eight with his hands buried in the pockets of his tracksuit, trying not to show the bulge.

The metal door was ajar. He pushed it open and went in.

Inside it smelled of damp, old oil, stale sweat. There were rusty shelving units against the walls, broken pallets piled up in a corner, a wrecked faux-leather sofa with an ashtray left full on top. In the middle of the warehouse, beneath a hanging bulb that barely managed to light a three-meter circle, stood Andrés.

But Andrés was not alone.

There were four other men with him.

All older than Diego, all with that look of men who spend eight hours a day on their feet. One was bulky, with a shaved head and a sleeve of tattoos on his right arm. Another was shorter, thick-set, with an unkempt beard and a stained white T-shirt. The third wore thick-framed glasses, was as thin as a rail, and had those small, watchful eyes Diego usually avoided on the subway. The fourth was nearly two meters tall, hands like shovels, the back of a heavyweight.

Andrés smiled when he saw him come in and took two steps toward him.

—You’re early. Good.

Diego froze beside the door. His cock, traitor that it was, was already pressing against the fabric of his tracksuit.

—What is this? —he asked, and his voice came out rougher than he expected.

—This —Andrés said without losing his smile— is what you’ve been asking me for since day one. You told me you wanted to be treated like a pig. That you had no limits. I’ve brought you four guys who think exactly the same way I do.

The shaved-head man stepped forward, folded his arms, and looked Diego up and down slowly, like someone appraising a used car.

—Is this the kid you kept going on about?

—Twenty-seven years old —Andrés replied—. Total bottom. Can take whatever you give him.

—Whatever we give him —the shaved-head man repeated, and gave a low laugh—. We’ll see about that.

Andrés turned to Diego.

—Take everything off. Now.

Diego obeyed. He pulled off the sweatshirt, the pants, the sneakers. He left them in a heap by the door. He stood completely naked beneath that yellowish light, with five pairs of eyes fixed on him as if he were merchandise they had just unloaded.

—Turn around —ordered the bearded man.

Diego turned around. He felt the thick man’s hands spread his ass open with professional roughness.

—Fuck, Andrés, you’ve got him domesticated. He opens right up on his own.

The others laughed. Diego felt his face burn.

—On your knees —said the one with glasses. His voice was calm, almost polite, and for that very reason more unnerving.

Diego knelt. The floor was bare concrete, cold, gritty. His knees cracked as he put them down.

Andrés came closer with something in his hand. It was a wide black leather collar with a short chain. He fastened it around Diego’s neck carefully, tightening it by two notches.

—From now on you’re ours. You’re going to obey in everything. Clear?

—Yes —Diego whispered.

—Yes what?

—Yes, sir.

—Better.

***

The tallest one took the chain and yanked it without warning. Diego crawled on all fours toward the center of the warehouse, where they had laid out a filthy gym mat on the floor.

—This is where you’re spending the night.

The five of them started undressing at the same time, like a rehearsed choreography. Diego saw cocks of all ages and shapes: Andrés’s, which he already knew; the shaved-head man’s, thick and veined; the bearded man’s, short and broad as a can; the glasses-wearing man’s, long and curved; the big one’s, enormous, half-erect and still growing. He swallowed hard.

Andrés went first, as he should. He knelt behind him, spat on him, and shoved into him with a firm but measured thrust.

—We’ll start easy. Then you’ll see.

He fucked him for five unhurried minutes, setting the rhythm, reminding his body who owned it before lending it out. Diego breathed against the mat, letting himself be opened, silently grateful for the familiarity of those thrusts. But he knew it was only the warm-up.

Andrés pulled out and slapped his ass.

—Next.

***

The shaved-head man didn’t bother spitting. He grabbed Diego’s neck from behind, mashed his cheek against the mat, and rammed his cock all the way in at once. Diego stifled a cry.

—Shut up, bitch. This has only just started.

The shaved-head man pounded him for ten minutes. He was an animal: sweat poured over Diego’s back, he growled with every thrust, bit his shoulder hard enough to leave a mark. When he came, he did it inside without warning, with a roar that bounced off the warehouse’s sheet-metal walls.

—All yours, boss —he said, stepping back and giving him one last slap.

The bearded man took his place. His cock was shorter but incredibly thick, and when he pushed it in Diego let out a real cry, one that couldn’t be faked.

—Fuck, you’re still so tight.

—Open him up properly —said the glasses-wearing man from the side, laughing with that restrained little laugh of his.

The bearded man showed him not the slightest mercy. He came in and out with brute force, grabbed him by the hair, yanked his head back until his spine arched.

—You’re a filthy whore, you know that?

—Yes… —panted Diego.

—Say it. Say you like being fucked like this.

—I like… being fucked like this…

—Louder.

—I like being fucked like this!

The bearded man came with a harsh grunt. Diego felt the second hot jet forcing its way inside him.

***

The glasses-wearing one was different from the rest. He flipped him over onto his back on the mat, grabbed both his legs, and propped them on his shoulders.

—I want to see your face while I open you up.

He pushed in with cruel slowness, staring into his eyes behind the lenses. While he fucked him, he spat on his forehead, slapped him—not hard, but constantly—and looped his hand around his neck without quite tightening. Every measured gesture, every one placed where it would hurt most.

—You like this, don’t you? This kind of thing no decent man would do to you.

—Yes…

—You want more?

—Yes… more… please…

The glasses-wearing man smiled crookedly and slapped him a little harder. Diego tasted the metallic tang of spit in his mouth.

—Pig.

He came inside him too. Diego could already feel the mat growing wet beneath his ass.

***

Last, the big one. When Diego saw that cock fully erect, shining, gigantic, his stomach clenched.

—No… it won’t fit…

—Of course it’ll fit —Andrés said from the side—. That’s what being a pig is for. Pigs swallow whatever they’re given.

The big man took a small brown bottle from his trouser pocket, opened it, and held it under Diego’s nose.

—Take a deep breath.

Diego inhaled. The hit surged up to his forehead, loosened his legs, opened everything inside him. The whole warehouse began to vibrate.

The big man slid his cock into him slowly, centimeter by centimeter, holding him by the hips so he wouldn’t slip away.

—Fuck… fuck…

—Relax, almost there.

When it was all the way in, Diego felt his mind start to go. It was too much; he didn’t recognize himself breathing like that, sweating like that, begging like that. And yet, somewhere very deep inside, everything fit.

The big man fucked him slowly but deeply, each thrust reaching a place Diego hadn’t known he had.

—Take it. Take all of it.

—Yes… fuck… yes…

He came with a long roar, collapsing over him and crushing him against the mat. When he finally pulled out, Diego felt everything he had inside him start to slide down his thighs.

***

Andrés came over and crouched beside him. He brushed the hair stuck to his forehead away and loosened the collar by two notches.

—You did well, bitch.

—Thank you, sir…

—You’ve got five minutes. You drink water, breathe, and rest. Because after that we start another round.

Diego nodded without speaking. He lay on his side on the mat, wrecked, with his ass burning, his knees scraped raw, his lips swollen from biting them. The five men had sat down around him, lighting cigarettes, talking in low voices like laborers on a break.

And Diego, not really knowing why, smiled against the filthy mat.