The Hostel Owner Watched Me the First Night

I arrived at the address a friend from the neighborhood had given me five minutes before nine. It was an old house in downtown Quito, with a peeling façade and a dark wooden gate that looked like it weighed as much as a car. I knocked twice and, just as I was starting to think I had the wrong street, the gate opened and Salvador appeared.

The first thing I noticed was his legs. He was wearing lightweight trousers that outlined his thighs, thick as tree trunks. Then I took in the rest of him. He was at least ten centimeters taller than me, had café-au-lait skin, and a close-shaved head. Forty-something, I guessed. He led me into a narrow waiting room with two leather armchairs and a fan turning without much conviction.

—So you’re the one Wilmer sent —he said, without offering his hand.

—That’s me. Mateo.

He had me sit down and explained the job in less than five minutes. He managed a few rooms—his word, because he didn’t want to say the easy one—that he rented by the hour. Each room had a piece of furniture, a TV, and a DVD player. Customers asked for a video when they came in, I put it on, and I also sold drinks and snacks they could grab on their way out. The pay was almost nothing, but it included a bed and three meals. The bed, though, was on-site: I couldn’t go home to my mother’s place to sleep.

—Does it work for you? —he asked.

—It works for me.

I told him I lived in Sangolquí, far from downtown, and that I needed to go pick up my things. Salvador took the keys to an old Hilux, checked the time on his phone, and drove me himself. On the way he barely spoke. I kept glancing at him whenever he changed gears and watched his forearm tense. The pickup smelled of cold tobacco. At a red light he asked if I had a partner, and I said no, that I had been alone for months.

—Better —he replied, without looking at me.

***

We came back carrying two bags and a backpack. He assigned me a small room at the end of the hallway, separated from his by a thin wall. Mine had a mattress on the floor. His had a three-quarter bed with a carved wooden headboard. He told me to shower before starting.

I came out of the bathroom with a towel tied around my waist, measuring every step. Salvador was lying on his back on his bed, his cellphone resting on his chest. He didn’t look up, but I knew he had seen me come in. I changed slowly, deliberately turning my back to him. I bent down to pull my underwear out of the backpack and let the towel slip a second longer than necessary. When I straightened up and looked over my shoulder, he was still staring at the screen. But he no longer had it on his chest. He had lowered it to his lap.

Below, under the fabric of his pants, there was a thick bulge, long, curved toward his navel, stretching the cloth tight enough to outline the glans. He squeezed it once with his palm, as if settling it in place, and I swallowed.

I wasn’t going to be bored here.

***

The first few days passed without incident. I learned how to use the ledger where I wrote down entries, how to put on the right video, how to charge the exact amount. Salvador came and went. Some afternoons I saw him talking at the door with street vendors; other times I found him napping with the door half open. I started wearing a new pajama set, a short pair of shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt I’d bought for the occasion. He never said anything, but sometimes he would linger a second too long looking at my ass when I bent down to arrange the sodas under the counter.

On Wednesday of the second week, a guy in a loose tie, gray suit, and shiny shoes showed up almost at closing time. He asked for a room for an hour. I put on the video he chose himself and, when I came out, I noticed he left the door half open. I went back to the front desk with the strange feeling that it wasn’t an accident.

I passed the hallway three times in less than ten minutes. Each time I saw him seated in the armchair, his pants open, his dick out, jerking himself up and down with his fist, unhurried, spitting on his hand to make himself slide easier. He had a short but very thick cock, with the purplish head already showing between his fingers and a thread of precum running down to his wrist. The fourth time he called me over through the half-open door.

—Kid. A soda and some cookies.

I said yes, breathing hard even before I spoke. I came back with the tray. When I walked in, he adjusted his shirt with one hand and kept jerking himself with the other, slowly, without breaking rhythm. He didn’t bother to cover up. He handed me the bill, I put it in my pocket, and as I turned around he told me what I had been waiting for.

—If you suck it —he said— I’ll give you fifty more.

I closed my eyes for a moment. I thought about Salvador, who was probably napping by then. I thought about how long I’d been putting up with something like this. When I opened them, the guy was still sitting there, with his hard cock pointing at his chin, waiting.

—A hundred —I said.

He smiled and pulled out another bill.

I locked the door from the inside. I knelt on the worn carpet between his shiny shoes and loosened his belt to pull his pants halfway down his thigh. I took his cock in my right hand and felt its weight, hot, throbbing against my palm. I ran my tongue underneath it, from his balls to the head, and took the tip into my mouth. Salty. Like cheap cologne and male sweat. Salvador was sleeping twenty meters away. That thought, instead of stopping me, made me press my lips tighter and go deeper.

—All of it, kid, suck all of it —the guy panted, grabbing me by the nape with two fingers.

I took him down to the back of my throat. The head dug into my palate, then into my throat, and made me gag, bringing tears to my eyes. I didn’t let go. I started moving up and down, sucking hard, letting a thread of saliva slide down his shaft to his balls so it would all run better. He watched me from above, mouth open, never stopping his filthy little comments.

—That’s it, little faggot, that’s it, with that whore mouth of yours.

He drove me to his rhythm. I felt his balls tighten against my chin. When he was about to cum, he yanked his cock out of my mouth, grabbed the shaft, and blasted across my tongue and lips and chin. Four, five thick, warm bursts, tasting of bleach and man. He made me swallow what had landed inside and clean his glans with my tongue, down to the last drop. I didn’t really care. What mattered was that I had already crossed a line, and that on the other side there was nothing familiar.

When he was done, he paid me another fifty without me asking. He asked if he could come back the next day. I told him yes.

I went back to the hallway with semen still coating my mouth and my knees shaking. Salvador was in his room, the door half open and the light off. I leaned in for a second. I heard him breathing, deep and even, as if he had been asleep for hours. I got into my mattress on the floor and fell asleep with a strange heaviness in my stomach and the taste of another man’s jizz still stuck at the back of my throat.

***

On Thursday, the engineer came back. This time he didn’t want a video. He wanted me to come in and lock the door. I let him. He pressed me against the wall, lifted my T-shirt, and left it bunched under my armpits. He yanked down my shorts and boxer briefs in one pull, to my calves, and made me spread my legs with his foot. He didn’t kiss me. He spat twice into his hand, smeared the saliva over his cock, and spat again straight between my ass cheeks. He rubbed himself on me slowly, up and down, wetting me, pressing the head against my asshole every couple of strokes.

—Loosen up, little faggot, loosen up, because today you’re going to work for real.

He shoved in all at once. I felt myself split open completely, without warning, with a dry jerk that bent my back against the wall. I covered my mouth with my hand. He didn’t even wait for me to get used to it. He grabbed my hips with both hands and started fucking me standing up, short and fast, slamming my pelvis against my ass with a wet flesh sound that filled the room. Every thrust made me bite the back of my hand so I wouldn’t scream. The short, thick cock reached all the way in with every push.

—Squeeze your ass, come on, squeeze it —he panted into my ear—, that’s it, that’s how I wanted you, with that hole wide open.

He rammed me twenty, thirty times, never changing pace, until he started shaking. He buried himself to the hilt and filled me up inside. I felt every hot burst pounding deep in me, and then a warm trickle sliding down the inside of my thigh when he pulled out. He handed me a crumpled handkerchief, pulled his pants back up, straightened his tie in the mirror, and left as if nothing had happened, leaving me there with my shorts around my ankles and semen dripping down to my knee. I only wanted to finish up and get back into the hallway before anyone noticed I was gone.

What I hadn’t accounted for was that the back door, Salvador’s room door, also opened onto the same hallway, and that he had a perfect view of the crack if he left his ajar.

When it was all over and the engineer left, I walked slowly toward my room, dizzy, my ass throbbing and my body still hot. I pushed the door open. Salvador was in his bed. But he wasn’t asleep. He was lying on his back, naked, with a sheet pulled up to mid-thigh. His eyes were closed, but his breathing didn’t match. And under the sheet there was a bulge that made it plain he hadn’t been sleeping at all.

I wanted to leave. My legs wouldn’t let me.

—How was it? —he said, without opening his eyes—. How did the engineer fuck you? Did he fill your ass up good?

I felt heat rising in my face. I started stammering an apology, told him to forgive me, that I knew I shouldn’t have done it inside the place, that it wouldn’t happen again. Salvador opened his eyes slowly. He raised one hand and scratched his chest. He had thick, abundant black hair, a dark strip that ran down in a line to his navel and continued lower. Then he pulled the sheet all the way off.

I had imagined the bulge, but not that. He had a long, dark cock, thick as my wrist, lying sideways against his thigh, veins raised all along the shaft, and a pair of heavy balls hanging between his legs. The head, broad and dark, glistened with a thick drop gathering at the tip.

—I forgive you —he said, gripping it at the base and shaking it twice against his thigh with a dull slap— if you suck mine for me.

***

I knelt beside the bed without thinking. I took it with both hands, because one wasn’t enough, and even then I still had shaft left over above my grip. I ran my tongue from his balls to the tip, slow and long, collecting the taste of skin and sweat. I filled my mouth with the glans, just that, and it was already full. I sucked at the tip, circling it with my tongue while my hand worked up and down the shaft.

—Lower —he murmured—. Take more in, don’t be half-assed.

I pushed the head in as far as I could. The cock forced my throat open and made me cry from the first gag. Salvador didn’t push my head. He just settled the pillows behind his back and watched me while I managed as best I could, with strings of saliva running down my chin and dripping onto his balls. Every so often he said something softly, a correction, a compliment.

—Tongue underneath, like that. Now the balls, suck them one by one. Spit more, get it all wet.

I obeyed him in everything. I licked his balls, took one into my mouth and then the other, while I kept jerking him with my hand. I went back to the tip, pressed my lips tight, and sank down again, feeling it dig into my palate. That made me worse. I felt my own cock hard and wet bouncing against my stomach every time I went down.

—Come here —he said after a while, yanking his cock out of my mouth with a wet pull—. Here.

He had me climb onto the bed on all fours, ass aimed at his face. He spread my cheeks with both hands and leaned in. I felt his rough tongue drag across my asshole, still tender from the engineer, wetting me, slipping inside. I screamed into the pillow. He licked me long and insistently, spitting into me, softening me up. Then he took a small jar of cream from the nightstand drawer. He lubed me slowly, first with two fingers, then with three, until he had them buried to the knuckles, moving them in circles.

—Loosen up, kid —he murmured—. What he put in you was a finger compared to mine.

I clenched my fists in the sheets and tried to breathe. When he tried to enter, I felt him hit first, as if against a wall. The broad head wouldn’t go through. He pushed once, twice. It burned as if they were splitting me open with a hot iron. Salvador didn’t get angry. He had me lower myself until I was face down, shoved a pillow under my pelvis, spread my ass with his thumbs, and tried again. He told me to push outward, to breathe deep, to hold on. He pressed, steady, without giving up, and I felt something opening inside me, slow, painful, as if I were being torn from the inside out. The glans went in first, with a wet sound, and then he started easing the shaft in little by little, centimeter by centimeter. I bit the sheet so I wouldn’t scream. He waited, buried halfway in, breathing hard against my neck.

—The worst part’s over —he whispered—. Now hold on.

When I was ready, he kept going. He pushed all the way in, until I felt his balls hitting my skin, and there he stayed for a second, still, letting me get used to the whole bulge inside me. Then he came almost all the way out and thrust back in at once, dry, until he buried himself completely. I screamed into the sheet. He did it again. And again. And again.

There was no kindness after that. There was rhythm. There was weight. There were big hands on my hips, squeezing so hard that the next day I found purple fingerprints in my skin. There was the sound of his balls slapping my perineum with every thrust, a chack chack chack that filled the room. There was a low voice by my ear saying things I’d rather not repeat.

—This ass is mine, you hear me? Mine. That engineer rents it from you, but I’m the owner. Say it again.

—Yours —I panted into the pillow—. It’s yours.

—Louder.

—It’s yours, Salvador, it’s yours!

He grabbed my hair, yanked my head back, and rammed me to the hilt, up and down, without a break, until I felt my legs give way. He flipped me onto my back, lifted my legs against his chest, and drove in again at once, staring right at my face. Now he wanted to see me. He pressed my knees against my shoulders and buried himself to the balls, eyes locked on mine, mouth open, growling softly. He grabbed my cock with his other hand and jerked it in the same rhythm. I lasted three, four strokes. I came over my own stomach in long jets, clenching my ass around his cock, feeling every pulse of him inside me.

That finished him. He thrust three more times, ferocious, buried to the root, and I felt him empty inside me, in thick spurts, one after another, hot, while he pinned me to the mattress as if afraid I might get away. He stayed inside for a long time, still hard, breathing heavily against my neck. When he finally pulled out, I felt the warm stream of his cum running down my ass crack and soaking the sheet.

***

He let me sleep in his bed that night. Face down, the burning pulsing between my legs, unable to close my knees, his semen still slowly leaking out of me. Before turning off the light, he leaned against my back, ran an open palm over my ass cheek, and slid one finger in to the second knuckle, effortlessly, to check how I was holding up. He said, almost in my ear:

—From now on, the engineer pays you, but I’m the one who collects.

I didn’t answer him. I fell asleep with his hand on my hip, his finger still inside me, and my face buried in the pillow. I thought it was going to be just another job, any old job. It wasn’t. It was, in fact, where I learned what it meant to belong.