The Mature Man in the Penthouse Greeted Him with a Sharp Command

Adrián was twenty-six and, in his own words, a hopeless slut. The kind who dressed with the sole intention of having it torn off later, in some stranger’s foyer, against some wall that smelled of the wrong cologne. A body built on years of gym work, a round, firm ass, a sharp tongue, and a look that made it painfully obvious what he was thinking while he talked to you. He lived in Barcelona, in a tiny flat in the Eixample that smelled of dry sweat, old poppers, and the sheets from the night before. He didn’t want a boyfriend, didn’t want commitment or Sunday plans. He wanted someone every night to open his ass up and leave him passed out face down, exhausted, with handprints on his hips and a list of unanswered messages.

Esteban was fifty-four and, in almost every way, the opposite. Mature, broad-backed, with a neatly trimmed gray beard and huge hands that looked designed to grip the back of a neck. He worked as a notary, made enough money not to have to keep track of it, and lived in a penthouse in Sant Gervasi with views over a row of rooftops. Divorced from his wife fourteen years earlier, no children, no one to answer to. He came out late, at forty-seven, and since then he had devoted himself to making up for lost time with the same discipline he used to finish a book he’d abandoned halfway through. He knew his craft. He knew how to take a boy like Adrián apart until he was begging by name, and soon after, knew how to make him say it properly again.

They crossed paths on Sniffies on an ordinary Tuesday. Adrián had uploaded a photo of his ass stretched open with two fingers inside and a brief, almost telegraphic caption: “Looking for a patient stud to break me.” Esteban replied with a picture of his cock at rest — not even hard, and still imposing — and a blunt message: “Tonight at my place. Don’t bring anything. You’ll find everything you’re going to need here.”

Adrián arrived at ten sharp. Esteban opened the door wearing nothing but worn jeans, his hairy torso on display and the prominent belly he didn’t try to hide. There were no greetings. No polite small talk about traffic or the elevator. Adrián barely had time to catch the apartment’s scent — old wood, a note of tobacco, something leathery — before the door shut and the other man’s big hand settled on the back of his neck and shoved him against the entryway wall.

—Take your clothes off, slut —Esteban said, without raising his voice.

Adrián obeyed. The tight T-shirt hit the floor, the shorts too, the sneakers flung into a corner like two small animals. In less than half a minute he was completely naked, trembling from a mix of cold, anticipation, and borrowed shame. Esteban watched him like someone evaluating a purchase. He pinched his nipples with measured force until the boy let out a muffled whimper through clenched teeth. He grabbed his ass cheeks with both hands, pulled them apart with his thumbs, and spat straight into his hole without blinking or changing expression.

—Tonight you’re mine —Esteban said—. You’re going to do everything I tell you, without arguing. Clear?

—Yes, sir —Adrián answered.

His cock was throbbing against his thigh before the other man had said anything else.

He led him into the living room. On the glass coffee table everything had been laid out with the calm of someone who doesn’t improvise: two bottles of poppers, a tube of thick lubricant, a towel folded into a perfect rectangle, a black leather harness, and next to the harness, a smaller ring whose shape left no room for doubt. Esteban didn’t turn on the main light. He worked under a low lamp, in a golden atmosphere that cut shadows wherever he wanted them.

He fitted the harness on him with the skill of someone who had done it a hundred times. The straps tightened over his chest, his waist, his shoulders, and each buckle landed exactly where it should without the need to look. The leather left his ass exposed, almost framed, like a piece being offered on a tray. Esteban ran his fingers over it, checked the tension, and gave one sharp slap to a cheek, satisfied.

—Kneel.

Adrián knelt on the rug. Esteban slowly pulled down his jeans and let his cock fall a few centimeters from the boy’s face. It was thick, veined, with a dark, glossy head. He rubbed it over his lips without haste, like someone marking territory he already considered his own.

—Suck it. And do it right, because I can tell when I’m being wasted on.

Adrián opened his mouth and took it all the way in until he felt the tip in his throat. The smell made him deliciously dizzy: clean sweat, old soap, an undefinable note he associated with authority. Esteban gripped his head with both hands and started fucking his mouth at whatever pace he wanted. Adrián coughed, his eyes filled with tears, saliva ran out from the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t pull away once. He liked that exact point of exhaustion. He liked stopping himself from thinking.

—That’s it, slut —Esteban murmured, looking down at him—. So good I almost feel bad for what’s coming.

After several minutes, he pushed him away. Adrián fell onto his side, gasping, a string of saliva hanging from his chin and his eyes shining. Esteban didn’t give him time to recover.

—Turn over. Ass up. Head on the rug.

Adrián obeyed. Esteban opened one of the poppers bottles and brought it to his nose with two steady fingers.

—Take a deep breath. Both nostrils.

Adrián inhaled. The hit came three seconds later: his ears burned, his heart pounded as if trying to escape, his whole body went limp all at once. His ass opened on its own, without help. His head spun clockwise, and the smile on Esteban’s face made it clear he knew exactly what he was seeing.

He didn’t waste time. He shoved in three fingers at once, well-lubed, and Adrián screamed something halfway between pain and gratitude. The fingers went in and out without patience, opening him, adjusting him. When he decided he was ready, Esteban coated his cock generously and moved in.

—Condom? —he asked, and the word sounded almost like a formality.

—No —Adrián gasped—. Bare. Please.

—Look at the slut, learning so well.

He drove his cock in all at once. Adrián screamed so loudly any neighbor on the landing would have heard him. It burned, it stabbed deep inside, but it was exactly the pain he had come for, the pain that justified the metro ride to the other side of the city. Esteban grabbed his hips and started moving with a force that allowed no doubt. The sound of skin against skin filled the living room, intercut with the slap of lubricant and the boy’s ragged breathing.

—Take it, slut. That’s what you came for, right?

—Yes… fuck… more…

Esteban gave him more. He yanked his hair back, arching his neck, and kept pounding into him at the pace he alone decided. He slapped one ass cheek. Then another. Then a third that left a perfectly marked red print. Adrián was laughing and moaning at the same time, as if one emotion contradicted the other and neither could win.

—Tonight you’re my toy —Esteban told him in his ear.

—I’m your toy… use me…

***

After a few minutes, Esteban pulled out, grabbed his hips, and laid him on his back on the sofa. He lifted his legs, rested them over his shoulders, and slid back in slowly, this time so Adrián could see everything. The boy lifted his head and met the other man’s eyes, dark, fixed, unblinking.

—Look at me while I fuck you —he ordered—. Don’t you dare close your eyes.

Adrián looked at him. He saw the gray beard speckled with sweat, the tense shoulders, a vein in his neck throbbing in time with each thrust. He saw, above all, someone who knew exactly what he was doing and enjoyed doing it. He felt small, open, completely submissive, and for the first time in a long while, at peace. This is what I am, he thought, without guilt.

Esteban picked up speed. His breathing turned into a low growl. Adrián understood he was close.

—I’m going to empty myself inside you, fucker. You’re leaving here full.

—Yes… empty yourself… all inside…

With one last deep, almost animal groan, Esteban came. Adrián felt the heat flooding inside him, wave after wave, until the other man went still, still inside, breathing against his neck. When he pulled out, he did it slowly, and a white trail slid down Adrián’s right thigh and disappeared into the sofa leather.

—Don’t even think about moving —Esteban said, looking down at him—. I want to see you like this for a while. Blown out and full.

Adrián stayed still, like an exposed object. He felt the pulse in his ass, the warmth leaking out, his whole body vibrating in a way it hadn’t for months. He closed his eyes for a moment. He didn’t ask permission to do it, and no one reproached him for it.

Esteban went to the bathroom and came back with a warm towel. He cleaned him off, not too gently at first, with the same authority he’d fucked him with, and then, almost without Adrián noticing, with a different kind of care. He ran the back of his hand along his side, rubbed his shoulders to ease the tension, took the harness buckles off one by one, patiently, without yanking.

—Come on, slut. To the shower.

Under the hot water, Esteban soaped him up completely. He ran the suds over his back, through his hair, over his ass, this time with his palm open and soft. The contrast with the violence of the previous hour was so brutal that an idiotic smile slipped out of Adrián, a smile he didn’t control. The mature man smiled back, just barely, under his wet beard.

—You did well, kid.

—So did you.

After the shower, Esteban took him to bed. He handed him an old T-shirt that was far too big, covered him with the sheet, and lay down beside him, one hand on his waist, with no further demands and no more words. For a moment Adrián thought about leaving. That had been his rule for years: fuck and disappear before anyone started confusing things. But fatigue weighed on him, and the hand on his waist didn’t feel like a restraint.

—You can stay if you want —Esteban said quietly—. Tomorrow, if you feel like it, we can do it again.

Adrián closed his eyes. His ass hurt, his thighs were trembling, his nipples burned, and he felt full in a way he hadn’t for a very long time. He had found exactly what he had come looking for and, unexpectedly, something else that hadn’t been in the original message: a warm hand over his ribs, with no demands.

—Tomorrow —he murmured— we’ll see.

And he fell asleep before the other man could answer.